SOPHIE KINSELLA
Confessions of a Shopaholic
Shopaholic -1
(aka The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic)
ENDWICH BANK 1 Stallion Square
London W1 3HW
Ms. Rebecca BloomwoodFlat 463 Jarvis RoadBristol BS1 0DN 6 July 1997 Dear Ms. Bloomwood: Congratulations! As a recent graduate of Bristol University you are undoubtedly proud of your performance.We at Endwich are also proud of our performance as a flexible, caring bank with accounts to suit everyone. We pride ourselves particularly in our farsighted approach when it comes to customers of a caliber such as yours.We are therefore offering you, Ms. Bloomwood — as a graduate — a free extended overdraft facility of ?2,000 during the first two years of your career. Should you decide to open an account with Endwich, this facility will be available immediately.* I do hope you decide to take advantage of this unique offer and look forward to receiving your completed form.Once again, congratulations!Yours sincerely,Nigel FairsGraduate Marketing Manager
ENDWICH BANK
FULHAM BRANCH 3 Fulham Road
London SW6 9JH
Ms. Rebecca BloomwoodFlat 24 Burney Rd.London SW6 8FD 10 September 1999 Dear Ms. Bloomwood: Further to my letters of 3 May, 29 July, and 14 August, you will be aware that your free graduate overdraft facility is due to end on 19 September 1999. You will also be aware that you have substantially exceeded the agreed limit of ?2,000.The current balance stands at a debit of ?3,794.56.Perhaps you would be kind enough to telephone my assistant, Erica Parnell, at the above number to arrange a meeting concerning this matter.Yours sincerely,Derek SmeathManagerENDWICH — BECAUSE WE CARE
ENDWICH BANK
FULHAM BRANCH 3 Fulham Road
London SW6 9JH
Ms. Rebecca BloomwoodFlat 24 Burney Rd.London SW6 8FD 22 September 1999 Dear Ms. Bloomwood: I am sorry to hear that you have broken your leg.When you have recovered, perhaps you would be kind enough to ring my assistant, Erica Parnell, and arrange a meeting to discuss your ongoing overdraft needs.Yours sincerely,Derek SmeathManager ENDWICH — BECAUSE WE CARE
One
OK. DON’T PANIC. DON’T panic. It’s only a VISA bill. It’s a piece of paper; a few numbers. I mean, just how scary can a few numbers be?
I stare out of the office window at a bus driving down Oxford Street, willing myself to open the white envelope sitting on my cluttered desk. It’s only a piece of paper, I tell myself for the thousandth time. And I’m not stupid, am I? I know exactly how much this VISA bill will be.
Sort of. Roughly.
It’ll be about. . ?200. Three hundred, maybe. Yes, maybe ?300. Three-fifty, max.
I casually close my eyes and start to tot up. There was that suit in Jigsaw. And there was dinner with Suze at Quaglinos. And there was that gorgeous red and yellow rug. The rug was ?200, come to think of it. But it was definitely worth every penny — everyone’s admired it. Or, at least, Suze has.
And the Jigsaw suit was on sale—30 percent off. So that was actually saving money.
I open my eyes and reach for the bill. As my fingers hit the paper I remember new contact lenses. Ninety- five pounds. Quite a lot. But, I mean, I had to get those, didn’t I? What am I supposed to do, walk around in a blur?
And I had to buy some new solutions and a cute case and some hypoallergenic eyeliner. So that takes it up to. . ?400?
At the desk next to mine, Clare Edwards looks up from her post. She’s sorting all her letters into neat piles, just like she does every morning. She puts rubber bands round them and puts labels on them saying things like “Answer immediately” and “Not urgent but respond.” I loathe Clare Edwards.
“OK, Becky?” she says.
“Fine,” I say lightly. “Just reading a letter.”
I reach gaily into the envelope, but my fingers don’t quite pull out the bill. They remain clutched around it while my mind is seized — as it is every month — by my secret dream.
Do you want to know about my secret dream? It’s based on a story I once read in The Daily World about a mix-up at a bank. I loved this story so much, I cut it out and stuck it onto my wardrobe door. Two credit card bills were sent to the wrong people, and — get this — each person paid the wrong bill without realizing. They paid off each other’s bills without even checking them.
And ever since I read that story, my secret fantasy has been that the same thing will happen to me. I mean, I know it sounds unlikely — but if it happened once, it can happen again, can’t it? Some dotty old woman in Cornwall will be sent my humongous bill and will pay it without even looking at it. And I’ll be sent her bill for three tins of cat food at fifty-nine pence each. Which, naturally, I’ll pay without question. Fair’s fair, after all.
A smile is plastered over my face as I gaze out of the window. I’m convinced that this month it’ll happen — my secret dream is about to come true. But when I eventually pull the bill out of the envelope — goaded by Clare’s curious gaze — my smile falters, then disappears. Something hot is blocking my throat. I think it could be panic.
The page is black with type. A series of familiar names rushes past my eyes like a mini shopping mall. I try to take them in, but they’re moving too fast. Thorntons, I manage to glimpse. Thorntons Chocolates? What was I doing in Thorntons Chocolates? I’m supposed to be on a diet. This bill can’t be right. This can’t be me. I can’t possibly have spent all this money.
Don’t panic! I yell internally. The key is not to panic. Just read each entry slowly, one by one. I take a deep breath and force myself to focus calmly, starting at the top. WH Smith (well, that’s OK. Everyone needs stationery.)Boots (everyone needs shampoo)Specsavers (essential)Oddbins (bottle of wine — essential)Our Price (Our Price? Oh yes. The new Charlatans album. Well, I had to have that, didn’t I?)Bella Pasta (supper with Caitlin)Oddbins (bottle of wine — essential)Esso (petrol doesn’t count)Quaglinos (expensive — but it was a one- off)Pret a Manger (that time I ran out of cash)Oddbins (bottle of wine — essential)Rugs to Riches (what? Oh yes. Stupid rug.)La Senza (sexy underwear for date with James)Agent Provocateur (even sexier underwear for date with James. Like I needed it.)Body Shop (that skin brusher thing which I must use)Next (fairly boring white shirt — but it was in the sale)Millets. .
I stop in my tracks. Millets? I never go into Millets. What would I be doing in Millets? I stare at the statement in puzzlement, wrinkling my brow and trying to think — and then suddenly, the truth dawns on me. It’s obvious. Someone else has been using my card.
Oh my God. I, Rebecca Bloomwood, have been the victim of a crime.
