‘Absolutely,’ chimes in Tarkie. ‘No harm done. If I could just …’ He gestures awkwardly at the tomato ketchup, which is dripping down the front of his Barbour.
‘Of course!’ I hastily take his Barbour from him. ‘Well dived, Tarkie,’ I can’t help adding admiringly. ‘You were really quick.’
‘Oh, it was nothing.’ He looks abashed. ‘Any decent chap would have done it.’
It just goes to show how devoted Tarquin is to Suze. He dived in front of her without a moment’s hesitation. It’s quite romantic, actually.
I wonder if Luke would take a hit of tomato ketchup for me. I might ask him later. Just casually.
‘Luke,’ says Tarquin a little diffidently as they shake hands. ‘Wondered if I could pick your brains about something?’
‘No problem.’ Luke looks a little surprised. ‘Shall we go in the sitting room?’
‘I’ll take the children into the kitchen and sort out this Barbour …’ Mum takes it from me.
‘And Bex, you can show me all the stuff you got at the sales!’ says Suze excitedly. ‘I mean … er … talk about the children,’ she amends hastily as I give her a surreptitious kick.
As we sprawl on my bed and I start unpacking all the stuff I bought on Boxing Day it feels just like old times, when Suze and I used to share a flat in Fulham.
‘This is what I’m wearing at the christening.’ I shake out my brand-new Russian-style dress.
‘Fantastic!’ says Suze, as she tries on my new leather jacket. ‘Even better than the picture.’
I texted Suze a few photos from the sales, and she gave me her opinion. And in return she sent me some photos of her and Tarkie grouse-beating, or pigeon-shooting, or whatever they were doing. Suze is so sweet and loyal, just like the Queen, she never once complains. But honestly, where would you rather be? On some freezing-cold moor, or in Selfridges with 70 per cent off?
‘And … ta-daah!’
I pull out my prize purchase. My Ally Smith limited-edition cardigan with the famous signature button.
‘Oh my God!’ squeaks Suze. ‘Where did you get that? Was it on sale?’
‘Sixty per cent off! Only a hundred and ten pounds.’
‘Look at the button.’ Suze reaches out and strokes it lustfully.
‘Isn’t it great?’ I beam back happily. ‘I’m going to wear it so much, it’ll easily pay for itself …’
The door opens and Luke comes in.
‘Oh, hi.’ Instinctively, before I quite realize I’m doing it, I push one of my sale bags under the bed.
It’s not that he disapproves, exactly. I mean, it’s my money, I earned it, I can do what I like with it. It’s just that when Mum and I were up at 7 a.m. on Boxing Day, ready to hit the sales, Luke just looked at us in bafflement, then looked at all the presents still under the tree, and then said, ‘Didn’t you get enough stuff yesterday?’
Which just shows how little he understands about anything. Christmas presents and the sales are totally different. They’re like … different food groups.
‘Bex got the most amazing bargains at the sales,’ says Suze supportively. ‘Don’t you love her new cardigan?’
Luke looks at the cardigan. He turns and studies me for a moment – then the cardigan again. Then he frowns as though something is puzzling him.
‘How much was it?’
‘A hundred and ten,’ I say defensively. ‘Sixty per cent off. It’s designer, limited edition.’
‘So … you’ve just spent a hundred and ten pounds on a cardigan which is exactly the same as the one you’re wearing.’
‘What?’ I glance down at myself in bemusement. ‘Of course I haven’t. It’s nothing like.’
‘It’s identical!’
‘No it isn’t! How can you say that?’
There’s a short pause. We’re both staring at each other as though to say ‘Have I married a lunatic?’
‘They’re both pale cream.’ Luke ticks off on his fingers. ‘They both have one large button. They’re both cardigans. Identical.’
Is he blind?
‘But the button’s in a different place,’ I explain. ‘It changes the whole shape. And this one has flared sleeves. They’re nothing like each other, are they, Suze?’
‘Completely different.’ Suze nods fervently.
It’s obvious from his expression that Luke doesn’t get it. Sometimes I wonder how someone so unobservant can be so successful in life.
‘And this button’s red,’ adds Suze helpfully.
