Christmas Shopaholic(68)

“Yes!” I say defiantly. I make a hammock out of my Rixo midi skirt—which is ideally shaped—and start to scoop beans into it. “See?”

Suze gives another sudden snort and comes over to where I’m kneeling on the floor.

“Bex,” she says, “that’s a great plan. Obviously. But if you didn’t mind compromising your ethical principles just a tad…we could use a cardboard box?”



* * *



—

Hmph. I still think I could have got those beans out of there in my skirt. I could have stored some in the glove compartment and some in the boot. The car could have been our black-turtle-bean storage facility.

On the other hand, I guess it was quicker to sweep them all into a box, pay for them, and head into the café. Now we’re sitting at a window table, all cozily together. We’ve ordered our food and we’re sipping our water, and Suze and I keep glancing at each other. It’s time to tackle Jess, with as much sensitivity and empathy as we can muster.

“Wait till you see your vegan turkey on Christmas Day,” I say to Jess as a preamble. “It’s going to be amazing!”

“Great,” says Jess.

I glance yet again at Suze and wonder how to proceed. Our plan was to help Jess “open up”—but how?

“So…how’s life in Chile?” I begin cautiously. “It must be hard. How’s…Tom?”

“He’s fine, thanks,” says Jess shortly. “Everything’s fine.”

But at once I can see the muscles in her neck twitching. And she’s clenching her water glass. Does she really think we’re fooled?

“Jess, you’re strong and independent,” I say earnestly. “I’ve always admired that. But I want you to know—we’re here for you.”

“We’re totally here for you,” affirms Suze.

“In case there was anything…” I trail off uncertainly.

“The whole adoption thing must be a real strain on both of you,” Suze says softly. “Isn’t it?”

There’s a much longer pause and I can barely breathe, because Jess’s eyes are starting to shimmer. Jess’s eyes never shimmer. I always thought they were made of granite, like her abs.

“Yes, it’s quite a strain,” she says at last, and her voice sounds choked. “It’s harder than we predicted. You think you’re patient, you think you’re philosophical…but…”

She breaks off into silence. Oh God. We need to tread so carefully. I look nervously at Suze, who makes an encouraging face back.

“Is it…I mean…” I hesitate. “Do you…”

I don’t even know what I want to ask. Actually, what I want is for Jess to blurt out all her feelings spontaneously and then I’ll say something wise in return and we’ll all hold hands.

But already she’s gathering herself. The shimmer has gone from her eyes.

“Maybe we should order some bread as well,” she says, glancing at the café counter.

“Jess, don’t talk about bread!” I say as supportively as I can. “We’re here. Just the three of us in a safe space. Why not talk about…”

“What?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Anything!” I wave my hands vaguely. “Anything at all! Chile…Tom…”

As I say the word “Tom,” Jess inhales sharply.

“What is this?” she demands, looking from me to Suze. “You’re on about Tom again. I thought he emailed you and said that everything was OK.”

“Well,” I say after a pause. “Yes, he did.”

I don’t want to add, “And his email made me more concerned than ever!” Nor do I want to ask yet again, “When is he coming back to the UK?”

“Everything’s fine.” Jess glowers at me. “What are you expecting me to say, Becky? What are you implying?”

“Nothing!” I backtrack hastily. “No! I’m not. But…if there’s anything to share…I’m your sister after all.” I put a gentle hand on her arm and try not to notice her recoiling.

“And I’m your friend,” chimes in Suze, putting a hand on Jess’s other arm and fixing her with earnest blue eyes. “So if you did want to share…”

“She doesn’t want to share!” comes the sardonic voice of the girl in the sack, who seems to have moved on to waitress duty and is walking past. “Jeez! Leave the poor woman alone!”

“It’s none of your business!” I say indignantly, but Jess has already moved her arms out of our grasps. She thrusts them under the table, looking supremely uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, Becky, but she’s right,” she says in a tense, low voice. “Just leave it. Stop inventing problems with my life.”

“But—”

“Leave it.” Jess cuts me off, and I exhale in frustration. How can we talk…if Jess won’t talk?

I open my mouth—then shut it. I’m desperate to say more, but Jess’s resolute expression puts me off. She’ll only get angry, and that’s the last thing I want.

“If there’s anything you should be worried about, it’s not my marriage,” Jess continues robustly. “It’s your mum and Janice. That’s the relationship gone south. They’re not even speaking, as far as I can work out.”