Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 40

“Digna-dive,” she enunciates carefully, and Luke and I both laugh, whereupon she says it again, beaming back at us. “Digna-dive. Digna-dive!”

“That’s it,” says Luke. “Digna-dive. I have to go.” He rises to his feet, swiping his Asprey cuff links off the teddy bear as he does so. I take a pretend swig of my tea, wishing it were a real cocktail, and that Luke could take the day off, and that Alicia lived in Timbuktu. “Sweetheart, don’t fret,” says Luke, as though reading my thoughts. “You’ll be fine. Chin up, eyes flinty.”

I can’t help giggling, as that’s exactly how he looks when he’s angry with someone but isn’t about to make a scene.

“Thanks.” I put an arm round him and kiss him. “You’re the most digna-dive person I know.”

Luke clicks his heels and bows like an Austrian prince, and I laugh again. I truly do have the best husband in the world. And I’m not biased at all.

As I arrive at Little Leaf, I’m resolved. Luke has inspired me. I’m going to be totally serene and not let Alicia get to me. Minnie prances off straightaway to play with her friends, and I head for the parents’ lounge, which is where Alicia is apparently giving her talk. I can hear a vacuum cleaner operating inside, so I assume the room isn’t ready yet and lean against the wall to wait. A few moments later I hear footsteps, and Alicia appears round the corner, immaculately dressed as ever in yoga wear and holding what looks like a brand-new Hermès bag.

OK, here I go. Chin up. Eyes flinty. Stay calm.

“Hello,” I say, trying to sound detached yet engaged, yet unflustered, while maintaining the moral high ground. All in two syllables.

“Becky.” Alicia gives a nod and leans against the wall directly opposite me. I feel as though we’re in some weird game of chess, only I don’t know what the next move is.

Anyway. It’s not chess, I tell myself. This isn’t a battle. I’m not even going to think about Alicia. I’m going to … check my phone. Yes. As I start to read through a bunch of messages I’ve read before, I see that Alicia is doing the same thing, opposite. Only she keeps laughing softly and shaking her head and exclaiming, “You’re kidding! Oh, hilarious,” as though to demonstrate what an entertaining life she leads.

I’m furiously telling myself not to notice her, not to think about her—but I can’t help it. Our mutual past keeps flashing through my head like a film. All the times she’s undermined me, all her scheming, all her bitchiness …

My chest is starting to rise and fall in indignation, my fingers are clenching, my jaw is tightening. After a few moments, Alicia clearly notices, because she puts down her phone and surveys me as though I’m an interesting curiosity.

“Rebecca,” she says, in that new-agey, softly-softly way she has that makes me want to slap her. “I know you’re hostile toward me.”

She pronounces it “hostel” now. Of course she does.

“Hostile?” I stare at her incredulously. “Of course I’m hostile!”

Alicia says nothing but just sighs, as though to say, How sad that you feel this way, but I have no idea why.

“Alicia,” I say evenly. “Do you actually remember the way you’ve behaved toward me over the years? Or have you blanked it all out?”

“Let me tell you a little about my journey,” says Alicia seriously. “When I met Wilton, I was in a very unhappy place. I believed I was deficient in every possible way. He helped me to self-actualize.”

Argh. Self-actualize. What does that mean, even? Self-obsess, more like.

“The old Alicia was in a very toxic cycle.” She looks wistful.

“The old Alicia was still a child in many ways.” She’s talking as though “the old Alicia” has nothing to do with her.

“That was you,” I remind her.

“I know our relationship in the past was maybe …” She pauses as though to select the right word. “Unbalanced. But now that I’ve righted the scales, we should move on, no?”

“Righted the scales?” I stare at her. “What scales?”

“Why else did I recommend your daughter to Little Leaf?” she says, looking supremely pleased with herself.

The pieces suddenly fall into place in my head.

“You recommended Minnie … what, to make amends?”

Alicia simply bows her head with a faint smile, as though she’s Mother Teresa giving me benediction.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

Welcome? I’m prickling all over in horror. I feel like striding into the toddler playground, plucking out Minnie, and leaving Little Leaf forever. Except that would be unfair to Minnie.