Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle by Sophie Kinsella Read Free Book Online Page A

(Personally, I don’t think the thimbles count as a proper collection, because she got the whole lot, including the cabinet, from an ad at the back of the
Mail on Sunday
magazine. But she never tells anybody that. In fact, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.)
    So anyway, we’re both feeling rather pleased with ourselves, and decide to go for a cup of tea. Then, on the way out, we pass one of those really sad stalls which no one is going near; the kind people glance at once, then quickly walk past. The poor guy behind it looks really sorry for himself, so I pause to have a look. And no wonder no one’s stopping. He’s selling weird-shaped wooden bowls, and matching wooden cutlery. What on earth is the point of wooden cutlery?
    “That’s nice!” I say brightly, and pick one of the bowls up.
    “Hand-crafted applewood,” he says. “Took a week to make.”
    Well, it was a waste of a week, if you ask me. It’s shapeless and the wood’s a nasty shade of brown. But as I go to put it back down again, he looks so doleful I feel sorry for him and turn it over to look at the price, thinking if it’s a fiver I’ll buy it. But it’s eighty quid! I show the price to Mum, and she pulls a little face.
    “That particular piece was featured in
Elle Decoration
last month,” says the man mournfully, and produces a cutout page. And at his words, I freeze.
Elle Decoration?
Is he joking?
    He’s not joking. There on the page, in full color, is a picture of a room, completely empty except for a suede beanbag, a low table, and a wooden bowl. I stare at it incredulously.
    “Was it this exact one?” I ask, trying not to sound too excited. “This exact bowl?” As he nods, my grasp tightens round the bowl. I can’t believe it. I’m holding a piece of
Elle Decoration
. How cool is that? Now I feel incredibly stylish and trendy—and wish I were wearing white linen trousers and had my hair slicked back like Yasmin Le Bon to match.
    It just shows I’ve got good taste. Didn’t I pick out this bowl—sorry, this
piece
—all by myself? Didn’t I spot its quality? Already I can see our sitting room redesigned entirely around it, all pale and minimalist. Eighty quid. That’s nothing for a timeless piece of style like this.
    “I’ll have it,” I say determinedly, and reach inside my bag for my checkbook. The thing is, I remind myself, buying cheap is actually a false economy. It’s much better to spend a little more and make a serious purchase that’ll last for a lifetime. And this bowl is quite clearly a classic. Suze is going to be
so
impressed.
    When we get back home, Mum goes straight inside, but I stay in the driveway, carefully transferring my purchases from her car to mine.
    “Becky! What a surprise!”
    Oh God. It’s Martin Webster from next door, leaning over the fence with a rake in his hand and a huge friendly smile on his face. Martin has this way of always making me feel guilty, I don’t know why.
    Actually I do know why. It’s because I know he was always hoping I would grow up and marry Tom, his son. And I haven’t. The history of my relationship with Tom is: he asked me out once when we were both about sixteen and I said no, I was going out with Adam Moore. That was the end of it and thank God for that. To be perfectly honest, I would rather marry Martin himself than marry Tom.
    “Hi!” I say overenthusiastically. “How are you?”
    “Oh, we’re all doing well,” says Martin. “You heard Tom’s bought a house?”
    “Yes,” I say. “In Reigate. Fantastic!”
    “It’s got two bedrooms, shower room, reception room, and open-plan kitchen,” he recites. “Limed oak units in the kitchen.”
    “Gosh,” I say. “How fab.”
    “Tom’s thrilled with it,” says Martin. “Janice!” he adds in a yell. “Come and see who’s here!”
    A moment later, Janice appears on the front doorstep, wearing her floral apron.
    “Becky!” she says. “What a stranger you’ve become! How long is it?”
    Now I feel