The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic Read online

  In fact, this morning has been a great success. As I emerge from the exit of the museum, I feel incredibly content and uplifted. It just shows the effect that a morning of pure culture has on the soul. From now on, I decide, I'm going to spend every Saturday morning at a museum.

  When I get back home, the second post is on the doormat and there's a square envelope addressed to me in writing I don't recognize. I rip it open as I lug my carrier bags to my room – and then stop in surprise. It's a card from Luke Brandon. How did he get my home address?

  Dear Rebecca, it says, It was good to bump into you the other night, and I do hope you had an enjoyable evening. I now realize that I never thanked you for the prompt repayment of my loan. Much appreciated.

  With all best wishes – and, of course, deepest sympathy on the loss of your Aunt Ermitrude. (If it's any consolation, I can't imagine that scarf could suit anyone better than you.)

  Luke

  For a while I stare at it silently. I'm quite taken aback. Gosh, I think cautiously. It's nice of him to write, isn't it? A nice handwritten card like this, just to thank me for my card. I mean he didn't have to; he's not just being polite, is he? You don't have to send a thank-you card to someone just because they repaid your twenty quid.

  Or do you? Maybe, these days, you do. Everyone seems to send cards for everything. I haven't got a clue what's done and what's not any more. (I knew I should have read that etiquette book I got in my stocking.) Is this card just a polite thank-you? Or is it something else? And if so… what?

  Is he taking the piss?

  Oh God, that's it. He knows Aunt Ermintrude doesn't exist. He's just pulling my leg to embarrass me.

  But then… would he go to all the trouble of buying a card, writing in it and sending it, just to pull my leg?

  Oh, I don't know. Who cares? I don't even like him, anyway.

  Having been so ultured all morning, I deserve a bit of a treat in the afternoon, so I buy myself Vogue and a bag of Minstrels, and lie on the sofa for a bit. God, I've missed little treats like this. I haven't read a magazine for… well, it must be a week, except Suze's copy of Harpers and Queen yesterday. And I can't remember the blast time I tasted chocolate.

  Oh, I don't know. Who cares? I don't even like him, anyway. Having been so ultured all morning, I deserve a bit of a treat in the afternoon, so I buy myself Vogue and a bag of Minstrels, and lie on the sofa for a bit. God, I've missed little treats like this. I haven't read a magazine for… well, it must be a week, except Suze's copy of Harpers and Queen yesterday. And I can't remember the blast time I tasted chocolate.

  But I can't spend too long enjoying myself, because I've got to go out and buy the stuff for our homemade curry. So after I've read my horoscope, I close Vogue and get out my new Indian recipe book. I'm quite excited, actually. I've never made curry before.

  I've gone off the Tiger prawn recipe because it turns out Tiger prawns are very expensive. So what I'm going to make instead is chicken and mushroom balti. It all looks very cheap and easy, and I just need to write out my shopping list.

  When I've finished I'm a bit taken aback. The list is quite a lot longer than I'd thought it would be. I hadn't realized you needed so many spices just to make one curry. I've just looked in the kitchen, and we don't have a balti pan, or a grinder for grinding spices, or a blender for making the aromatic paste. Or a wooden spoon or any scales that work.

  Still, never mind. What I'll do is quickly go to Peter Jones and buy all the equipment we need for the kitchen, and then I'll get the food and come back and start cooking. The thing to remember is, we only have to buy all this stuff once – and then we're fully equipped to make delicious curries every night. I'll just have to think of it as an investment.

  By the time Suze arrives back from Camden Market that evening, I am dressed in my new stripy apron, grinding up roasted spices in our new grinder.

  'Phew!' she says, coming into the kitchen. 'What a stink!'

  'It's aromatic spices,' I say a bit crossly, and take a swig of wine. To be honest, this is all a bit more difficult than I'd thought. I'm trying to make something called balti masala mix, which we will be able to keep in a jar and use for months, but all the spices seem to be disappearing into the grinder and refusing to come back out. Where are they going?

  'I'm absolutely starving,' says Suze, pouring herself a glass of wine. 'Will it be ready soon?'

  'I don't know,' I say through clenched teeth, peering into the grinder. 'If I can just get these bloody spices out…'

  'Oh well,' says Suze. 'I might just make some toast.'

  She pops a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and then starts picking up all my little bags and pots of spices and looking at them.

  'What's all spice?' she says, holding up a pot curiously. 'Is it all the spices, mixed together?'

  'I don't know,' I say, banging the grinder on the counter. A tiny dusting of powder falls out and I stare at it angrily. What happened to a whole jarful that I could keep for months? Now I'll have to roast some more of the bloody things.

  'Because if it is, couldn't you just use that and forget all the others?'

  'No!' I say crossly. 'I'm making a fresh and distinct balti blend. OK?'

  'OK,' says Suze, shrugging. 'You're the expert.'

  Right, I think, taking another swig of wine. Start again. Coriander seeds, fennel seeds, cumin seeds, peppercorns… By this time, I've given up measuring, I'm just throwing everything in. They say cooking should be instinctive, anyway.

  'What's this?' says Suze, looking at Luke Brandon's card on the kitchen table. 'Luke Brandon? How come he sent you a card?'

  'Oh, you know,' I say, shrugging casually. 'He was just being polite.'

  'Polite?' Suze wrinkles her brow, turning the card over in her hands. 'No way. You don't have to send a card to someone just because they returned your twenty quid.'

  'Really?' My voice is slightly higher than usual – but that must be because of the roasting aromatic spices. 'I thought maybe that's what people did these days.'

  'Oh no,' says Suze assuredly. 'What happens is, the money's lent, it's returned with a thank-you letter, and that's the end of the matter. This card – ' she waves it at me 'this – is something extra.'

  This is why I love sharing a flat with Suze. She knows stuff like this, because she mixes in the right social circles. You know she once had dinner with the Duchess of Kent? Not that I'm boasting, or anything.

  'So what do you think it means?' I say, trying not to sound too tense.

  'I reckon he's being friendly,' she says, and puts the card back on the table.

  Friendly. Of course, that's it. He's being friendly.

  Which is a good thing, of course. So why do I feel ever so slightly disappointed? I stare at the card, which has a face by Picasso on the front. What does that mean?

  'Are those spices supposed to be going black, by the way?' says Suze, spreading peanut butter on her toast.

  'Oh God!' I whip the balti pan off the stove and look at the blackened coriander seeds. This is driving me crazy. OK, tip them away and start again. Coriander seeds, fennel seeds, cumin seeds, peppercorns, bay leaves. That's the last of the bay leaves. This one had better not go wrong.

  Somehow, miraculously it doesn't. Forty minutes later I actually have a curry bubbling away in my balti pan!

  This is fantastic! It smells wonderful, and it looks just like it does in the book – and I didn't even follow the recipe very carefully. It just shows, I have a natural affinity with Indian cookery. And the more I practise, the more accomplished I'll become. Like David E. Barton says, I'll be able to knock up a quick, delicious curry in the time it takes to call the delivery firm. And look how much money I've saved!

  Triumphantly, I drain my basmati rice, take my ready-made naan breads out of the oven, and serve everything out onto plates. Then I sprinkle chopped fresh coriander over everything – and honestly, it looks like something out of Marie-Claire. I carry the plates through and put one in
front of Suze.

  'Wow!' she says. 'This looks fantastic!'

  'I know,' I say proudly, sitting down opposite her. 'Isn't it great?'

  I watch as she takes her first forkful – then put a forkful into my own mouth.

  'Mmm! Delicious!' says Suze, chewing in relish.

  'Quite hot,' she adds, after a while.

  'It's got chilli powder in,' I say. 'And fresh chillies. But it's nice, though, isn't it?'

  'It's wonderful!' says Suze. 'Bex, you're so clever! I could never make this in, a million years!'

  But as she's chewing, a slightly strange expression is coming over her face. To be honest, I'm feeling a bit breathless, too. This curry is quite hot. In fact it's bloody hot.

  Suze has put down her plate and is taking a large slug of wine. She looks up, and I see her cheeks are red.

  'OK?' I say, forcing myself to smile through the pain in my mouth.

  'Yeah, great!' she says, and takes a huge bite of naan bread. I look down at my plate and resolutely take another forkful of curry. Immediately, my nose starts to run. Suze is sniffing too, I notice, but as I meet her eye she smiles brightly.

  Oh God, this is hot. My mouth can't stand it. My cheeks are burning, and my eyes are starting to water. How much chilli powder did I put in this bloody thing? Only about one teaspoonful… or maybe it was two. I just kind of trusted my instincts and chucked in what looked about right. Well – so much for my instincts.

  Tears start running down my face, and I give an enormous sniff.

  'Are you OK?' says Suze in alarm.

  'I'm fine!' I say, putting down my fork. 'Just… you know. A bit hot.'

  But actually, I'm not OK. And it's not just the heat that's making tears run down m face. Suddenly I feel like a complete failure. I can't even get a quick and easy curry right. And look how much money I spent on it, with the balti pan and the apron and all the spices… Oh, it's all gone wrong, hasn't it? I haven't Cut Back at all. This week's been a complete disaster.

  I give a huge sob, and put my plate on the floor.

  'It's horrible!' I say miserably, and tears begin to stream down my face. 'Don't eat it, Suze. It'll poison you.'

  'Bex! Don't be silly!' says Suze. 'It's fantastic!' She looks at me, then puts her own plate on the floor. 'Oh Bex.' She shuffles across the floor, reaches up and gives me a hug. 'Don't worry. It's just a bit hot. But otherwise, it's brilliant! And the naan bread is delicious! Honestly. Don't get upset.'

  I open my mouth to reply, and instead hear myself giving another huge sob.

  'Bex, don't!' wails Suze, practically crying herself. 'It's delicious! It's the most delicious curry I've ever tasted.'

  'It's not just the curry!' I sob, wiping my eyes. 'The point was, I was supposed to be Cutting Back. This curry was only supposed to cost ?2.50.'

  'But… why?' asks Suze perplexedly. 'Was it a bet, or something?'

  'No!' I wail. 'It was because I'm in debt! And my dad said I should Cut Back or Make More Money. So I've been trying to Cut Back, but it hasn't worked…' I break off, shuddering with sobs. 'I'm just a complete failure.'

  'Of course you're not a failure!' says Suze at once. 'Bex, you're the opposite of a failure. It's just…' She hesitates. 'It's just that maybe…'

  'What?'

  There's silence, then Suze says seriously, 'I think you might have chosen the wrong option, Becky. I don't think you're a Cut Back kind of person.'

  'Really?' I sniff, and wipe my eyes. 'Do you think?' 'I think you should go for Make More Money instead.' Suze pauses thoughtfully. 'In fact, to be honest, I don't know why anyone would choose Cut Back. I think Make More Money is a much better option. If I ever had to choose, that's definitely the one I'd go for.'

  'Yes,', I say slowly. 'Yes, maybe you're right. Maybe that's what I should do.' I reach down with a shaky hand and take a bite of warm naan bread – and Suze is right. Without the curry, it's delicious. 'But how shall I do it?' I say eventually. 'How shall I make more money?'

  There is silence for a while, with both of us thoughtfully chewing on naan bread. Then Suze brightens.

  'I know. Look at this!' She reaches for a magazine and flips to the classified ads at the back. 'Look what it says here. "Need extra money? Join the Fine Frames family. Make thousands, working from home in your spare time. Full kit supplied." You see? It's easy.'

  Wow. I'm quite impressed, in spite of myself. Thousands. That's not bad.

  'Yes,' I say shakily. 'Maybe I'll do that.'

  'Or you could invent something,' says Suze.

  'Like what?'

  'Oh, anything,' she says confidently. 'You're really clever. You could think of something. Or… I know! Set up an Internet company. They're worth millions!'

  You know, she's right. There's loads of things I could do to Make More Money. Loads of things! It's just a question of lateral thinking. Suddenly I feel a lot better. God, Suze is a good friend. I reach forward and give her a hug.

  'Thanks, Suze,' I say. 'You're a star.'

  'No problem,' she says, and hugs me back. 'So, you cut out this ad and start making your thousands…' She pauses. 'And I'll go and phone up for a takeaway curry, shall I?'

  'Yes please,' I say in a small voice. 'A takeaway would be lovely.'

  ***

  REBECCA BLOOMWOOD'S CUT-BACK PROJECT

  HOME-MADE CURRY, SATURDAY ii MARCH

  PROPOSED BUDGET: ?2.50

  ACTUAL EXPENDITURE:

  Balti pan ?15.00

  Electric grinder ?14.99

  Blender ?18.99

  Wooden spoon 35p

  Apron ?9.99

  Two chicken breasts ?1.98

  300g mushrooms 79p

  Onion 29p

  Coriander seeds ?1.29

  Fennel seeds ?1.29

  Allspice ?1.29

  Cumin seeds ?1.29

  Cloves ?1.39

  Ground ginger ?1.95

  Bay leaves ?1.40

  Chilli powder

  OH GOD, FORGET IT.

  ***

  7 Camel Square

  Liverpool L1 5NP

  Ms Rebecca Bloomwood

  Flat 2

  4 Burney Rd

  London SW6 8FD

  10 March 2000

  Dear Ms Bloomwood

  PGNI First Bank VISA Card No. 1475839204847586 Thank you for your letter of 3 March.

  I can assure you that our computers are regularly checked, and that the possibility of a 'glitch', as you put it, is remote. Nor have we been affected by the Millennium bug. All accounts are entirely accurate.

  You may write to Anne Robinson at Watchdog if you wish, but I am sure she will agree that you have no grounds for complaint.

  Our records inform us that payment on your VISA account is now overdue. As you will see from your most recent VISA card statement, the minimum payment required is ?105.40. I look forward to receiving your payment, as soon as possible.

  Yours sincerely

  Peter Johnson

  Customer Accounts Executive

  Eight

  OK, so perhaps the Cutting Back didn't go that well. But it doesn't matter, because that's all in the past. That was negative thinking – now I'm seriously into positive thinking. Onward and upward. Growth and prosperity. M. M. M. It's the obvious solution, when you think about it. And you know what? Suze is absolutely right. Making More Money suits my personality far better than Cutting Back did. In fact, I'm already feeling much happier. Just the fact that I don't have to make any more grotty cheese sandwiches, or go to any more museums, has lifted a huge weight off my soul. And I'm allowed to buy all the cappuccinos I like, and start looking in shop windows again. Oh, the relief! I've even chucked Controlling Your Cash in the bin. I never did think it was any good.

  The only small, thing – tiny niggle – is I'm not quite sure how I'm going to do it. Make More Money, I mean. But now I've decided to go ahead with it, something will turn up. I'm sure of it.

  When I get into work on Monday, Clare Edwards is already at
her desk – surprise – and on the phone.

  'Yes,' she's saying softly. 'I suppose the only answer is to plan ahead. Yes.'

  When she sees me, to my surprise she blushes a faint pink and turns away slightly. 'Yes, I understand,' she whispers, scribbling in her notepad. 'And how has… response been so far?'

  God knows why she's being so secretive. As if I'm interested in her tedious life. I sit down at my desk, briskly flip on my computer and open my diary. Oh goody, I've got a press conference in the City. Even if it is some boring old pensions launch, at least it means a trip out of the office and, with any luck, a nice glass of champagne. Work can be quite fun, sometimes. And Philip isn't in yet, which means we can sit and gossip for a while.

  'So, Clare,' I say, as she puts the phone down, 'how was your weekend?'

  I look over, expecting to hear the usual thrilling account of what shelf she put up where with her boyfriend – but Clare doesn't even seem to have heard what I said.

  'Clare?' I say, puzzled. She's staring at me with pink cheeks, as though I've caught her stealing pens from the stationery cupboard.

  'Listen,' she says in a rush. 'That conversation you heard me having just now… could you not mention it to Philip?'

  I stare at her in bemusement. What's she talking about? Oh wow – is she having an affair? But then, why should Philip care? He's her editor, not herOh my God. She's not having an affair with Philip, is she?

  'Clare, what's going on!' I say excitedly.

  There's a long pause, as Clare blushes deep red. I can't believe this. A piece of office scandal at last! And involving Clare Edwards, of all people!

  'Oh come on, Clare,' I whisper. 'You can tell me. I won't tell anyone.' I lean forward sympathetically. 'I might even be able to help.'

  'Yes,' says Clare, rubbing her face. 'Yes, that's true. I could do with a bit of advice. The pressure's starting to get to me.'