Shopaholic to the Rescue

ELEVEN

OK, here’s my verdict on county fairs. They’re really fun and interesting and have millions of different types of pig. Which, you know, is good if you’re into pigs. The only tiny downside is, it’s absolutely exhausting spending all day at one.

It’s five-thirty in the afternoon, and we’re all totally fried. We’ve done two turns each at staking out the ceramics tent, but no one has seen even a shadow of Raymond. Nor has Suze heard anything more from Tarkie, but she’s being very brave and not talking about it. She spent ages on the phone to her children this afternoon, and I could hear her trying to sound merry—but she wasn’t doing the most brilliant job of it. This is our third day away now, and Suze isn’t great at leaving the children at the best of times. (And this is hardly the best of times.)

Now Danny is doing another stint in the ceramics tent, Mum and Janice have gone shopping, and I’m feeding Minnie French fries in the That Western Feelin’ tent, which has bales of hay and a dance floor. At the same time, I’m giving Suze a pep talk about her meeting later on with Bryce.

“Don’t get into conversation,” I instruct her firmly. “Tell Bryce you’re not playing ball. And if he wants to get confrontational, then you’ll play hardball.”

“I thought I wasn’t playing ball.” Suze looks confused.

“Er…you’re not,” I say, a bit confused myself. “You’re playing hardball. It’s different.”

“Right.” Suze still looks perplexed. “Bex, will you come along too?”

“Really? Are you sure you want me there?”

“Please,” she begs. “I need moral support. I’m afraid I might go to pieces when I see him again.”

“OK, then. I’ll be there.” I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes it back gratefully.

It’s been restorative, just wandering round the fair with Suze, drifting and chatting and pointing things out to each other. I’ve missed her so much.

As if she can read my mind, Suze gives me a sudden hug. “Today’s been lovely,” she says. “Even despite everything.”

The band is playing some jaunty Western tune, and a woman in a leather vest has climbed on to the stage. She’s giving instructions on how to line dance, and about twenty people are out on the floor. “Come on, Minnie,” Suze says. “Dance with me!”

I can’t help smiling as Suze leads Minnie away. This afternoon she bought Minnie a teeny pair of cowboy boots, and the pair of them look like proper Western girls, doing heel-toe-kick-swivel.

Well, Suze is swiveling and kicking. Minnie’s just kind of hopping from foot to foot.

“May I have this dance?” Luke’s voice takes me by surprise, and I look up with a laugh. He’s been doing some massive great work email all afternoon, so I’ve barely seen him. But here he is, smiling down, his face tanned from spending so much time in the sun.

“Do you know how to line dance?” I parry.

“We’ll learn! Come on.” He takes my hand, pulls me up, and leads me onto the dance floor. It’s filled with people now, and everyone’s moving backward and forward together in sync. I start trying to follow the instructions, but it’s a bit difficult in flip-flops. Your heel doesn’t hit the ground properly. And you can’t swivel. And one of my flip-flops keeps falling off altogether.

At last I give up and gesture over the music to Luke that I’m sitting down again. As he follows me off the floor, he looks puzzled.

“What’s up?”

“My flip-flops.” I shrug. “I don’t think they’re designed for line dancing.”

A moment later, Suze and Minnie join us at the table.

“Come and have a go, Bex!” Suze holds out a hand, her eyes bright.

“I can’t dance in my flip-flops. It doesn’t matter.” I’m expecting Suze to shrug and return to the dance floor, but instead she glares at me, almost angrily.

“Suze?” I say in surprise.

“It does matter!” she bursts out. “I tried to buy you cowboy boots.” She turns to Luke. “But she wouldn’t let me. And now she can’t dance!”

“Look, it’s no big deal,” I say, feeling rattled. “Leave me alone.”

“Bex has gone all weird.” Suze appeals to Luke. “She won’t even let me give her a present. Bex—why?”

She and Luke are both surveying me now, and I can see the concern in their faces.

“I don’t know, OK?” With no warning, tears spring to my eyes. “I just don’t feel like it. Look, I want to do something useful. I’m going back to the ceramics tent. Luke, why not go and catch up with some more work? I know you need to. I’ll see you later, Suze. Seven P.M. at the hog-roast tent, right?” And before either of them can reply, I hurry away.

—

As I stride toward the ceramics tent, my mind is miserably whirling. I don’t know why I wouldn’t let Suze get me the cowboy boots. I know she could easily afford to. Am I punishing her? Or am I punishing myself? Or am I punishing…er…

Actually, I don’t know who else I could be punishing. All I know is that Suze is right: I’m a bit messed up inside. I got it all wrong with my job, with Dad, with everything—I feel like I’ve made mistake after mistake without even realizing it. And then, as I reach the ceramics tent, it suddenly hits me: I’m scared. Deep down, I’m scared I’m going to screw up even more. Some people lose their nerve for riding or skiing or driving; well, I’ve lost my nerve for life.

The ceramics tent is far more crowded than before, and it takes me a little time to find Danny, sitting in the corner. He has his sketchbook open and is drawing an outfit, totally absorbed. I can see more sketches piled up by his feet, and it looks like he’s been at it awhile. Isn’t he keeping a lookout for Raymond at all?

“Danny!” I say, and he jumps. “Any sign of Raymond? Are you watching?”

“Sure.” He nods alertly. “I’m on it.” He focuses on the crowd in the tent for a few seconds—then his gaze drifts down and his pencil starts moving again.

Honestly. He is so not on it.

“Danny!” I plant a hand on his sketch. “What happened to staking out the tent? If Raymond walked past right now, would you notice?”

“Jeez, Becky!” Danny raises his eyes to heaven. “Face it, Raymond’s not coming. If he wanted to be here, he’d be here. All the other artists are here.” He gestures around the tent. “I chatted with them. They said Raymond hardly ever shows up.”

“Well, still. We should at least try.”

But Danny isn’t listening. He’s drawing a belted dress with a cape, which actually looks amazing.

“You carry on with your sketches,” I say with a sigh. “Don’t worry about Raymond. I’ll stake out the tent.”

“I’m off duty?” Danny’s eyes light up. “OK, I’m getting a drink. Catch you later.” He gathers up his sketches, stuffs them into his leather portfolio, and heads off.

As he disappears, I turn my attention to the people in the tent. My eyes are narrowed and I feel on red alert. It’s all very well, Danny saying Raymond won’t turn up—but what if he does? What if it’s all down to me to discover the secret? If I could do that, if I could actually achieve something…maybe I wouldn’t feel so pointless.

I check the photo of Raymond on my phone and scan the faces around me, but I can’t see him anywhere. I circle the tent a few times, weaving through the crowd, looking at all the pots and plates and vases. I quite like a cream-colored bowl with red splatters, but as I get near I see it’s called Carnage, and my stomach turns. Are those red splatters supposed to be…

Argh. Yuck. Why would you do that? Why would you call a bowl Carnage? God, potters are weird.

“You like it?” A slight, blond woman in a smock comes up. “It’s my favorite piece.” I can see a tag reading ARTIST on a cord round her neck, so I guess she made it. Which means she’s Mona Dorsey.

“Lovely!” I say politely. “And that one’s lovely too.” I point to a vase with big black random stripes, which I think Luke would like.

“That’s Desecration.” She smiles. “It comes in a set with Holocaust.”

Desecration and Holocaust?

“Excellent!” I nod, trying to look unfazed. “Absolutely. Although I was just wondering, do you have anything with a slightly jollier title?”

“Jollier?”

“Happier. You know. Cheery.”

Mona looks blank. “I try to give my pieces meaning,” she says. “It’s all in here.” She hands me a pamphlet entitled “Wilderness Creative Festival: Guide to Artists.” “All the artists in the exhibition explain their life and working process. Mine is to depict the blackest, most morbid and nihilistic urges of human nature.”

“Right.” I gulp. “Er…great!”

“Were you interested in a piece?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I mean, I love the way they look. Only I’d prefer one that’s just a tad less depressing and nihilistic.”

“Let me think,” says Mona, considering. She gestures to a tall narrow-necked bottle. “This one is entitled Hunger in a Plentiful World.”

“Hmm.” I pull a thoughtful face. “Still quite depressing.”

“Or Ruined?” She picks up a green-and-black lidded pot.

“It’s really beautiful,” I hasten to assure her. “But it’s still a teeny bit of a gloomy title.”

“You think Ruined is a gloomy title?” She seems surprised, and I blink back in confusion. How could Ruined not be a gloomy title?

“A little bit,” I say at last. “Just…you know. To my ear.”

“Strange.” She shrugs. “Ah, now, this one is different.” She seizes a dark-blue vase with white brushstrokes. “I like to think this has a layer of hope beneath the despair. It was inspired by my grandmother’s death,” she adds.

“Oh, how touching,” I say sympathetically. “What’s it called?”

“Violence of Suicide,” she announces proudly.

For a moment I can’t quite speak. I try to imagine having Suze for supper and saying, You must look at my new vase, Violence of Suicide.

“Or there’s Beaten,” Mona is saying. “That’s quite lovely….”

“Actually, I’ll leave it for now.” I hastily back away. “But, you know…fab pots. Thanks so much for showing them to me. And good luck with the black and morbid human urges!” I add brightly, as I swivel on my heel.

Crikey. I had no idea pottery was so deep and depressing. I thought it was, you know, just clay and stuff. But on the plus side, a bright idea came to me while we were talking. I’ll read Raymond’s entry in the booklet about the artists and see if any clues come up.

I retreat to the side of the tent, perch myself on a handy stool, and flick through until I find him. Raymond Earle, Local Artist.

Born in Flagstaff, Raymond Earle…blah blah…career in industrial design…blah blah…local philanthropist and supporter of the arts…blah…love of nature…blah…greatly inspired by Pauline Audette…has for many years corresponded with Pauline Audette…would like to dedicate this exhibition to Pauline Audette…

I turn the page and nearly fall off my stool in shock.

No way. No way.

That can’t be—

I mean…Seriously?

As I stare at the page, I suddenly find myself laughing out loud. It’s too extraordinary. It’s too weird! But can we use this?

Of course we can, I tell myself firmly. It’s too good a chance. We have to use it.

A couple nearby is eyeing me oddly, and I beam at them.

“Sorry. I just saw something quite interesting. It’s a great read!” I wave the booklet at them. “You should get one!”

As they move away, I stay perched on my stool, glancing down at the booklet every so often, my mind spinning with ideas. I’m making plans upon plans. I’m getting little adrenaline rushes. And for the first time in ages, I’m feeling a kind of excitement. A determination. A positive spirit.

—

I stay in the tent for a while longer, till Mum and Janice come back. As I see them making their way through the mêlée, I can’t help blinking in astonishment. Mum is wearing a pink Stetson and a matching belt with silver studs all over it. Janice is lugging a banjo and wearing a fringed leather waistcoat. Both are flushed in the face, although I can’t tell if that’s from sunburn or rushing about or too much bourbon-laced iced tea.

“Any sign?” demands Mum as soon as she sees me.

“No.”

“It’s nearly seven!” Mum looks fretfully at her watch. “The day’s almost gone!”

“He might come along at the end of the exhibition,” I say. “You never know.”

“I suppose so.” Mum sighs. “Well, we’ll take over till it closes. Where are you going to go now?”

“I’ve got to shoot off and—” I stop myself mid-sentence. I can’t say, I’ve got to support Suze while she confronts her blackmailing former lover. I mean, Suze and my mum are close, but not that close.

“I’m going to see Suze,” I say at length. “I’ll catch up with you later, OK?” I smile at Mum, but she doesn’t see. She’s looking round the tent bleakly.

“What if we don’t find this Raymond?” As she turns back, her face has sagged into little creases of dejection. “Are we going to give up? Go home?”

“Actually, Mum, I’ve got a bit of a plan,” I say encouragingly. “I’ll tell you later. But now you should have a nice sit-down and relax.” I drag a couple of spare chairs from the side of the tent. “There we are. Why don’t I buy you each a lovely cool drink? Janice, is that a banjo?”

“I’m going to teach myself, love,” says Janice enthusiastically as she sits down. “I’ve always wanted to play the banjo. We can have a nice sing-along in the RV!”

If I had to picture the one thing most likely to get on Luke’s nerves as he’s driving, it’s a sing-along with a banjo.

“Er…great!” I say. “Sounds perfect. I’ll just get you both an iced tea.”

I quickly buy a pair of peach iced teas from the refreshment stand, give them to Mum and Janice, and then dash away. It’s very nearly seven, and I’m starting to feel horrible jitters in my stomach, so God only knows what Suze is feeling.

We’d agreed to meet at the hog-roast tent and then head together to the meeting spot. But as I round the corner of the tent, I receive a shock. Alicia is standing with Suze. Why is Alicia standing with Suze?

“Oh, hi, Alicia,” I say, trying to sound friendly. “I thought you had a meeting in Tucson.”

Meeting in Tucson. Honestly. It sounds less and less likely, the more I say it.

“I thought I’d come on afterward and meet you,” says Alicia in sober tones. “And a good thing I did. This is unbelievable.”

“I’ve told Alicia,” says Suze tremulously.

“You mustn’t feel guilty, Suze.” Alicia puts a hand on Suze’s elbow. “Bryce is poison.”

I shoot Alicia a look of dislike. I hate people who say, You mustn’t feel guilty. What they really mean is: I’m just reminding you that you should feel guilty.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” I say briskly. “The important thing is to get rid of Bryce, once and for all. So we’d better go.”

“Alicia’s going to come for moral support too,” says Suze—and is it my imagination or is there an apologetic tone to her voice?

“Oh, right.” I force myself to smile. “Great! So you’re all set?” I look at Suze. “You know what you’re going to say?”

“I think so.” Suze nods.

“Hey, you guys! Here you are!” Danny’s voice hails us. We all swivel round to see him carrying a stick of cotton candy in one hand and an iced tea in the other, his portfolio wedged awkwardly under one arm. He comes to a halt and surveys us more closely. “Hey, what’s going on?”

If Suze can tell Alicia, then I can tell Danny, I decide. And he’ll find out, anyway.

“Bryce is here,” I say succinctly. “Suze is going to confront him. He’s been trying to blackmail her. Long story.”

“I knew it!” exclaims Danny. “I said that all along.”

“No, you didn’t!” I protest.

“I suspected it.” He turns to Suze. “You slept with him, right?”

“Wrong,” snaps Suze.

“But you fooled around. Does Tarkie know?”

“Yes. I’ve told him everything.”

“Oh, wow.” Danny raises his eyebrows, nibbling his cotton candy. “Kudos to you, Suze.”

“Thank you,” says Suze in dignified tones.

“But…wait.” I can see Danny’s mind working hard. “I thought Bryce was trying to rip off Tarkie for his new yoga center. You mean he’s trying to rip you off too? Husband and wife?”

“Apparently,” continues Suze frostily.

“He’s good,” says Danny with feeling. “Hey, Alicia, what do you make of all this? Looks like Bryce might just build that center. Ready for the competition?”

Danny’s so wicked. I know he’s just trying to wind Alicia up.

“He will not,” says Alicia coolly. “There is absolutely no way that character is going to threaten Golden Peace with some second-rate rival outfit. Believe me, Wilton will not let it happen.” She looks at her watch. “We should go.”

“Yes, we should,” Suze agrees.

“Let’s do it.” Danny nods.

“You’re not coming,” insists Suze.

“Sure I am,” says Danny, unfazed. “You can’t have too much moral support. You want an iced tea?” He hands her his plastic glass. “It’s practically a hundred percent bourbon.”

“Thanks,” says Suze reluctantly, and takes a sip. “Bloody hell!” she splutters.

“Told you.” Danny grins. “Want some more?”

“No, thanks.” Suze lifts her chin in determination. “I’m ready.”

—

As we march toward the meeting place, no one says anything. We’re a posse, flanking Suze, ready to defend her. And we’re not going to take any shit from Bryce. We’re going to stand firm, and resolute, and not get distracted by his looks—

Oh God, there he is. He’s leaning casually against a closed-up coffee stand, his skin all burnished and golden, with denim-blue eyes focused on something in the distance. He looks like a Calvin Klein model. Mmmm shoots through my brain before I can stop it. Argh. Bad, bad brain…

And then his eyes snap to, and his personality rushes into his face, and my Mmmm instantly withers. I can’t believe I ever saw him as anything but odious.

“Suze.” He seems taken aback to see all of us. “You brought reinforcements, huh?”

“Bryce, I have something to say to you,” Suze says, her voice trembling and her eyes fixed past his shoulder, just like I told her. “You can’t blackmail me. I’m not giving you any money, and I request that you leave my husband and me alone. There is nothing you can tell him that will damage me. I have been utterly frank and open with him. You have no power over me, and I request that you desist from contacting me.”

“Desist” was my word. I think it sounds nice and legal.

I squeeze Suze’s hand encouragingly and whisper, “Brilliant!” She’s still staring fixedly into the middle distance, so I take the opportunity to sneak a quick look at Bryce. His face is calm, but I can tell from his eyes that he’s thinking.

“Blackmail?” he says at last, and breaks into a hearty laugh. “Now, that’s an extreme word. I ask you for a donation to a worthy cause and you call it blackmail?”

“A worthy cause?” echoes Suze in disbelief.

“A worthy cause?” exclaims Alicia, who seems more outraged than anybody. “How dare you! I’ve heard what you’re up to, Bryce, and, believe me, you will never succeed.” She takes a step forward, her chin thrust out aggressively. “You will never have our resources. You will never have our power. My husband will crush your paltry efforts to rival us. I’ve already informed him of your plan, and it won’t even see the light of day. And by the time Wilton has finished with you, Bryce…” She pauses. “You’ll wish you’d never even thought of it.”

Wow. Alicia sounds like a Mafia boss. If I were Bryce, I’d be terrified. But I must say, he doesn’t look remotely scared. He’s gazing back at Alicia as though he can’t figure her out. Then he gives a small, incredulous laugh.

“Jeez, Alicia, are we really doing this?”

A strange little flicker passes across Alicia’s face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, in the most icy Queen Alicia tones I’ve ever heard. “And I would remind you that you are still in the employ of my husband.”

“Sure. Whatever,” says Bryce.

There’s an odd pause, during which no one speaks. I’m trying to work out the vibe. Suze is breathing hard beside me, her fists clenched; Alicia is glaring at Bryce; Danny is watching, agog. But it’s Bryce who isn’t behaving as I expected. He’s not even looking at Suze. He’s still looking appraisingly at Alicia.

“Or maybe…I quit,” he says slowly, and there’s a kind of defiant glint to his eye. “Maybe I’ve had enough of this bullshit.”

“In which case, you will be bound by our confidentiality agreement, as per your contract,” Alicia replies before anyone can speak. “May I remind you that we have a very, very strong legal team?”

Alicia’s tone has got sharper, and the rest of us are exchanging puzzled glances. What’s this got to do with Suze?

“So sue me,” says Bryce, and snaps his gum. “It’s never gonna happen. You’d let all this out into the media?” He spreads his arms wide.

“Bryce!” Alicia exclaims. “Consider your position.”

“I’ve had enough of my ‘position’! You know what, I’m sorry for you poor saps.”

“Sorry for what?” Suze seems to wake up. “Alicia, what’s he talking about?”

“I have no idea,” she returns furiously.

“Oh, please.” Bryce shakes his head. “You are one manipulative woman, Alicia Merrelle.”

“I will not be insulted in this way!” Alicia seems incandescent. “And I suggest that this meeting ends right now. I will be on the phone to my husband, and he will be taking steps—”

“For Christ’s sake!” Bryce sounds at the end of his tether. “Enough already!” He turns and addresses Suze directly. “I’m not in competition with Wilton Merrelle. I’m working for him. Of course I was trying to get money out of you, but it wasn’t for me, it was for the Merrelles.”

There’s a stunned silence. Did I hear that right?

“What?” falters Suze at last, and Bryce gives an impatient sigh.

“Wilton is setting up a rival establishment. He figures if he can fill one Golden Peace center, he can fill two. Only this one will be branded differently. Lower price points. Scoop up all the customers who fell out with Golden Peace and want an alternative. It’s a win-win.” He looks at Alicia. “As you well know.”

I look at Suze, utterly speechless, then turn to Alicia. She’s gone a kind of mauve color.

“You mean…” My mind can’t process all this. “You mean…”

“You mean Wilton Merrelle is behind all of this?” says Danny, his eyes dancing with relish. “So when you targeted Tarquin…”

“Sure.” Bryce nods. “That was Wilton’s idea. He thought he could get a few million out of him.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t so easy. You Brits are tight.”

“You’ve been using us?” Suze lashes out suddenly at Alicia, whose face has gone from mauve to a kind of deathly white. “All this time you’ve been pretending to be my friend—and all you wanted was our money?”

OK, you have to admire Alicia. I can practically see the muscles of her face forcing themselves back into their old haughty expression. She’s like the Olympic champion of regaining control of yourself.

“I have no idea what Bryce is talking about,” she says. “I deny everything.”

“You want to deny these emails?” says Bryce, who seems to be enjoying himself now. He holds out his phone to Suze, who looks helplessly at Alicia. “Wilton wanted me to target the pair of you,” he tells Suze, “and Alicia knew that.” He swivels to Alicia. “Didn’t you just meet up with him in Tucson to talk about it?”

Tucson?

OK. So I take it back about Tucson. People do have meetings there. Who knew?

The muscles in Alicia’s face are working hard again; in fact, there’s a spasm in her cheek. Her eyes are like two livid stones. She draws breath, then rounds on Bryce.

“We are suing your ass,” she spits at him, so vituperatively, I shrink back.

“So it’s true.” Suze looks totally dazed. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been such a fool.”

Bryce looks around the whole group and shakes his head. “This is fucked up. I’m out. It was fun playing with you, babe,” he adds to Suze, and she shudders. “Becky, come back to one of my classes some time.” His eyes crinkle in that sexy smile of his. “You were making some good progress.”

“I’d rather rot in hell,” I say fiercely.

“Your choice.” He seems amused. “See you around, Alicia.”

With a couple of strides of his long legs, he’s gone. And the rest of us are left in silence again. It’s like an earthquake has happened between us. I can practically see the dust in the air.

“Becky knew,” says Danny at last, breaking the quiet.

“What?” Suze’s head whips round in astonishment.

“I didn’t know….” I amend hurriedly.

“She guessed Alicia was up to something,” Danny maintains. “She’s been watching your back, Suze.”

“Really?” Suze raises her huge blue eyes to mine, and I can see a fresh pain in them. “Oh God. Oh, Bex. I don’t know how I could have thought Alicia was anything but a wicked, two-faced—” She turns on Alicia with sudden passion. “Why did you even come on this road trip? To make sure Bryce got the cash out of me? And who were you meeting in the Four Seasons? Not a private detective.”

“Suze, there’s something else,” I whisper with urgency. “You need to beware. I think Alicia is after Letherby Hall.”

“What do you mean?” Suze takes a step toward us and away from Alicia. She’s eyeing Alicia warily, as though she’s a bomb that might go off.

“Letherby Hall?” scoffs Alicia. “Are you nuts?”

But I ignore her. “Look at the facts, Suze. Why does Alicia keep asking questions about your house? Why is she interested in the title that goes with the property? Because…” I count off on my fingers. “Her husband’s an Anglophile. They’d love to be lord and lady of the manor. She wants your house. She wants your title…and probably all your family jewelry too.”

This last has only just occurred to me, but I’m sure I’m right. Alicia would love all those ancient tiaras and stuff. (Suze thinks most of them are gross, and I kind of agree.)

“Becky, you’re even more deluded than I thought.” Alicia bursts into mocking laughter. “Why would I want Letherby Hall, for Christ’s sake?”

“You don’t fool me, Alicia.” I give her a glacial look. “It’s a top stately home and you’re a snob. Don’t think we don’t know you’re a social climber.”

Alicia glances from me to Suze and back again—but this time she doesn’t turn mauve. She seems genuinely incredulous.

“Social climber? In England? You really think Wilton and I want to spend our days in some freezing-cold monstrosity with no under-floor heating and yokels for neighbors?”

Monstrosity? I feel such a surge of indignation on Suze’s behalf, I can’t help crying out, “Letherby Hall isn’t a monstrosity! It’s a highly regarded Georgian house, with an original paneled library and particularly fine parkland landscaped in 1752!”

I had no idea I knew any of that. I must have been concentrating harder than I thought when Tarkie’s dad was telling me about it.

“Whatever. Believe me.” Alicia looks pityingly at Suze. “There are things I’d rather spend my money on than a pile of crumbling old bricks.”

“How dare you!” I’m totally fired up now. “Don’t you insult Suze’s house! And why were you asking about it so much if you’re not interested?”

There. Ha! I’ve got her.

“I had to make small talk somehow.” Alicia flicks her eyes disparagingly at Suze. “There’s only so much one can say about that ridiculous husband of yours. I mean, really, Suze. Yawn.”

I think I could hit Alicia right now.

But I won’t do that. Instead, I glance over at Suze, who says in a shaky voice, “I think you should go, Alicia.”

And we all stand like statues as she stalks away.

—

Some things are almost too big to talk about straightaway. It’s Danny who comes to life first, says, “Drink,” and leads us into a nearby bar tent. As we sip some apple punch, he tells us all about his new collection for Elinor and shows us his drawings—and, actually, it’s the perfect thing to do right now. That’s exactly what Suze needs to focus on: something that isn’t her own messed-up life.

At last he closes his sketchbook, and we all meet eyes, as though picking up where we were. But still I can’t bear to bring up the topic of Alicia. I don’t even want to give her air space.

“Bex.” Suze takes a deep, shuddery breath. “I don’t know how—I can’t believe I fell for her—”

“Stop.” I cut her off gently. “Let’s not do this. If we talk about Alicia, she’s still winning, because she’s messing up our lives. OK?”

Suze thinks for a moment, then bows her head. “OK.”

“Good call,” applauds Danny. “I say we airbrush her out of existence. Alicia who?”

“Exactly.” I nod. “Alicia who?”

I mean, obviously we will talk about Alicia. We’ll probably spend a solid week bitching about her and maybe throwing darts at her picture. (In fact I’m quite looking forward to it.) But not yet. This isn’t the time.

“So,” I say, trying to move the conversation on. “Quite a day.”

“I guess your mum hasn’t had any luck with Raymond,” says Suze.

“She would have texted if she had.”

“I can’t believe we staked out that tent for a whole day. And nothing.”

“Not nothing,” I say. “Janice got a banjo.”

Suze gives a feeble snort of laughter, and I can’t help smiling too.

“So…what are we going to do? Where do we go next?” Suze bites her lip. “Let’s face it, there’s not much point me trying to chase Tarkie anymore.” She speaks calmly, but there’s a wobble in her voice.

“Maybe not.” I meet her eye, then quickly look away again.

“But what about your mum and dad?”

“Oh God.” I slump in my chair. “I have no idea.”

“Should we try Raymond’s house again? Or just go back to L.A., like your dad said all along? I mean, maybe he was right.” Suze lifts her gaze to mine, and I can see it’s taking her a lot to say this. “Maybe this was a stupid idea.”

“No!” I say automatically.

“We can’t go back yet,” protests Danny. “We’re on a mission. We need to see it through.”

“That’s all very well.” Suze turns to him. “But we have absolutely no idea what to do next. We’ve failed at getting through to Raymond, we don’t have a single other lead, a single idea—”

“Actually…” I break in. “I did have one idea.”

“Really?” Suze stares at me. “What?”

“Well, a kind of idea,” I amend. “It’s a bit far out. In fact, it’s a bit mad. But it’s one last possibility. And if it doesn’t work, maybe we give up and go back to L.A.”

Both Danny and Suze are regarding me with interest.

“Well, go on, then,” says Suze. “What’s this crazy last-ditch idea?”

“OK.” I hesitate, then reach into my bag for the “Wilderness Creative Festival: Guide to Artists” booklet. “Before I say anything, have a look at this.”

I watch as they survey the page; I watch as their faces jolt in surprise, just like mine did.

“Oh my God,” says Suze, and looks up at me incredulously. “So what…I mean, how do we…”

“Like I said, I have this idea.”

“Of course you do,” says Danny. “You always have great ideas. Spill, Beckeroo.”

He gives me an encouraging smile and sits back to listen, and once again I feel that flicker of adrenaline inside. That positive spirit. Like old friends coming to give me a little inner hug.