Jess probably doesn’t even eat chocolate. Unless it’s chocolate she’s made herself, out of potatoes.

Well, good for her. I’m going to stuff my face and watch a nice movie.

I’m just reaching for Pretty Woman when the phone rings.

“Hello?” I say, picking up.

“Hello, Bex?” comes a familiar high-pitched voice. “It’s me.”

“Suze!” I feel a huge rush of joy. “Oh my God! Hi! How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine! Are you OK?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine!”

Suddenly with all my heart I wish Suze were here. Like the old days in Fulham. I miss her so much. So much.

“So, how was the spa with Lulu?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“It was… fine,” she says after a pause. “You know. Kind of… a bit different… but fun!”

“Good!”

There’s an awkward silence.

“And… and I was wondering how it’s all going with your new sister,” Suze says hesitantly. “Are you… are you really good friends?”

I can’t admit the truth to Suze. I just can’t admit the whole thing’s been a failure. That she goes on spa trips with her new friend, but I can’t even manage one evening with my own sister.

“It’s great!” I say. “Couldn’t be better! We’re getting on so well!”

“Really?” says Suze, sounding a bit crushed.

“Absolutely! In fact, we’re having a girls’ night in together right now! Watching movies… having a laugh… just hanging out. You know!”

“What are you watching?” says Suze at once.

“Er…” I look at the blank TV screen. “Pretty Woman.”

“I love Pretty Woman,” Suze says longingly. “The scene in the shop!”

“I know! That is just the best scene ever!”

“And the end, when Richard Gere climbs up!” Her voice is tumbling out with enthusiasm. “Oh God, I want to watch it right now!”

“Me too!” I say without thinking. “I mean… I want to watch the… er… rest of it.”

“Oh,” Suze says in a different voice. “I must be interrupting you. Sorry.”

“No!” I say quickly. “I mean, it doesn’t matter—”

“I’ll go. You must want to get back to your sister. It sounds like you’re having an amazing time.” Her voice is wistful. “You two must have so much to talk about.”

“Yes,” I say, looking round the empty room. “Yes, we… we certainly do!”

“Well… I’ll see you sometime,” she says. “Bye, Bex.”

“Bye!” I say, my throat suddenly thick.

Wait! I want to cry out. Don’t go!

But instead I put down the receiver and stare into space. At the other end of the flat I can hear Luke, Gary, and Jess all laughing about something. They’ve bonded with her great. It’s just me who hasn’t.

And I had such huge hopes. I was so excited about having a sister. But I’ve done everything I can think of, and it’s all failed. Jess and I are never going to be friends. Not in a million years.


WEST CUMBRIA BANK

45 STERNDALE STREET

COGGENTHWAITE

CUMBRIA


Ms Jessica Bertram

12 Hill Rise

Scully

Cumbria CA19 1BD


16 May 2003


Dear Ms Bertram:

Thank you for your letter.

Having gone through your accounts in great detail I can only concur that there is a discrepancy of 73 pence.

I am deeply sorry for this error by the bank and have credited your savings account by this amount, back-dated three months. I have also, as you request, added the missing interest.

May I take this opportunity to commend you yet again on your meticulous and thoughtful approach to your finances.

On a personal note, I look forward to seeing you at the upcoming Prudent Savers’ Group cheese and wine evening, at which our head of personal accounts will be giving the keynote address “Retightening the Purse Strings.”

Yours sincerely,


Howard Shawcross

Customer Account Manager


Fourteen


I WAKE UP the next morning with a splitting headache, which could have something to do with the fact that I polished off an entire bottle of champagne myself last night, plus one and a half trays of chocolates. Meanwhile, Jess, Luke, and Gary spent hours around the computer. Even when I took them in some pizza, they barely looked up. So I just watched the whole of Pretty Woman and then half of Four Weddings and a Funeral, before going to bed on my own.

As I blearily put on a dressing gown, Luke is already showered and dressed in the “casual weekend” clothes he wears when he’s actually going to spend the whole time in the office.

“What time did you finish last night?” I ask, my throat all hoarse and croaky.

“Not till late.” Luke shakes his head. “Once we started discussing it, we couldn’t stop. Jess had a lot of ideas.”

“Right!” I try to sound enthusiastic.

“You know, I take it back about her,” he adds, tying up his shoelaces. “Your sister’s got a lot going for her. She couldn’t have been more helpful last night. She certainly knows her way around a computer!”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. She’s great!” He stands up and gives me a kiss. “You were right. I’m very glad you invited her for the weekend.”

“Me too!” I say, forcing a bright smile. “We’re all having so much fun!”

I shuffle into the kitchen, where Jess is sitting at the counter in her jeans and a T-shirt, with a glass of water.

Cleverclogs. I expect she’ll split the atom this morning. In between sit-ups.

“Morning,” she says.

“Morning!” I say in my most pleasant, good-hostess manner.

I was rereading The Gracious Hostess last night, and it says that even if your guest is annoying you, you must behave with charm and decorum.

Well, fine. I can be charming. I can be decorative.

“Did you sleep well? Let me get you some breakfast!”

I open the fridge and get out the freshly squeezed orange, grapefruit, and cranberry juices. I reach into the bread bin and pull out some seeded granary bread, croissants, and muffins. Then I start rooting around in the cupboards for jams. Three kinds of luxury marmalade, strawberry jam with champagne, wild blossom honey… and Belgian chocolate spread. Finally I get down a range of luxury coffees and teas to choose from. There. No one’s going to say I don’t give my guests a good breakfast.

I’m aware of Jess watching my every move, and as I turn round she’s got a strange expression on her face.

“What?” I say. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says awkwardly. She folds her napkin into little squares. “Luke told me last night. About your… problem.”

“My what?”

“Your spending.”

I try to hide my dismay. He did, did he?

“I don’t have a problem,” I say, flashing her a smile. “He was exaggerating.”

“He said you’re on a budget.” Jess looks concerned. “It sounds like money’s a bit tight at the moment.”

“That’s right,” I say pleasantly. Not that it’s any of your business, I think. I can’t believe Luke’s been blabbing everything to her.

“So… how come you can afford luxury coffee and strawberry jam with champagne?” She gestures at all the food laid out on the counter.

“Thrifty management,” I say smoothly. “Prioritizing. If you save on some items you can splash out on others. That’s the first rule of financial management. As I learned at financial journalism school,” I add.

OK, that’s a slight lie. I didn’t go to financial journalism school.

“So — which items are you saving on?” says Jess, her brow creased. “I can’t see anything in this kitchen that doesn’t come from Fortnum’s or Harrods.”

I’m about to make an indignant rejoinder when I realize she might be right. I got into a bit of a Harrods Food Hall habit after I started making all this money off eBay. But then, Harrods is a perfectly legitimate food shop.

“My husband appreciates a good standard of living,” I say crisply, opening a fresh jar of marmalade.

“But you could do it on less.” Jess leans forward, looking animated. “You could make savings everywhere! I could give you some tips.”

Tips? Tips from Jess?

Suddenly the oven timer goes off with a ping. It’s time!

“Are you cooking something?” says Jess, looking puzzled.

“Er… not exactly. Just help yourself… I’ll be back in a minute… ”

I hurry into the study and switch on the computer. Bidding on the orange vintage coat ends in five minutes, and I am bloody well going to get it. I tap my fingernails impatiently, and as soon as the screen clears I bring up the saved eBay page.

I knew it. Kittybee111 has bid again—£200.

She thinks she’s so clever. Well, take this, kittybee111.

I get out Luke’s stopwatch from the desk and set it for three minutes. As the time gets near I poise my hands over the keyboard like an athlete on the starting blocks.

OK. One minute before the bidding ends. Go.

As quickly as I can, I type in *@00.50.

Shit. What have I typed? Delete… retype… £200.50.

I jab SEND and the next screen comes up. User ID… password… I’m typing as fast as I can.

You are the current high bidder.

Ten seconds to go. My heart is thumping. What if someone else is bidding right now?

Frantically I click on REFRESH.

“What are you doing, Becky?” comes Jess’s voice at the door. Shit.

“Nothing!” I say. “Why don’t you make yourself some nice toast, while I just—”

The page is coming back up again. Did I… did I…

Congratulations! You won the item!

“Yeeess!” I cry out, unable to stop myself, and punch the air. “Yes! I got it!”