Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4) 29

I collapse back down, my head pounding.

“I’ll get you a painkiller,” Jess says distractedly — but she doesn’t move. She’s just standing there, lost in her own thoughts.

I can see I’ve got to her.

“You came up a mountain in a storm just to tell me this?” Jess says at last.

“Yes! Of course!”

She turns her head to look at me. Her face is paler than ever and kind of wary, as though someone’s trying to trick her.

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because… because it’s important! It matters to me!”

“No one’s ever done anything like that for me before,” she says, and immediately looks away, fiddling in the tin again. “Those cuts need antiseptic on them.”

She starts dabbing my legs with a cotton-wool pad, and I try not to flinch as the antiseptic stings my raw flesh.

“So… do you believe me?” I say. “Do you believe we’re sisters?”

For a few moments Jess just focuses on her feet, which are encased in thick socks and brown hiking boots. She raises her head and surveys my turquoise diamanté kitten heels, all scraped and covered in mud. My Marc Jacobs skirt. My ruined glittery T-shirt. Then she lifts her eyes to my bruised, battered face, and we just look at each other.

“Yes,” she says at last. “I believe you.”

Three extra-strong painkillers later, and I’m really feeling quite a lot better. In fact, I can’t stop gabbling.

“I knew we were sisters,” I’m saying, as Jess puts a plaster on my gashed knee. “I knew it! I think I’m a bit psychic, actually. I felt your presence on the mountain.”

“Mmm,” says Jess, rolling her eyes.

“And the other thing is, I’m getting quite similar to you. Like I was thinking I might crop my hair short. It would really suit me. And I’ve started taking a real interest in rocks—”

“Becky,” interrupts Jess. “We don’t have to be the same.”

“What?” I look at her uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe we’re sisters.” She sits back on her heels. “But that doesn’t mean we both have to have cropped hair. Or like rocks.” She reaches for another plaster and rips it open.

“Or potatoes,” I add before I can stop myself.

“Or potatoes,” agrees Jess. She pauses. “Or… overpriced designer lipsticks that go out of fashion in three weeks.”

There’s a little glint in her eyes as she looks at me, and I gape in astonishment. Jess is teasing me?

“I suppose you’re right,” I say, trying to stay nonchalant. “Just because we’re biologically related, it doesn’t mean we both have to like boring workouts with water bottles instead of cool weights.”

“Exactly. Or… mindless magazines full of ridiculous ads.”

“Or drinking coffee out of a horrible old flask.”

Jess’s mouth is twitching.

“Or stupid rip-off cappuccinos.”

There’s a clap of thunder, and we both jump in fright. Rain is beating on the tent like drumsticks. Jess puts a final plaster on my legs and shuts the little tin.

“I don’t suppose you brought anything to eat?” she says.

“Er… no.”

“I’ve got some, but it isn’t much.” Her brow wrinkles. “Not if we’re stuck here for hours. We won’t be able to move, even when the storm’s died down.”

“Can’t you forage on the mountainside for roots and berries?” I say hopefully.

Jess gives me a look.

“Becky, I’m not Tarzan.” She hunches her shoulders and wraps her arms round her legs. “We’ll just have to sit it out.”

“So… you don’t take a mobile when you go climbing?” I venture.

“I don’t have one. I don’t usually need one.”

“I suppose you don’t usually have a stupid injured sister with you.”

“Not normally, no.” She shifts on the groundsheet and reaches behind her. “I picked up some of your stuff, by the way. It got scattered when you fell.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking the handful of things from her. A mini hairspray. My manicure set. A compact.

“I couldn’t find your bag, I’m afraid,” adds Jess. “God knows where it went.”

My heart stops.

My Angel bag.

My two-thousand-euro movie-star bag. The bag that everyone in the world is clamoring for. After all that, it’s gone. Lost on a mountain in the middle of nowhere.