jacket. And I have.” I beam triumphantly. “So I’m stopping.”
“But…but…” Mike seems almost speechless. “You can’t stop! You’re on a winning streak .”
“But I might not win anymore,” I point out. “I might lose.”
“You won’t lose! She’s winning, right?” He looks around at his friends for support.
“Becky for the win!” chimes in one of them.
“But I might start losing, ” I explain carefully. “And then I won’t be able to afford the jacket.”
Don’t they understand anything?
“Becky, don’t go.” Mike drunkenly puts an arm round my shoulders. “We’re having a blast, aren’t we?”
“Oh, it’s been fab,” I say at once. “You’ve been great company. And I do enjoy gambling, kind of…but I’ll enjoy buying Luke this jacket more . Sorry,” I add politely to the croupier. “I don’t mean to be rude. You’ve got a lovely roulette table.” I hear Luke give a sudden snort of laughter. “What?” I demand. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing, my love,” he says, picking up my hand and kissing it. “Except I wouldn’t worry about your descent into gambling-addiction hell just yet.”
—
The jacket looks amazing on Luke. I knew it would. It’s very close cut and slimming and brings out the chocolaty highlights in his hair. I can see all the assistants watching in admiration as he comes out of the changing room and looks at himself in the big mirror. I’m only sorry Danny isn’t here to admire him too, but he’s still gambling with the stag night guys.
“Perfect!” I say. “I knew it would suit you!”
“Well, thank you,” Luke says, beaming at his reflection. “I’m very touched.”
I take out my winnings and carefully count out the cash, as an assistant packages up the jacket in a lovely square box.
“And now,” says Luke, as we head out of the shop, “let me reciprocate, in the tiniest way. I meant to give you this earlier.” He hands me a printed-out email. “One of the teams in the London office is advising Mac, so they’ve offered all the staff a ninety percent discount voucher. For one glorious moment I thought she meant Apple Mac….” He gives a comical sigh. “But of course it’s makeup. So you can have mine.”
“Right. Thanks.” I skim the offer. “Wow. Ninety percent!”
“Where would they stock it?” He looks around. “Barneys? Shall we head there?”
“Actually…don’t worry,” I say after a pause. “Let’s not bother. It’ll be really boring for you.”
“You don’t want to go?” Luke seems surprised.
I’m studying the document, trying to work out my own reaction. The thought of choosing makeup for myself—even if it’s reduced—is giving me this weird, twisting feeling in my stomach.
Oh God, I don’t know what’s going on with me right now. I loved buying that jacket for Luke. And I loved buying the little jigsaw for Minnie. But somehow I can’t go and buy makeup for myself. It’s not…I feel so strange…I don’t…
I don’t deserve it. The miserable thought flashes through my head, making me wince.
“No, thanks.” I force a cheery smile. “Let’s go up and relieve Mum and Janice from babysitting duty.”
“You don’t want to walk around anymore? Look at the lights?”
“No, thanks.”
All my elation from earlier has melted away. The moment that Luke suggested treating me, it’s as though a voice popped up inside my head to berate me. But it’s not the nice, even-tempered, Golden Peace voice telling me to “buy with meaning” and “do everything in moderation.” It’s a harsher voice, telling me I don’t deserve anything at all.
We walk together away from the Shoppes, toward the elevators, letting the clamor of people and music wash over us. Luke keeps darting me thoughtful little glances, and at last he says, “Becky, sweetheart, I think you need your mojo back.”
“What mojo?” I say defensively. “I haven’t lost any mojo.”
“I think you have. What’s
“But…but…” Mike seems almost speechless. “You can’t stop! You’re on a winning streak .”
“But I might not win anymore,” I point out. “I might lose.”
“You won’t lose! She’s winning, right?” He looks around at his friends for support.
“Becky for the win!” chimes in one of them.
“But I might start losing, ” I explain carefully. “And then I won’t be able to afford the jacket.”
Don’t they understand anything?
“Becky, don’t go.” Mike drunkenly puts an arm round my shoulders. “We’re having a blast, aren’t we?”
“Oh, it’s been fab,” I say at once. “You’ve been great company. And I do enjoy gambling, kind of…but I’ll enjoy buying Luke this jacket more . Sorry,” I add politely to the croupier. “I don’t mean to be rude. You’ve got a lovely roulette table.” I hear Luke give a sudden snort of laughter. “What?” I demand. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing, my love,” he says, picking up my hand and kissing it. “Except I wouldn’t worry about your descent into gambling-addiction hell just yet.”
—
The jacket looks amazing on Luke. I knew it would. It’s very close cut and slimming and brings out the chocolaty highlights in his hair. I can see all the assistants watching in admiration as he comes out of the changing room and looks at himself in the big mirror. I’m only sorry Danny isn’t here to admire him too, but he’s still gambling with the stag night guys.
“Perfect!” I say. “I knew it would suit you!”
“Well, thank you,” Luke says, beaming at his reflection. “I’m very touched.”
I take out my winnings and carefully count out the cash, as an assistant packages up the jacket in a lovely square box.
“And now,” says Luke, as we head out of the shop, “let me reciprocate, in the tiniest way. I meant to give you this earlier.” He hands me a printed-out email. “One of the teams in the London office is advising Mac, so they’ve offered all the staff a ninety percent discount voucher. For one glorious moment I thought she meant Apple Mac….” He gives a comical sigh. “But of course it’s makeup. So you can have mine.”
“Right. Thanks.” I skim the offer. “Wow. Ninety percent!”
“Where would they stock it?” He looks around. “Barneys? Shall we head there?”
“Actually…don’t worry,” I say after a pause. “Let’s not bother. It’ll be really boring for you.”
“You don’t want to go?” Luke seems surprised.
I’m studying the document, trying to work out my own reaction. The thought of choosing makeup for myself—even if it’s reduced—is giving me this weird, twisting feeling in my stomach.
Oh God, I don’t know what’s going on with me right now. I loved buying that jacket for Luke. And I loved buying the little jigsaw for Minnie. But somehow I can’t go and buy makeup for myself. It’s not…I feel so strange…I don’t…
I don’t deserve it. The miserable thought flashes through my head, making me wince.
“No, thanks.” I force a cheery smile. “Let’s go up and relieve Mum and Janice from babysitting duty.”
“You don’t want to walk around anymore? Look at the lights?”
“No, thanks.”
All my elation from earlier has melted away. The moment that Luke suggested treating me, it’s as though a voice popped up inside my head to berate me. But it’s not the nice, even-tempered, Golden Peace voice telling me to “buy with meaning” and “do everything in moderation.” It’s a harsher voice, telling me I don’t deserve anything at all.
We walk together away from the Shoppes, toward the elevators, letting the clamor of people and music wash over us. Luke keeps darting me thoughtful little glances, and at last he says, “Becky, sweetheart, I think you need your mojo back.”
“What mojo?” I say defensively. “I haven’t lost any mojo.”
“I think you have. What’s
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