Fourteen
I WAKE UP the next morning with a splitting headache, which could have something to do with the fact that I polished off an entire bottle of champagne myself last night, plus one and a half trays of chocolates. Meanwhile, Jess, Luke, and Gary spent hours around the computer. Even when I took them in some pizza, they barely looked up. So I just watched the whole of Pretty Woman and then half of Four Weddings and a Funeral, before going to bed on my own.
As I blearily put on a dressing gown, Luke is already showered and dressed in the “casual weekend” clothes he wears when he’s actually going to spend the whole time in the office.
“What time did you finish last night?” I ask, my throat all hoarse and croaky.
“Not till late.” Luke shakes his head. “Once we started discussing it, we couldn’t stop. Jess had a lot of ideas.”
“Right!” I try to sound enthusiastic.
“You know, I take it back about her,” he adds, tying up his shoelaces. “Your sister’s got a lot going for her. She couldn’t have been more helpful last night. She certainly knows her way around a computer!”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. She’s great!” He stands up and gives me a kiss. “You were right. I’m very glad you invited her for the weekend.”
“Me too!” I say, forcing a bright smile. “We’re all having so much fun!”
I shuffle into the kitchen, where Jess is sitting at the counter in her jeans and a T-shirt, with a glass of water.
Cleverclogs. I expect she’ll split the atom this morning. In between sit-ups.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning!” I say in my most pleasant, good-hostess manner.
I was rereading The Gracious Hostess last night, and it says that even if your guest is annoying you, you must behave with charm and decorum.
Well, fine. I can be charming. I can be decorative.
“Did you sleep well? Let me get you some breakfast!”
I open the fridge and get out the freshly squeezed orange, grapefruit, and cranberry juices. I reach into the bread bin and pull out some seeded granary bread, croissants, and muffins. Then I start rooting around in the cupboards for jams. Three kinds of luxury marmalade, strawberry jam with champagne, wild blossom honey… and Belgian chocolate spread. Finally I get down a range of luxury coffees and teas to choose from. There. No one’s going to say I don’t give my guests a good breakfast.
I’m aware of Jess watching my every move, and as I turn round she’s got a strange expression on her face.
“What?” I say. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says awkwardly. She folds her napkin into little squares. “Luke told me last night. About your… problem.”
“My what?”
“Your spending.”
I try to hide my dismay. He did, did he?
“I don’t have a problem,” I say, flashing her a smile. “He was exaggerating.”
“He said you’re on a budget.” Jess looks concerned. “It sounds like money’s a bit tight at the moment.”
“That’s right,” I say pleasantly. Not that it’s any of your business, I think. I can’t believe Luke’s been blabbing everything to her.
“So… how come you can afford luxury coffee and strawberry jam with champagne?” She gestures at all the food laid out on the counter.
“Thrifty management,” I say smoothly. “Prioritizing. If you save on some items you can splash out on others. That’s the first rule of financial management. As I learned at financial journalism school,” I add.
OK, that’s a slight lie. I didn’t go to financial journalism school.
“So — which items are you saving on?” says Jess, her brow creased. “I can’t see anything in this kitchen that doesn’t come from Fortnum’s or Harrods.”
I’m about to make an indignant rejoinder when I realize she might be right. I got into a bit of a Harrods Food Hall habit after I started making all this money off eBay. But then, Harrods is a perfectly legitimate food shop.
“My husband appreciates a good standard of living,” I say crisply, opening a fresh jar of marmalade.
“But you could do it on less.” Jess leans forward, looking animated. “You could make savings everywhere! I could give you some tips.”
Tips? Tips from Jess?
Suddenly the oven timer goes off with a ping. It’s time!
“Are you cooking something?” says Jess, looking puzzled.
“Er… not exactly. Just help yourself… I’ll be back in a minute… ”
I hurry into the study and switch on the computer. Bidding on the orange vintage coat ends in five minutes, and I am bloody well going to get it. I tap my fingernails impatiently, and as soon as the screen clears I bring up the saved eBay page.
I knew it. Kittybee111 has bid again—?200.
She thinks she’s so clever. Well, take this, kittybee111.
I get out Luke’s stopwatch from the desk and set it for three minutes. As the time gets near I poise my hands over the keyboard like an athlete on the starting blocks.
OK. One minute before the bidding ends. Go.
As quickly as I can, I type in *@00.50.
Shit. What have I typed? Delete… retype… ?200.50.
I jab SEND and the next screen comes up. User ID… password… I’m typing as fast as I can.
You are the current high bidder.
Ten seconds to go. My heart is thumping. What if someone else is bidding right now?
Frantically I click on REFRESH.
“What are you doing, Becky?” comes Jess’s voice at the door. Shit.
“Nothing!” I say. “Why don’t you make yourself some nice toast, while I just—”
The page is coming back up again. Did I… did I…
Congratulations! You won the item!
“Yeeess!” I cry out, unable to stop myself, and punch the air. “Yes! I got it!”
“Got what?” Jess has advanced across the room and is peering over my shoulder at the screen. “Is that you? You’re on a tight budget and you’re buying a coat for two hundred pounds?”
“It’s not like that!” I say, rattled at her disapproving expression. I get up, close the door of the study, and turn to face her.
“Look,” I say, keeping my voice lowered. “It’s OK. I’ve got all this money which Luke doesn’t know about. I’ve been selling off all the stuff we bought on our honeymoon — and I’ve made loads! I sold ten Tiffany clocks the other day and made two thousand quid!” I lift my chin proudly. “So I can easily afford this.”
Jess’s expression doesn’t waver.
“You could have put that money into a high-interest savings account,” she says. “Or used it to clear an outstanding bill.”
I quell a sudden urge to snap.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” I say, forcing a pleasant tone. “I bought a coat.”
“And Luke has no idea?” Jess fixes me with an accusing gaze.
“He doesn’t need to have any idea! Jess, my husband is a very busy man.”
“So you lie to him.”
