Shopaholic Takes Manhattan Read Online Free PDF Page B

Suze.
    After I’ve paraded back and forth a few times, Suze gives a contented sigh, then reaches inside the big carrier for the Gifts and Goodies bag. “So—what did you get from here?” she says interestedly. The wooden letters spill out, and she begins to arrange them on the carpet.
    “P-E-T-E-R. You got a present for Peter!”
    “Erm . . . yes,” I say vaguely, grabbing for the Gifts and Goodies bag before she can spot her own frame in there. (She once caught me buying one in Fancy Free and got all cross, and said she would always make me one if I wanted it.) “Who’s Peter?”
    “My machinist!” says Suze. “But you’ve never met him!”
    “Well . . . you know. He sounds nice on the phone . . . anyway, I’d better go and get ready for tomorrow.”
    “Ooh, that reminds me,” says Suze, reaching for a piece of paper. “Luke rang for you!”
    “Really?” I say, trying to hide my delight. I always get a little thrill when Luke rings, because, to be honest, he doesn’t do it that much. I mean, he phones to arrange times of meeting and that kind of stuff—but he doesn’t often phone for a chat. Sometimes he sends me e-mails, but they’re not what you’d call chatty, more . . . Well, I don’t exactly want to give away our intimate secrets—but put it like this, the first time I got one, I was quite shocked! (But I sort of look forward to them now.)
    “He said he’ll pick you up from the studio tomorrow at twelve. And the Mercedes has had to go into the garage, so you’ll be going down in the MGF.”
    “Really?” I say. “That’s so cool!”
    “I know,” says Suze, beaming back at me. “Isn’t it great? Oh, and he also said can you pack light, because the boot isn’t very big.”
    I stare at her, my smile fading.
    “What did you say?”
    “Pack light,” repeats Suze. “You know: not much luggage, maybe one small bag or holdall . . .”
    “I know what ‘pack light’ means!” I say, my voice shrill with alarm. “But . . . I can’t!”
    “Of course you can!”
    “Suze, have you
seen
how much stuff I’ve got?” I say, going to my bedroom door and flinging it open. “I mean, just look at that.”
    Suze follows my gaze uncertainly, and we both stare at my bed. My big acid-green suitcase is full. Another pile of clothes is sitting beside it. And I haven’t even
got
to makeup and stuff yet.
    “I can’t do it, Suze,” I wail. “What am I going to do?”
    “Phone Luke and tell him?” suggests Suze, “and say he’ll have to hire a car with a bigger boot?”
    For a moment I’m silent. I try to imagine Luke’s face if I tell him he has to hire a bigger car to hold my clothes.
    “The thing is,” I say at last, “I’m not sure he’d
completely
understand . . .”
    The doorbell rings and Suze gets up.
    “That’ll be Special Express for my parcel,” she says. “Listen, Bex, it’ll be fine! Just . . . prune away a few things.” She goes to answer the door and I’m left staring at my jumbled bed.
    Prune away? But prune away what, exactly? I mean, it’s not as though I’ve packed a load of stuff I don’t need. If I just start removing things at random my whole system will collapse.
    Come on. Think laterally. There
must
be a solution.
    Maybe I could . . . secretly fix a trailer onto the car when Luke isn’t looking?
    Or maybe I could
wear
all my clothes, on top of each other, and say I’m feeling a bit chilly . . .
    Oh, this is hopeless. What am I going to do?
    Distractedly, I wander out of my room and into the hall, where Suze is handing a padded envelope to a man in uniform.
    “That’s great,” he says. “If you could just sign there . . . Hello!” he adds cheerfully to me, and I nod back, staring blankly at his badge, which reads:
Anything, anywhere, by tomorrow morning
.
    “Here’s your receipt,” says the man to Suze, and turns to leave. And he’s halfway out of the door, when the words suddenly start jumping about in my mind.
    Anything.
    Anywhere.
    By