Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4)

Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4) Page 105

“If it gets folk into the shop before four o’clock, it can’t be bad,” says Jim.

“You’ve got experience with these kind of events,” chimes in the white-haired man who challenged me at the meeting. “You know how to go about it. We don’t.”

“When you left the meeting we had a quick straw poll,” says Robin. “And it was practically unanimous. We’d like to invite you onto the action committee. Everyone’s waiting back at the hall, to hear.”

All their faces are so warm and friendly, I feel tears pricking at my eyes.

“I can’t.” I look away. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. There’s no need for me to be in Scully anymore. I’ve got to get back to London.”

“Why’s that, then?” says Jim.

“I have… things to do,” I say. “Commitments. You know.”

“What commitments would they be?” Jim says mildly. “You don’t have a job. Your husband’s abroad. Your flat’s empty.”

This is why you shouldn’t pour out your entire sob story to people you’ve just met. I gaze at Edie’s pink and purple swirly carpet, trying to get my thoughts straight. Then I raise my head.

“What does Jess think about all this?”

I look around the group, but no one replies. Robin won’t quite meet my eyes. The white-haired man is gazing at the ceiling. Jim just has that same sad expression he had at the village hall.

“I bet she’s the only one who voted against me, isn’t she?” I try to smile, but my voice wobbles.

“Jess has… certain opinions,” begins Robin. “But she doesn’t have to come into it—”

“She does! Of course she does! She’s the whole reason I’m here! Look, I’m sorry. But I can’t come on your committee. I hope your protest goes really well… but I can’t stay.”

I can see Robin drawing breath to speak again.

“I can’t.” I look directly at Jim. “You have to understand. I can’t.”

And I can see it in his eyes. He does understand.

“Fair enough,” he says at last. “It was worth a try.” He nods at the others as though to say “It’s over.”

They awkwardly murmur goodbyes and good lucks and file out of the little room. The front door bangs shut and I’m left alone, feeling flatter than ever.

When I wake up the next morning the sky is dark and swollen with gray clouds. Edie serves me a full English breakfast complete with black pudding, but I manage only a cup of tea. I pay her with the rest of my cash, then head upstairs to get ready to leave. Out the window I can just see the hills in the distance, stretching into the mist.

I’ll probably never see those hills again. Which is fine by me, I think defiantly. I hate the country. I never wanted to be here in the first place.

I put the last of my things in my red case, then decide to change into my turquoise kitten heels with diamanté straps. They always make me feel cheerful. As I step into them I feel something small and nubby under my toes and reach down, puzzled. I pull out a small wrapped object and look at it in sudden realization.

It’s the bean. It’s the silver Tiffany bean necklace that I was going to give Jess, still in its little blue bag.

God, that seems a lifetime ago.

I shove it into my pocket, then pick up my cases and stripy hatbox and head downstairs, passing the pay phone in the hall.

Maybe I should call Luke… But then, what’s the point?

Edie’s nowhere to be seen, so I just pull the door of the bed-and-breakfast closed behind me and trundle my cases across the green to the shop. I want to say goodbye to Jim before I leave.

As I push open the door with its familiar tinkle, Jim looks up from pricing cans of beans. He sees my suitcases and gives a resigned nod.

“So you’re off.”

“Yes. I’m off.”

“Don’t go!” Kelly says mournfully from behind the counter, where she has Julius Caesar propped up behind 100 Hot Hair Styles.

“I have to.” I put my cases down. “But I’ve got some more Stila stuff for you. A goodbye present.”

As I hand her a selection of lip glosses and eye glazes, her face lights up.

“I’ve got a present for you too, Becky,” she says abruptly. She pulls a friendship bracelet off her wrist and hands it to me. “So you won’t forget me.”

I’m unable to speak. The simple plaited band in my hand is just like the bracelets Luke and I were given in the Masai Mara ceremony. Luke took his off when he went back to corporate life.

I’ve still got mine on.