Free Mini Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella Page A

Tokyo, her hair is scraped back into a bun and her feet are in little silk slippers. ‘What are you doing in that outfit? Shouldn’t you be changed by now?’
    ‘This is what I’m wearing, love.’ She pats it self-consciously. ‘Janice gave it to me, remember? Pure silk. Such good quality.’
    Have I missed a step here?
    ‘It’s lovely. But it’s Japanese. The theme’s Russian, remember?’
    ‘Oh.’ Mum looks vaguely around as though distracted by something. ‘Well, I don’t suppose it really matters …’
    ‘Yes it does!’
    ‘Oh, love.’ Mum makes a face. ‘You know fur irritates my skin. I’ve been longing to wear this. And Janice has the most exquisite Japanese wedding coat, you’ll love it—’
    ‘What, you mean Janice is coming in a Japanese outfit as well?’ I cut her off in indignation.
    I should have known this would happen. Mum’s been pushing a Japanese theme ever since Janice came back from her holiday to Tokyo and started holding sushi-and-bridge evenings. But the point is, I’m in charge, and I said the theme was Russian .
    ‘Sorry to interrupt!’ A cheerful woman from the caterers comes past with a covered silver tray. ‘Where shall I put the Asian platters, Jane?’
    What?
    ‘Excuse me.’ I whip round to the caterer. ‘I ordered Russian food! Caviar, smoked salmon, little Russian cakes, vodka …’
    ‘Plus Asian platters, sushi and sashimi.’ The woman looks alarmed. ‘Isn’t that right? And sake.’
    ‘Quite right,’ says Mum hastily. ‘Take them into the kitchen. Thanks, Noreen.’
    I fold my arms and glare at Mum. ‘Who ordered sushi?’
    ‘I may have added a few items to the menu,’ says Mum, looking a bit evasive. ‘Just for variety.’
    ‘But it’s a Russian theme !’
    I feel like stamping my foot. What is the point of having a theme if people ignore it and set up their own totally different theme, without even telling you?
    ‘We can have two themes, love!’ suggests Mum brightly.
    ‘No we can’t!’
    ‘It can be Japanese-Russian fusion.’ She nods triumphantly. ‘All the celebrities do fusion these days.’
    ‘But—’ I halt, mid-stream.
    Japanese-Russian fusion. Actually, that’s quite cool. In fact, I wish I’d thought of it.
    ‘You can put some chopsticks in your hair. You’ll look lovely!’
    ‘Well, OK,’ I say at last, a bit grudgingly. ‘I suppose we could do that.’ I get out my phone and quickly text Suze and Danny:
    Hey. New theme for today is Russian-Japanese fusion. C u later! xxx
    Immediately I get a ping back from Suze:
    Japanese?? How do I do that??? Sx
    Chopsticks in hair? I reply.
    Mum has already produced some black lacquer chopsticks and is trying to stick them into my hair. ‘We need a kirby grip,’ she says, tutting. ‘Now, what about Luke?’
    ‘He won’t wear chopsticks in his hair.’ I shake my head. ‘Whatever the theme is.’
    ‘No, silly!’ Mum clicks her tongue. ‘I meant, is he nearly here?’
    We both instinctively glance at our watches. Luke has sworn he won’t be late for the christening about sixty-five times.
    I mean, he won’t. He wouldn’t be.
    God knows what this mammoth, mega work crisis is. He won’t say anything about it, or even which client it is. But something must have gone fairly pear-shaped, because he’s barely even been home in the last couple of days, and when he’s called he’s only spoken for about three seconds before ringing off again. I take out my phone again and text him:
    R u nearly back?? Where r u????
    A moment later a reply pings back:
    Doing best. L
    Doing best? What’s that supposed to mean? Is he in the car or not? Don’t say he hasn’t even left the office. I feel a sudden pain under my ribs. He can’t be late for his own daughter’s christening. He can’t .
    ‘Where’s Luke?’ Dad comes past. ‘Any sign of him yet?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘Cutting it a little fine, isn’t he?’ Dad raises his eyebrows.
    ‘He’ll be here!’ I muster a confident