Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 130

Yes! That’s very good. Win-win is exactly what we need. In fact, I’m not sure why anyone would ever choose anything except win-win. I mean, why would you opt for lose-lose?

I read the paragraph, and the phrase that keeps popping out is common ground.

“We need to find common ground,” I say, looking up. “What common ground do you have with Luke?”

Apart from being totally stubborn, I don’t add.

Elinor looks at me silently. It’s as though she hasn’t understood the question.

“Charity work,” she says at last.

“OK …” I wrinkle my nose dubiously. “Anything else? Have you ever done anything fun together? You must have done! When he was in New York.”

When I first met Luke, he was really close to Elinor. Unhealthily close, actually, although I’d never say that. I mean, I don’t want him to go back to worshipping her, but can’t they recapture any of that relationship?

“Did you ever go on holiday together?” I ask with sudden inspiration. “Did you have any fun times then?”

I have an image of Elinor limbo-dancing at some Caribbean resort while Luke cheers her on, cocktail in hand, and force myself not to giggle.

“We stayed in the Hamptons,” she says after some thought. “My old friend Dirk Greggory had a beach cottage there. I took Luke on a number of occasions.”

“Great. So, you could reminisce about that … maybe plan another trip.…”

“If we did, it would have to be soon,” says Elinor with asperity. “Dirk passed away two years ago, and his daughter is selling the beach cottage. A mistake, in my opinion, as was the ghastly work she did to the porch—”

“Wait,” I cut her off, my head spinning. “Wait. So there’s a cottage in the Hamptons that you and Luke have happy memories of … and it’s about to be sold … and this is your last chance to go back there? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Brown bear, brown bear,” puts in Minnie, looking up from her milk. “What do you see?”

“I fail to understand.” Elinor’s brow creases as much as it can—i.e., hardly at all.

“What do you see, Mummy?” demands Minnie imperiously. “What do you seeeeee?”

It’s a good thing I know all her little books by heart.

“A red bird.” I turn back to Elinor. “This is perfect. You can say that’s why you’ve come to see Luke. He’s bound to listen.”

“Red bird, red bird, what do you see?”

“A blue horse.”

“No!” cries Minnie, crashing down her sippy cup. “Not blue horse! Yellow duck!”

“OK, yellow duck,” I say, hassled. “Whatever. Elinor, this is definitely the way to go! Try to remember all the great times you had together and mention them to Luke. Try to find that bond again.”

Elinor looks dubious, and I sigh. If only she’d present herself better. (By which I don’t mean having immaculate nails and matching shoes.)

“Could you wear something a little less formal tonight?” I suggest. “And maybe loosen your hair? And talk differently?”

Basically, have a personality transplant, is what I’m really saying.

“Talk differently?” Elinor seems affronted.

“Try repeating this after me.” I lean forward. “Luke, my love, if we can just spend some time together—” I break off at Elinor’s rigid expression. I can see she isn’t going to go for Luke, my love. “All right, let’s try it a different way. You could say, Luke, my angel …” Her face grows yet more rigid. “Luke, my sweetheart … my darling—” I break off again. “OK, what would you say?”

“Luke, my son,” says Elinor.

“You sound like Darth Vader,” I say bluntly. Elinor doesn’t even flinch.

“So be it,” she says, and sips her water.

That is totally a Darth Vader thing to say. Next she’ll be ordering the destruction of a thousand innocent Jedi younglings.

“Well, do your best.” I reach for my tea, feeling exhausted. “And I’ll do my best. That’s all we can do.”

To: Rebecca Brandon

From Mack Yeager

Subject: Darth Vader

Dear Rebecca,

Thanks for your email.

There are many theories regarding the inspiration for Darth Vader, as outlined in my book Whence Anakin?, available from all good bookshops.

Whether he was based on a “real live person,” as you suggest, and whether that person left “real live genes swirling around in the gene pool for anyone to come across,” I think doubtful.