Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 132

Luke takes another slug of beer and finally meets my eyes. “Becky, life is tricky enough without us having secrets from each other,” he says. “We should be on the same side.”

“I am on your side!” I say fervently. “Of course I am. I just wasn’t thinking. I’ve been trying to be independent … trying to get my career going.…”

“I get that.” He sighs. “And I don’t mean we can’t be our own people. If you have to spend time out here for your career, then that’s what you have to do, and we’ll make it work.” He gives me a strained smile. “I can’t pretend I look forward to life without you—but if it’s really your dream, I’m not going to stand in your way.” He hesitates, spinning the beer bottle round in his fingers, then plants it firmly on the table. “But we have to be honest with each other. We have to, Becky. Honesty is the foundation of everything.”

“I know,” I gulp. “I know it is.”

Oh God, should I quickly tell him about Elinor coming here tonight? Explain everything? Give him my reasons, tell the whole story, try to make him understand …

But it’s too late. As I’m drawing breath, the doorbell rings shrilly, and I feel a clutch of nerves at my stomach. She’s here. Help. She’s here.

“I’ll go,” I say breathlessly, and make for the door before Luke can move. “Jeff, I’ll go!” I call as I hear his heavy tread coming from the TV room. “I know who it is!”

I gave Elinor the code for the gate earlier and told Mitchell to put Echo away for the night.

My heart is hammering as I swing open the front door. And there she is. My mother-in-law. The first thing I see is the nervous look in her eye. The second thing I see is the dress. She’s in a dress. A wrap dress. Elinor Sherman is wearing a wrap dress?

I blink in astonishment. I’ve never seen Elinor in anything other than a suit, or perhaps a very structured evening gown. Where did she even get this? She must have gone out to buy it specially.

It’s not the greatest fit. She’s so skinny, it swathes her body a little too loosely. And I wouldn’t have chosen that brown and cream print for her. But the point is, she’s in it. She made the effort. It’s as if she’s taken off her armor.

Her hair is different too. I can’t quite work out how, because Elinor’s hair has always been a mystery to me. It’s not so much hair as a helmet. (Sometimes I even wonder if it’s a wig.) But tonight it’s looser in some way. Softer.

“You look great!” I whisper, and squeeze her bony hand. “Well done! OK. Ready?”

As we walk toward the kitchen, I feel sick with apprehension, but I force myself to keep going. I can do this. I need to do this. We can’t go the rest of our lives with Elinor an outcast.

And we’re in. I retrieve the heavy key from the drawer where I’ve been keeping them all safe from Minnie, and hastily lock the door. Then I turn to face Luke, breathing hard.

I don’t know what I was expecting.… I don’t know what I was hoping.…

OK, I do know what I was hoping. I was secretly hoping that Luke would look up, and his face would turn from shock to rueful understanding to wise acceptance, and he’d say something simple like, Mother. It’s time for peace. I see that now. And we wouldn’t need the intervention at all.

But that’s not what happens. He stares at Elinor in shock, but his expression doesn’t change. Or if it does, it gets worse. As he turns to me, shock veers to icy fury. For the first time ever, his expression actually scares me.

“You’re joking,” he says, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not joking,” I say, my voice trembling.

Luke gazes at me a moment more, then strides to the kitchen door, without even glancing at Elinor.

“I’ve locked it,” I call after him. “This is an intervention!”

“A what?” He wheels round, his hand on the door handle.

“An intervention. We have a problem and we need to fix it and we’re not leaving this room till we do,” I say more bravely than I feel.

For a while no one moves. Luke has fixed his eyes on mine, and it’s as though we’re having a private, silent conversation. It’s as though I can hear his words: You didn’t. You didn’t.

And I’m replying: I did. I so did.

At last, Luke swings round to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. He pours a glass and hands it to Elinor, saying abruptly, “What do you want?”

My heart sinks. He sounds like a sulky toddler.