The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic

'Rebecca,' says Luke at last, 'if this is about what happened between us that day – if this is some kind of petty revenge'

God, I'm really going to explode now.

'Don't you bloody insult me!' I yell. 'Don't you bloody try and make out this is some kind of personal thing! It's got nothing to do with that! It's your company's incompetence that's to blame! I was completely professional. I gave you every chance to put your side of the story. Every chance. And if you blew it, that's not my fault.'

And without giving him the chance to reply, I slam the phone down.

I'm feeling quite shaky as I go back into the kitchen. To think I ever liked Luke Brandon. To think I tablehopped with him. To think I let him lend me twenty quid. He's just an arrogant, self-centred, chauvinistic-

'Telephone!' says Mum. 'Shall I get it?'

Oh God. It'll be him again, won't it? Ringing back to apologize. Well, he needn't think I'm that easily won round. I stand by every word I said. And I'll tell him so. In fact, I'll add that-

'It's for you Becky,' says Mum.

'Fine,' I say coolly, and make my way to the telephone. I don't hurry; I don't panic, I feel completely in control.

'Hello?' I say.

'Rebecca? Eric Foreman here.'

'Oh!' I say in surprise. 'Hi!'

'Bit of news about your piece.'

'Oh yes?' I say, trying to sound calm. But my stomach's churning. What if Luke Brandon's spoken to him? What if I did get something wrong? Oh shit, I did check all the facts, didn't I?

'I've just had Morning Coffee on the phone,' he says. 'You know, the TV programme? Rory and Emma. They're interested in your story.'

'What?' I say stupidly.

'There's a new series they're doing on finance. "Managing your Money." They get some financial expert in every week, tell the viewers how to keep tabs on their dosh.' Eric Foreman lowers his voice. 'Frankly, they're ru

'Right,' I say, trying to sound intelligent. But as his words slowly sink in, I'm feeling a bit dazed. Rory and Emma have read my article? Rory and Emma themselves? I have a sudden vision of them holding the paper together, jostling for a good view. But of course, that's silly, isn't it? They'd have a copy each.

'So, anyway, they want to have you on the show tomorrow morning,' Eric Foreman's saying. 'Talk about this windfall story, warn their viewers to take care. You interested in that kind of thing? If not, I can easily tell them you're too busy.'

'No!' I say quickly. 'No. Tell them I'm…' I swallow. 'I'm interested.'

As I put down the phone, I feel faint. I can't quite believe it. I'm going to be on television.

BANK OF HELSINKI

HELSINKI HOUSE

124 Lombard st

London EC2D 9YF

Rebecca Bloomwood

c/o William Green Recruitment

39 Farringdon Square

London EC4 7TD

27 March 2000

Hyvi Rebecca Bloomwood

Oli erittiin hauska tavata teidit viime viikolla, vaikka tapaaminen jiikin lyhyeksi. Olitte selvisti hermostunut, miki on aivan ymmirrettivai. Siiti huolimatta mini ja kollegani ihailimme tavalli suudesta poikkeavaa luonteenlaatua

Haluaisin o

Parhain terveisin

Ystivillisesti

Jan Virtanen

Nineteen

The car to take me to the television studios arrives promptly at 7.30 the next morning. As the doorbell rings, Mum, Dad and I all jump, even though we've been waiting in a tense silence for ten minutes.

'Well,' says Dad gruffly, glancing at his watch. 'They're here, anyway.'

Ever since I told him about the arrangements yesterday, Dad's been predicting that the car won't turn up and that he'll have to drive me to the studios himself. He even worked out a route last night, and phoned up Uncle Malcolm as a standby. (To be honest, I think he was quite looking forward to it.)

'Oh Becky,' says Mum in a trembling voice. 'Good luck, darling.' She looks at me, then shakes her head.

'Our little Becky, on television. I can't believe it.'

I start to get up, but Dad puts out a restraining arm.

'Now before you answer the door, Becky,' he says. You are sure, aren't you? About the risk you're taking.'

He glances at Mum, who bites her lip.

'I'll be fine!' I say, trying to sound as soothing as possible. 'Honestly, Dad, we've been over it all.'

Last night, it suddenly occurred to Dad that if I went on the telly, my stalker would know where I was. At first he was adamant I'd have to call the whole thing off – and it took an awful lot of persuasion to convince him and Mum I'd be perfectly safe in the TV studios.

They were even talking about hiring a bodyguard, can you believe it? I mean, what on earth would I look like, turning up with a bodyguard?

Actually, I'd look pretty cool and mysterious, wouldn't I? Damn. That might have been quite a good idea.

The doorbell rings again and I leap to my feet.

'Well,' says Dad. 'You just be careful.'

'I will, don't worry!' I say, picking up my bag. I walk to the door calmly, trying not to give away how excited I feel. But inside I feel as light as a bubble.

I just can't believe how well everything's going. Not only am I going to be on the telly – but everyone's being so nice to me! Yesterday I had several phone conversations with an assistant producer of Morning Coffee, who's a really sweet girl called Zelda. We went over exactly what I was going to say on the programme, then she fixed up for a car to come and pick me up – and when I told her I was at my parents' house with none of my clothes handy, she thought for a bit, then said I could choose something to wear from the wardrobe. I mean, how cool is that? Choosing any outfit I like from the wardrobe! I expect they'll let me keep it afterwards, too.

As I open the front door, my stomach gives an excited leap. There, waiting in the drive, is a portly, middle-aged man in a blue blazer and cap, standing next to a shiny saloon car. My own private chauffeur!

This just gets better and better.

'Miss Bloomwood?' says the driver.

'Yes,' I say, unable to stop myself gri

I glance back towards the house and see Mum and Dad standing on the front step, both looking utterly gobsmacked.

'Well – bye then!' I say, trying to sound casual, as though I always ride around in a chauffeur-driven car.

'See you later!'

'Becky, is that you?' comes a voice from next door, and Janice appears on the other side of the hedge in her dressing gown. Her eyes grow large as they take in the car and she glances at Mum, who raises her shoulders, as though to say, 'I know, isn't it unbelievable?'

'Morning, Janice,' says Dad.

'Morning, Graham,' says Janice dazedly. 'Oh Becky! I've never seen anything like it. In all the years… If Tom could only see you…' She breaks off and looks at Mum. 'Have you taken any photographs?'

'We haven't!' says Mum in dismay. 'It didn't even occur to us. Graham, quick – go and get the camera.'