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.Stuff I don'tneed.Stuff which I can't pay for.Suddenly the sight of it all makes me feel sick.Numbly I shake my head.I feel as if I've been caught stealing.'Elsa,' calls the assistant.'Will you deal with this, please? The customer isn't going to make thepurchase after all.' She gestures to the pile of stuff, and the other assistant moves it along the counter,out of the way, her face deliberately blank.'Next, please.'The woman behind me steps forward, avoiding my eye in embarrassment, and slowly I turn away.Ihave never felt so humiliated in all my life.The whole floor seems to be looking at me all thecustomers, all the sales assistants, all whispering and nudging.Did you see? Did you see whathappened?With wobbling legs I walk away, not looking right or left.This is a nightmare.I just have to get out, ashttp://www.fictionbook.ru/author/kinsella_sophie/the_secret_dreamworld_of_a_shopaholi.3/16/2006 The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic Page 96 of 140quickly as possible.I have to get out of the shop and onto the street and go&Go where? Home, I suppose.But I can't go back and face Suze and hear her going on about how sweet Tarquin is.Or even worse,risk bumping into him.Oh God.The very thought makes me feel sick.What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?Shakily, I begin to walk along the pavement, looking away from the mocking window displays.Whatcan I do? Where can I go? I feel empty; almost lightheaded with panic.I pause at a corner, waiting for a traffic light to change and look blankly at a display of cashmerejumpers to my left.And suddenly, at the sight of a scarlet Pringle golfing jumper, I feel tears of reliefspringing to my eyes.There's one place I can go.One place I can always go.Home to my mum and dad.SixteenWhen I turn up at my parents' house that afternoon with no warning, saying I want to stay for a fewdays, I can't say they seem shocked, or even surprised.In fact, so unsurprised do they seem, that I beginto wonder if they've been expecting this eventuality all along, ever since I moved to London.Have theybeen waiting every week for me to arrive on the doorsteps with no luggage and red eyes? They'recertainly behaving as calmly as a hospital casualty team operating an emergency procedure that wasrehearsed only last week.Except that surely the casualty team wouldn't keep arguing about the best way to resuscitate thepatient? After a few minutes, I feel like going outside, letting them decide on their plan of action, andringing the bell again.'You go upstairs and have a nice hot bath,' says Mum, as soon as I've put down my handbag.'I expectyou're exhausted!''She doesn't have to have a bath if she doesn't want to!' retorts Dad.'She might want a drink! D'youwant a drink, darling?''Is that wise?' says Mum, shooting him a meaningful What If She's An Alkie? look, which presumablyI'm not supposed to notice.'I don't want a drink, thanks,' I say.'But I'd love a cup of tea.''Of course you would!' says Mum.'Graham, go and put the kettle on.' And she gives him anothermeaningful look.As soon as he's disappeared into the kitchen, she comes close to me and says, in alowered voice,'Are you feeling all right, darling? Is anything& wrong?'Oh God, there's nothing like your mother's sympathetic voice when you're feeling down, to make youwant to burst into tears.'Well,' I say, in a slightly wobbly voice.'Things have been better.I'm just& , in a bit of a difficultsituation at the moment.But it'll be all right in the end.' I give a small shrug and look away.'Because& ' She lowers her voice even more.'Your father isn't as old-fashioned as he seems.And Iknow that if it were a case of us looking after a& a Little One, while you pursued your career& 'What?'Mum, don't worry!' I exclaim sharply.'I'm not pregnant!''I never said you were,' she says and flushes a little.'I just wanted to offer you our support.'Bloody hell, what are my parents like? They watch too many soap operas, that's their trouble.In fact,they were probably hoping I was pregnant.By my wicked married lover whom they could then murderand bury under the patio.And what's this 'offer you our support' business, anyway? My mum would never have said that beforeshe started watching Ricki Lake every afternoon.'Well, come on,' she says.'Let's sit you down with a nice cup of tea.'And so I follow her into the kitchen, and we all sit down with a nice cup of tea.And I have to say, it ishttp://www.fictionbook.ru/author/kinsella_sophie/the_secret_dreamworld_of_a_shopaholi.3/16/2006 The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic Page 97 of 140very nice.Hot strong tea and a chocolate bourbon biscuit.Perfect.I close my eyes and take a few sips,and then open them again, to see both my parents gazing at me with naked curiosity all over their faces.Immediately my mother changes her expression to a smile, and my father gives a little cough but Ican tell, they are gagging to know what's wrong.'So,' I say cautiously, and both their heads jerk up
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