“Hi, Bex!” I jump as Suze comes sauntering into the kitchen. Her expression changes as she sees me. “Bex…are you OK?”
“I’m…fine!” I put on a hasty smile. “Just taking some time out.”
“We’re going to play games next!” Suze opens the fridge and gets out a carton of orange juice. “Guess the baby food…hunt the nappy pin…celebrities’ babies names…”
I can’t believe the trouble she’s gone to, organizing all this.
“Suze…thanks so much,” I say. “It’s all amazing. And my photo frame!”
“It came out well, didn’t it?” Suze looks pleased. “You know, it really inspired me. I’m thinking of starting the frame business again.”
“You should!” I say with enthusiasm. Suze used to make brilliant photo frames till she had the children. They were stocked in Liberty’s and everything!
“I mean, the children are getting older now,” Suze is saying. “And if Lulu can write cookery books, why can’t I make frames? It won’t kill the kids if I work a few hours a day, will it? I’ll still be a good mother.”
I can see the anxiety in her eyes. I totally blame that cow Lulu. Suze never worried about being a good mother till she met her.
OK. Payback time.
“Suze…I’ve got something for you,” I say, reaching into the kitchen drawer. “But you can’t show Lulu, ever. Or tell her. Or tell anybody.”
“I won’t!” Suze looks intrigued. “What is it?”
“Here.”
I hand Suze the long-lens photograph — the only thing I saved from the original folder. It’s of Lulu in the street with her children. She looks pretty frazzled — in fact, she seems to be yelling at one of them. In her hands are four Mars Bars, which she’s doling out. She’s holding a couple of cans of Coke too, and under her arm is a jumbo packet of chips.
“No.” Suze appears almost too staggered to speak. “No. Are those—”
“Mars Bars.” I nod. “And Cheesy Wotsits.”
“And Coke!” Suze gives a gurgle of laughter and claps a hand over her mouth. “Bex, that has made my day. How on earth…”
“Don’t ask.” I can’t help giggling too.
“What a hypocritical…cow!” Suze is still peering at the picture in disbelief. “You know, she really got to me. I used to feel so inferior.”
“I think you should go on her TV show after all,” I say. “You could take that photo with you. Show the producer.”
“Bex!” Suze giggles. “You’re evil! I’m just going to keep it in a drawer and look at it when I need cheering up.”
The phone suddenly shrills through the kitchen and my smile tightens. What if this is the press again? What if it’s Luke with more news?
“Hey, Suze,” I say casually. “Why don’t you go and make sure everyone’s OK? I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Sure.” Suze nods, and picks up her juice, her eyes still fixed on the photo. “I’ll just put this somewhere safe….”
I wait until she’s gone and the door is firmly closed, then steel myself and pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Becky.” The familiar drifty voice comes down the line. “It’s Fabia.”
“Fabia!” I subside in relief. “How are you? Thanks so much for letting us use the house the other day. The Vogue people thought it was amazing! Did you get my flowers?”
“Oh, wonderful,” Fabia says vaguely. “Yeah, we got the flowers. Listen, Becky, we’ve just heard you can’t pay cash for the house.”
Luke must have called the agent and told him. News travels fast. “That’s right.” I nod, trying to stay upbeat. “There’s been a slight change in our circumstances, but it should only delay us by a couple of weeks….”
“Yeah…” Fabia sounds distracted. “The thing is, we’ve decided to exchange with the other buyers.”
For a moment I think I’ve hallucinated. “Other buyers?”
“Did we not mention the other buyers? The Americans. They made the same offer as you. Before you, in fact, so strictly speaking…” She trails off.
“But…but you took our offer! You said the house was ours.”
“Yeah, well. The other buyers can move faster, so…”
I’m light-headed with shock. We’ve been screwed.
“Were you just stringing us along the whole time?” I’m trying to keep control of myself.
“It wasn’t my idea.” Fabia sounds regretful. “It was my husband. He likes to have a fallback position. Anyway, good luck with the house hunt….”
No. She can’t really be doing this. She can’t be leaving us in the lurch.
“Fabia, listen.” I wipe my clammy face. “Please. We’re having a baby any day. We don’t have anywhere to go. Our flat is sold—”
“Mmm…yeah. I hope it all goes well. Bye, Becky….”
“But what about the Archie Swann boots?” I’m almost crying in anger. “We did a deal! You owe me a boot!” I realize I’m talking into silence. She’s rung off. She doesn’t care.
I switch the phone off. Slowly I walk over to the fridge and lean my head against the cool steel, feeling dizzy. We don’t have our dream house anymore. We don’t have any house anymore.