My stomach is swooping with nerves, and the reason is, today is a huge day: I’m taking Minnie to her preschool. It’s called the Little Leaf Preschool, and we’re very lucky to have got a place there. Apparently several celebrity kids go there, so I’m definitely volunteering for the PTA. Imagine if I got in with the in crowd. Imagine if I got to organize the school fete with Courteney Cox or someone! I mean, it’s possible, isn’t it? And then she’d introduce me to all the Friends cast … maybe we’d go out on a boat or something amazing.…
“Becky?” Luke’s voice breaks into my thoughts, and he comes striding into the hall. “I was just looking under the bed—”
“Oh, hi,” I interrupt him urgently. “Which sunglasses shall I wear?”
Luke looks blank as I demonstrate first the Oakleys, then the Tom Fords, and then a pair of tortoiseshell Topshop ones, which are totally fab and only cost £15, so I bought three pairs.
“It hardly matters,” he says. “It’s just the school run.”
I blink at him in astonishment. Just the school run? Just the school run? Doesn’t he read Us Weekly? Everyone knows the school run is the thing! It’s where the paparazzi snap celebrities acting like normal parents. It’s where people rock their casual looks. Even in London, all the mothers look one another up and down and dandle their bags on their arms in a showy-offy way. So how much more pressured will it be in L.A., where they all have perfect teeth and abs and half of them are genuine celebs?
I’m going for the Oakleys, I decide, and slide them on. Minnie comes running into the hall, and I take her hand to survey our reflection in the mirror. She’s in a cute little yellow sundress and white sunglasses, and her ponytail is held back with an adorable bumblebee. I think we’ll pass. We look like an L.A. mother and daughter.
“All set?” I say to Minnie. “You’re going to have such a lovely time at preschool! You’ll play games and maybe make lovely cupcakes with sprinkles on.…”
“Becky.” Luke tries again. “I was just looking under the bed and I found this.” He holds up a garment carrier. “Is it yours? What’s it doing there?”
“Oh.”
I adjust Minnie’s ponytail, playing for time. Damn. Why is he looking under the bed? He’s a busy L.A. mover and shaker. How does he have time to look under beds?
“It’s for Sage,” I say at last.
“For Sage? You’ve bought Sage a full-length fake-fur coat?” He stares at me in astonishment.
Honestly, he hasn’t even looked at it properly. It’s not full length; it’s to mid-thigh.
“I think it’ll suit her,” I explain. “It’ll go with her hair color. It’s a really different look for her.”
Luke appears absolutely baffled. “But why are you buying her clothes? You don’t even know her.”
“I don’t know her yet,” I correct him. “But you are going to introduce us, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, at some point.”
“So! You know I want to get into styling, and Sage would be a perfect client. So I’ve been putting some looks together for her. That’s all.”
“Wait a minute.” Luke’s face changes. “There were some other bags under the bed too. Don’t tell me—”
I curse myself silently. I should never, ever put anything under the bed.
“Is that all shopping for Sage?”
He looks so aghast, I feel defensive. First Suze, now Luke. Don’t they understand anything about setting up a business? Don’t they understand that to be a clothes stylist you need clothes? They wouldn’t expect me to be a tennis player and not have a tennis racket.
“It’s not ‘shopping’! It’s essential business expenses. It’s like you buying paper clips. Or photocopiers. Anyway, I’ve used all those clothes for my portfolio too,” I add robustly. “I took some brilliant pictures of Suze. So, actually, I’ve saved money.”
Luke doesn’t seem convinced.
“How much have you spent?” he demands.
“I don’t think we should talk about money in front of Minnie,” I say primly, and take her hand.
“Becky …” Luke gives me a long, sort of sighing look. His mouth is tucked in at one side and his eyebrows are in a “V” shape. This is another of Luke’s expressions I’m familiar with. It means: How am I going to break this to Becky without her overreacting?
(Which is very unfair, because I never overreact.)
“What?” I say. “What is it?”
Luke doesn’t answer straightaway. He walks over to one of the monster armchairs and fiddles with a striped Mexican throw. You might almost say that he’s putting the armchair between himself and me.
“Becky, don’t get offended.”
OK, this is a rubbish way to start any conversation. I’m already offended that he thinks I’m someone who could get offended. And anyway, why would I be offended? What’s he going to say?
“I won’t,” I say. “Of course I won’t.”
“It’s just that I’ve been hearing some really good stuff about a place called …” He hesitates. “Golden Peace. Have you heard of it?”
Have I heard of it? Anyone who’s ever read People magazine has heard of Golden Peace. It’s the place where they wear bracelets and do yoga and where celebrities dry out and then pretend they were just a little tired.