Shopaholic To The Stars - Shopaholic to the Stars Part 35
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Shopaholic to the Stars Part 35

'Don't blame me!'

'He'll get us!' Clementine wails. 'He's coming!'

There's the sound of scuffling coming from the hall and men's shouts, then a thump and a furious exclamation from one man, who suddenly sounds just like- Hang on a minute. That's not- 'Dad?' I yell incredulously, just as Jeff and Mitchell appear at the kitchen door, manhandling my father as though they're cops in a movie and he's the double-crossing vice-president who was found trying to climb out of a window.

'Becky!'

'That's my dad!'

'Grandpa!'

'We found this suspect prowling in the drive-'

'I wasn't prowling-'

'Let go of him!'

We're all speaking at once, and poor Wilfie has put his hands over his ears.

'Let go of him!' I yell again, above the hubbub. 'He's my father!'

Reluctantly, Mitchell lets go of Dad's arm, which he had twisted behind his back. I mean, honestly. How could they think Dad was an intruder? You couldn't see anyone less suspicious-looking than my dad. He's wearing summer trousers and a blazer, and a panama hat, and he looks as though he's about to go to a cricket match.

'How's my Minnie?' he says in delight, as Minnie throws herself at him. 'How's my little sweetheart?'

'Dad, what's going on?' I demand. 'Why are you here? Mum's so worried!'

'Are you sure this is your dad?' Mitchell says mistrustfully to me.

'Of course I'm sure!'

'Well, he's not on the list.' Jeff gives me his reproachful look again. 'Rebecca, we need comprehensive information to work effectively.'

'I didn't know he was coming!'

'So how did he access the drive? How did he open the gates?' Jeff is still frowning suspiciously at Dad.

'It's the same code as the garage at home,' says Dad cheerily. 'I thought I'd chance it, and hey presto.'

'I always use the same code,' I explain to Jeff. 'It's the same as my pin number, too. And my mum's. That way, we can get money out for each other. It's really handy.'

'You use the same code for everything?' Jeff looks aghast. 'Your mother has the same code? Rebecca, we talked about code safety.'

'Oh, right,' I say guiltily. 'OK. I'll change it. One of them. All of them.'

(I'm so not going to change anything. Four numbers is hard enough to remember as it is.) 'Welcome, Graham.' Luke is shaking Dad's hand. 'Would you like some breakfast? You'll be staying with us, of course.'

'If that's all right.'

'Dad, where've you been?' I chime in impatiently. 'What's going on? Why are you in LA?'

There's silence in the kitchen. Even Jeff and Mitchell look interested.

Dad gives me a guarded smile. 'I just have some business to take care of. That's all. I stayed at a hotel last night, and here I am.'

'It's Brent Lewis, isn't it? Dad, what's the mystery?'

'No mystery,' says Dad. 'Simply ...' He hesitates. 'Something I have to put right. Might I make myself a cup of tea?' He reaches for the kettle and peers at it, puzzled. 'Does this go on the stove?'

'That's how they do it in America,' I explain. 'They don't understand electric kettles. But then, they don't really understand tea, either. Here, I'll do it.' I fill the kettle with water, plonk it on the hob, then immediately text Mum: He's here!!!

Dad has sat down at the table with Minnie on his lap, and is playing Incy Wincy Spider with her. Soon all the other children are clustering around too, and he doesn't even notice me texting. A minute or two later, my phone rings, and it's Mum.

'Where is he?' she demands shrilly. 'What's he doing? Does he know how worried I've been?'

'I'm sure he does,' I say hurriedly. 'I'm sure he's really sorry. There'll be a brilliant explanation, I know it.' Dad glances up, his expression blank, and I make vigorous hand gestures which are supposed to mean 'It's Mum!'

'Well, put me on!'

'Er, Dad,' I say. 'It's Mum. She wants to talk to you.' I hold out the phone gingerly and take a step backwards.

'Jane,' says Dad, as he takes the phone. 'Now, Jane. Jane, listen. Jane.'

I can hear Mum's tinny voice coming through the phone in a constant, high-pitched stream. Dad clearly can't get a word in.

Suze raises her eyebrows at me and I shrug back helplessly. I've never felt at quite such a loss.

'You mustn't concern yourself,' Dad is saying. 'I've told you, it's simply an issue with a couple of old friends.' He pours boiling water into the teapot. 'No, I'm not coming home on the next flight! I must do this.' He sounds suddenly resolute.

I look questioningly at Luke, who also shrugs. This is driving me mad.

'She wants to talk to you, darling,' says Dad, handing the phone back to me. He seems quite unruffled by Mum's tirade.

'Why won't he tell me what he's doing?' Mum's voice blasts in my ear. 'He keeps saying he's got "something to sort out" with that Brent Lewis. I've Googled him, you know. Can't find anything. You said he lives in a trailer. Did you actually meet him?'

'No.' I glance at Dad, who's sipping tea now.

'Well, keep an eye on Dad.'

'I will.'

'And I'm coming out, as soon as I can make arrangements. It would be the same time as the church bazaar.' Mum gives a gusty sigh. 'I preferred the guitar lessons to this. At least he did them in the garage.'

As I put the phone down, I turn to Dad and see that he's looking at my necklace with a kind of rueful expression. It's the Alexis Bittar one that he got me with his BB.

'I love this,' I say, touching it. 'I wear it all the time.'

'Do you, darling? That's good.' He smiles, but there's something wrong in his smile. I want to scream. What is up?

He finishes his tea, then gets to his feet.

'I must be off.'

'But you've only just got here! Where are you going? To Brent's trailer? Did you call his sister?'

'Becky, it's my business.' He sounds final. 'I'll be back later.'

Nobody says anything until he's left the kitchen then everyone seems to breathe out.

'What is he doing?' I almost squeak with frustration.

'Like he said,' Luke comments, 'that's his business. Why don't you leave him to it? Come on, poppet,' he adds to Minnie. 'Teeth. Come on, you lot,' he adds to the Cleath-Stuarts. 'You can all do your teeth too.'

'Thanks, Luke,' says Suze gratefully. As the children all pile out of the kitchen with Luke, Suze gives the most almighty sigh. She's staring out of the window, and I can see a little frown between her brows that wasn't there before.

'Are you OK?'

'I'm tired of LA,' she says. 'It's not good for us.'

I stare at her in astonishment. 'Yes it is! Look at you! You're working as an extra, and Tarquin's a total VIP, and you're all thin and tanned, and-'

'It's not good for us as a family.' She cuts me off. 'In England, yes, we had loads of headaches, but we dealt with them together. I feel like I'm losing Tarkie.' Her voice suddenly wobbles. 'Bex, I don't know him any more.'

To my horror, her eyes are welling up with tears.

'Suze!' I rush over and give her a hug. 'You mustn't worry! He's just going through a funny patch. He's finding himself.'

'But he doesn't talk to me! He looks at me as though I'm the enemy!' Suze gives a shaky sigh. 'Bex, when the children are at school, d'you feel like going for a walk and just chatting? We could go to Runyon Canyon, maybe have lunch ...'

'Suze, I would,' I say regretfully. 'But I've got to go shopping for Sage's outfit.'

An odd flicker passes over Suze's face. 'Right.' She breathes out. 'Of course. You have to go shopping.'

'It's not shopping for me!' I say, stung. 'I have my TV segment coming up! I have to source pieces for Sage! I have to go to vintage shops and build up some relationships! It's a massive job. Suze, this is my big chance. This is it!'

'Of course it is,' she says, in a tone I can't quite read.

'Another time?'

'Another time.' She nods, and gets up from the table.

I'm left alone in the kitchen with Jeff, and I glance over at him. He's sitting in silence, staring implacably ahead, but even so, I feel judged.

'I do have to go shopping,' I say defensively. 'This is my big chance to be a Hollywood stylist.'

Jeff says nothing. But I know he's judging me. They're all judging me.

This is what it's like to be a celebrity. Your family don't understand. No one understands. No wonder they say it's lonely at the top.

On the plus side, it turns out that shopping for a movie star is the perfect way to shop. I just wish I'd known a movie star before.

There's the most fab vintage shop on Melrose Avenue, and the owner, Marnie, is absolutely on my wavelength. By mid-morning, I've been on the fastest, most efficient shopping spree of my life. I've bought three new clutch bags, two stoles and a vintage diamante headdress. I've got three evening coats on hold, and five dresses, and this fantastic velvet cloak, which, if Sage doesn't want, I am totally getting for myself.

I've also bought myself a couple of tiny things just a sequined evening dress and a few pairs of shoes, because I'll need them for my new lifestyle. I even used my notebook from Golden Peace, just to make sure I wasn't shopping in an unhealthy way. In answer to the question, 'Why am I shopping?' I wrote, 'Because I am a celebrity stylist now.' I mean, you can't argue with that.

When I head out of the shop, the blacked-out SUV is waiting by the kerb. Mitchell is standing to attention, his shades glinting in the sun, and Jeff escorts me to the SUV door. I can see some shoppers looking at me curiously, and I put my hand up to shield my face, just like a proper A-lister.

As I get into the SUV, surrounded by bags, I feel elated. I'm totally on track with my new career! The only slight worry I have is that my Breakfast Show USA segment is tomorrow, and I still haven't heard from them what sort of styling they want. How can I prepare a fashion piece if I don't have a brief? I've left a zillion messages for Aran about this already, but I decide to try him again anyway, and this time he picks up.

'Oh hi, Aran,' I say. 'Listen, did you ever hear back from Breakfast Show USA about what sort of clothes I should prepare? Because it's tomorrow! I need to get some pieces together!'

'Oh!' Aran laughs. 'My bad. Yes, I meant to tell you. They say don't worry about the clothes. They'll take care of all that. Your job is just to go on the show and talk.'

Don't worry about the clothes? I stare blankly at the phone. How can I not worry about the clothes when I'm the stylist?

'But how will that work? How will I prepare?'

'Becky, you'll be great,' says Aran. 'You can comment on the clothes, engage in some general chat, get your personality across.'

'Oh,' I say. 'Well, OK. Thanks.'

I ring off, still puzzled. This is all very weird. But maybe they do things differently in the States. In fact, maybe I should do some research. I zap on the TV to see if there are any fashion items I can watch, and flick through the channels, until an image suddenly stops me. For a moment I can't even make sense of what I'm seeing.

It's a fuzzy picture of Lois's house in the dark. There's an ambulance flashing in her driveway and paramedics wheeling a hospital gurney and the headline is BREAKING NEWS: Lois in suicide bid?

Suicide?

Suicide bid?

Oh God, oh God, oh God ...

My heart thumping, I turn the volume up and lean forward anxiously to hear the voice-over.

'There are unconfirmed reports that Lois Kellerton was rushed to the hospital last night, in what one commentator described as "the desperate act of a desperate star". Over to our reporter Faye Ireland.'

The picture switches to a reporter standing outside what I recognize as Lois's house, talking gravely into a microphone.

'Neighbours confirm that at around midnight last night, an ambulance was summoned to the house, and one witness saw Lois Kellerton being placed in the ambulance, on a gurney. Some time in the early hours of the morning, Lois Kellerton appeared to return to the house and has not been seen since.' The screen shows a fuzzy, long-lens picture of a girl covered in a sheet being bundled into the house. 'Friends have been worried about the state of mind of the award-winning actress, since her apparent exposure as a thief.' The picture flashes to the familiar sight of Lois at the ASAs, crumpling in shock on the stage. 'Ms Kellerton's spokesman refused to comment on these latest troubling events. Back to the studio.'

'And now to sports ...' says a woman in a purple dress, and I switch off. I'm quivering all over. I never thought in a million years anything like this would happen. I never imagined I never expected- I mean, it isn't my fault.

It isn't. It really isn't.

Is it?

On impulse, I dial Sage's number. Of all people, she must know how I feel. In fact, she must feel even worse.

'Sage,' I say, as soon as she answers. 'Did you see the news about Lois?'