Shopaholic to the Rescue (30 page)

OK, there are officially too many Rebeccas in this gathering.

There’s me, Becky.

There’s Rebecca.

And there’s “Becca,” who is Brent and Rebecca’s daughter. She’s the one I met at the trailer park, the one who calls me “princess girl,” which is getting quite annoying.

It’s about half an hour later. Dad’s ordered more food and drinks (we don’t really want them, but it gives us something to do), and we’re all trying to get to know the two new additions. But it’s not the most relaxed group, I must say. Mum keeps eyeing Rebecca with deep suspicion, especially her outfit. Mum has views on how ladies of a certain age should dress, and they involve not having lots of cleavage showing, or henna tattoos, or a nose ring. (I only just noticed it. It’s teeny.)

Becca is sitting next to me, and I can smell some really strong fabric conditioner on her T-shirt. She’s wearing cutoff jeans and is sitting with her legs sprawled, unlike her mother, who looks like an elegant witch perched on her broomstick.

It turns out that Becca is on her way to a new job at a hotel in Santa Fe but has stopped off here for a night. I asked about her little dog, Scooter—I met him at the trailer park—and she told me she can’t have a pet at her new job and she had to give him away. And then glared at me like it’s all my fault.

She’s so unfriendly, and I can’t understand it at all. What you’d
think
is that the two of them would marvel at Dad’s plan to help Brent and would offer assistance. Instead, Becca answers every question with a defensive monosyllable. She doesn’t know where her dad is right now. He’ll be in touch when he’s ready. She doesn’t see how Dad can right the wrong that was done Brent. No, she doesn’t have any ideas. No, she doesn’t want to brainstorm.

Meanwhile, Rebecca just wants to tell us about the amazing “spirit-cleansing” hikes we can do in the area. When Dad brings her back to the subject of Brent, she starts reminiscing about the time they all met a shaman at a reservation.

“Look, help me here, Rebecca!” Dad erupts at last. “I’m trying to get justice for Brent!”

“Oh, Graham.” Rebecca gives her mysterious smile. “You’re such a good man. You always were. You have a wonderful flow.”

“Justice,” mutters Becca, with an eye roll, and I feel a spike of irritation.

“What’s your problem?” I demand. “Why are you being so negative? We’re here to help your dad!”

“Maybe you are.” She glowers back at me. “But maybe it’s too late. Where were you in 2002?”

“What?” I look at her blankly.

“Dad asked Corey for help back in 2002, when he was at a real low. Put on a suit, went to see him in Vegas. He could have used your dad by his side then.”

“But my dad was in England,” I say, puzzled. “He didn’t know.”

“Of course he knew,” says Becca scathingly. “Dad wrote him.”

OK, I’m not having this. “Dad!” I interrupt the conversation he’s having with Rebecca. “Did you know about Brent asking Corey for help in 2002?”

“No.” Dad looks blank. “I heard nothing about that.”

“You never got a letter?” I gesture at Becca. “She thinks you got a letter from Brent.”

“Of course I didn’t!” says Dad hotly. “Do you think if I’d got a letter from Brent about this horrendous situation, I would have
ignored
it?”

Becca seems taken aback by this response. “Well, Corey told Dad you knew. Corey told Dad you’d been in touch about it and your view was…He said—” She stops herself, and I find myself wondering what exactly Corey said.

“Becca, I think Corey must have lied,” says Dad, more gently.

OK. Now this all makes sense. Corey lied and blamed my dad, and that’s why Becca hates us.

“Do you understand now?” I turn to Becca. “My dad
didn’t
say whatever heinous thing Corey said he did.”

So you didn’t need to be so hostile,
I add silently.
Or say, “Fuck off, princess girl.”

I’m hoping Becca will respond with something like:
Oh my God. Now I see it all. I’ve wronged you; please accept my apologies.
But she just shrugs and looks at her phone and mutters, “Anyway, you’ll never get anything out of Corey. No chance.”

God,
real people are so disappointing. I’m sure she would have done it better in the box-set version. A minute or two later, she says she has to leave, and I’m really not sorry.

“Bye, princess girl,” she says, as she shrugs her bag onto her shoulder.

I want to say,
Bye, horribly rude and negative girl,
but instead I just smile and say, “Keep in touch!”

Not,
I add in my head.

When she and Rebecca have gone, the atmosphere eases a little. Suze heads off to her room to check in with her kids. Mum is wondering whether we should order more snacks or whether that will spoil our dinners, and Janice is reading out loud from a leaflet about “spirit guides,” when Rebecca appears again.

“I thought you’d like to see this.” Her eyes glimmer at Dad as she holds out an old, faded black-and-white photograph.

“Goodness me!” says Dad, and gets out his reading spectacles. “Let me look at that.” After he’s had a good long peruse, he puts it on the table and I lean over to see. There they all are, sitting on rocks in the desert.

Dad is recognizably Dad. Corey looks like a completely different person from the tight-faced weirdo we met in Las Vegas. Raymond probably looks the same, except his graying beard is so big now, it’s hard to tell. But the person I’m focusing on is Brent. I peer more closely, trying to get a sense of this man we’re all trying to win justice for.

He has broad features. A square forehead. There’s a stubborn look to him, even in the photo. But he looks like he could be kind and wise too, just like Dad said. Then my gaze transfers to the young Rebecca, and I blink in amazement. God, she was beautiful! In the photo, she’s sitting apart from the others, her head thrown back, her hair cascading down, and her breasts almost popping out of her low-cut prairie-style dress. I can see exactly why Corey might have fallen for her. And Brent. I mean, to be honest, who
wouldn’t
fall for her?

Did Raymond? Did
Dad
?

I feel an uncomfortable little fillip in my stomach.

“Let me see!” says Mum, pulling the photo toward her, and I can see her studying Rebecca, her mouth pursed. As she lifts her gaze to the current Rebecca, her expression doesn’t change.

“So, I took the liberty of booking massages for all of you tomorrow,” says Rebecca, in her soft, mesmerizing voice. “Then maybe the hotel could organize a picnic lunch? And you
must
see the juniper trees while you’re here.”

“We’re not here for pleasure,” says Dad. “So we’ll have to cancel the massages.”

“You can take a few days off.” She gives him her catlike smile. “You don’t want to burn out, all of you.”

“I’m afraid we can’t.” Dad shakes his head. “We need to press on with the task.”

“You’re in Sedona, Graham. Center of relaxation. You need to kick back. Enjoy it!”

“Not really,” points out Dad. “Helping Brent is our priority. He’s the victim.”

“Victim,”
mutters Rebecca, her eyes raised to heaven. She speaks so quietly I’m not sure if I actually heard it—but Dad did.

“Rebecca? What does that mean?”

“Well, really.” Her voice bursts out. “I can’t keep quiet anymore. What do you all think you’re doing? Because it’s
crazy
.”

“We’re trying to put things right for Dad’s old friend!” I say hotly. “That’s not crazy!”

“Put things right?” Her eyes flash at me. “You know nothing about it. If Brent was swindled, it was his own fault. Everyone knew Corey was a liar. If Brent hadn’t
drank
so much, maybe he would have kept his wits about him.”

“That’s very harsh,” says Dad, sounding shocked.

“It’s the truth. He’s just a loser. Always was. And now you all want to prop his life back up for him.” She sounds almost savage. “Why should Brent get his life propped up?”

We’re all exchanging shocked looks. I’m guessing that Rebecca and Brent’s relationship didn’t end too brilliantly.

“But he’s almost certainly homeless!” I point out. “And he’s your daughter’s father!”

“What does that mean to me?” Rebecca snaps. “If he’s homeless, it’s his own damn idiot fault.”

I’ve never seen someone change so fast. All the syrupy charm has slid away, and with it has gone her veneer of attractiveness. She looks older and bitter and kind of pinched around the mouth. All in ten seconds. I almost want to whisper in her ear:
You know, being mean is really bad for your looks.

Dad is watching her appraisingly, and I wonder if she was like this all those years ago. Maybe she was worse.

At any rate, something tells me Mum doesn’t need to worry.

“Well,” he says at last, in pleasant tones. “We’ll do our thing. And you do your thing. It was nice to see you again, Rebecca.”

He gets to his feet and waits meaningfully. After a moment, Rebecca stands up too and picks up her tasseled leather bag.

“You’ll never succeed anyway,” she says scathingly. “Becca’s right. Not a chance.”

My blood is starting to boil. This woman is a total
witch
.

“Hey, wait a moment, Rebecca,” I say as she reaches the door. “You think I’m named after you, don’t you? Just like Becca is, and Corey’s daughter.”

Rebecca says nothing but turns to face us again and shakes back her long hair, all the time looking at Dad with this self-satisfied smile. She clearly believes every man gets so besotted by her that he names his child after her. Ugh. Ugh!

“I knew it!” I glare at her. “That’s what your daughter thought when I met her at the trailer park. You must have looked Dad up online and found out about me, and you simply assumed that he’d called me Rebecca after you.” I lift my chin firmly. “Well, guess what? He
didn’t
. I’m named after the
book
.”

“Hear, hear!” chimes in Mum wildly. “The
book
!”

“And you want to know something even more interesting?” I add, in my most lacerating tones. “Dad didn’t
want
to name me Rebecca. He wanted to name me anything
but
Rebecca. I wonder why
?
”

Rebecca says nothing, but I can see two small pink dots appear on her cheeks. Ha. That tells
her
. A moment later, the beads have fallen in a noisy clatter behind her, and we all look at one another.

“Well!” says Mum, breathing hard. “
Well!
Of all the…”

“Dear oh dear,” says Dad, shaking his head, in that understated way he has.

“She reminds me of that Angela who used to run the church raffle,” muses Janice. “Do you remember her, Jane? With the bracelets? Drove a blue Honda?”

Only Janice could bring up the church raffle at this moment in time. I feel a giggle rising, and then it’s a snuffle, and then it’s a full-blown burst of laughter. I feel like I haven’t laughed in
so long
.

Dad’s smiling too, and even Mum seems to see the funny side. As I glance at Luke, he’s also grinning, and then Minnie decides that she finds it all hilarious too.

“Funny!” she announces, clutching her stomach with laughter. “Funny lady!”

“She
was
a funny lady,” agrees Janice, and that sets us all off again. As Suze rejoins us, we’re still giving the occasional giggle, and she stares at us in astonishment.

“Sorry.” I wipe my nose. “I’ll explain later. What’s up at home?”

“Oh, everything’s fine,” says Suze. “I was just thinking, it’s still a nice afternoon. D’you want to go for a little walk?”

FIFTEEN

Sedona’s an amazing place to walk. The panorama of towering red rocks is like some kind of film backdrop, and all of us keep glancing up as though to check it’s still there. As we stroll past the “chic shops and galleries,” Mum and Dad are walking arm in arm, which is very sweet. Suze and Janice are holding Minnie’s hands and showing her things in windows. Luke is typing an email. And I’m walking along in a bit of a trance. I’m still seething with indignation at Rebecca. (And her daughter.) The more people tell me I can’t succeed at something, the more I want to prove them wrong. We will right this injustice. We
will
. She’ll see.