Free Shopaholic to the Rescue by Sophie Kinsella

what you need ?” The woman in the trouser suit looks as though I’ve uttered something unspeakably profane. “Ma’am, could you please finalize your purchases as quickly as possible and leave the store?”
    —

    Honestly. You’d think I’d been single-handedly trying to bring down capitalism or something. The manageress in the trouser suit actually hissed at me as she frog-marched me out: “Did you see what happened in Japan? Do you want that happening here? Do you?”
    I mean, I felt bad, because it did start getting a bit out of hand. Everyone was taking stuff out of their baskets and dumping it back on the shelves and asking total strangers, “Why are we shopping?” and “Do you need that?”—while all the sales staff were rushing around in a fluster, crying, “Everyone loves a souvenir!” and “This one is half price! Take three!”
    Although it’s not my fault, is it? I mean, all I did was point out that no one is ever going to wear a dice necklace.
    In the end, the only thing I ended up buying was a little jigsaw puzzle for Minnie. I didn’t feel any great buzz as I bought it, but it was a different sort of satisfaction. As I took my receipt ($7.32), I felt kind of calm. Empowered. I even took the feedback card and ticked Awesome .
    But as I walk back along the parade of Shoppes, my mood starts sinking again. I pull out my phone and text Luke:
Where are you?
    At once he texts back:
Conference center still. Few more emails to deal with. Where are you?

    I heave a sigh of relief at just being in contact with him, and type:
I’m at the Shoppes. Luke, do you think Suze is ever going to be my friend again? I mean, I know things went bad between us in L.A., but I’m doing my best now and she doesn’t even seem to notice and the only person she cares about is Alicia and
    Oh. I’ve run out of space. Well, he’ll get the message.
    It’s only after I’ve pressed S END that it strikes me: Maybe it was a mistake to launch into an outburst. Luke isn’t brilliant at responding to endless angsty texts. In fact, I have a sneaking feeling that whenever I send a really long text to him, he doesn’t read it at all. Sure enough, a few moments later my phone beeps with a new text:
You need a distraction, my love. I’ll be done in a while and then I’m taking you to the casino. I’ll text when I’m on my way. Your mother will babysit Minnie, all fixed up. xxx
    Wow. Gambling! I feel a thrill of excitement, mixed with trepidation. I’ve never gambled in my life, unless you count the lottery. I mean, we always used to have a family flutter on the Grand National, but that was Dad’s thing and he placed the bets. I’ve never been into a betting shop or even played poker.
    On the other hand, I have watched loads of James Bond movies, and I think you can learn quite a lot from them. Like: Stay impassive. Raise your eyebrows while you sip a cocktail. I’m sure I can do all that, it’s just, I’m not sure of the actual rules .

    I pause at a coffee outlet and am getting myself a latte when I see a woman nearby, sitting at a bistro table, with a bleached-blond ponytail. She’s in her fifties, I’d say. She’s wearing a black denim jacket decorated with rhinestones and is playing some kind of card game on her phone. On the table in front of her is a massive great cup filled with change for the slot machines, and on her T-shirt is printed R OCKWELL C ASINO N IGHT 2008 .
    She must know about gambling. And she’ll want to help a newcomer, surely? I wait till she pauses in her game, then approach her table.
    “Excuse me,” I say politely. “I was wondering, could you give me some gambling advice?”
    “Huh?” The woman looks up from her phone and blinks at me. Oh my God, she has dollar signs on her eyelids. How on earth did she do that?
    “Er…” I try not to stare too blatantly at her eyes. “I’m a visitor and I’ve never gambled before, and I’m not sure how to do it.”
    The woman stares at me as