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says, and bites her lip. “But—”
    “That’s fantastic!” I exclaim, and a couple of smooth-looking girls in the corner look up. “Who for?” I say more quietly. “It’s not
Cosmo
, is it?”
    We’re interrupted by Paul, who comes over with a coffee and puts it in front of Elly.
    “Swimmers coming up,” he says, then grins and walks off.
    “Who’s it for?” I repeat. Elly applies for so many jobs, I lose track.
    “It’s Wetherby’s,” she says, and a pink flush creeps over her face.
    “Wetherby’s Investments?” She gives a very slight nod, and I frown in bemusement. Why is she applying to Wetherby’s Investments? “Have they got an in-house magazine or something?”
    “I’m not applying to be a journalist,” she says in a low voice. “I’m applying to be a fund manager.”
    “What?”
I say, appalled.
    I know friends should be supportive of each other’s life decisions and all that. But I’m sorry, a
fund manager?
    “I probably won’t even get it,” she says, and looks away. “It’s no big deal.”
    “But …”
    I’m speechless. How can Elly even be thinking of becoming a fund manager? Fund managers aren’t real people. They’re the characters we laugh at on press trips.
    “It’s just an idea,” she says defensively. “Maybe I want to show Carol I can do something else. You know?”
    “So it’s like … a bargaining tool?” I hazard.
    “Yes,” she says, and gives a little shrug. “That’s it. A bargaining tool.”
    But she doesn’t sound exactly convinced—and she’s not nearly as chatty as usual during the rest of the afternoon. What’shappened to her? I’m still puzzling over it as I make my way home from Image Store. I walk down to High Street Kensington, cross over the road, and hesitate in front of Marks and Spencer.
    The tube is to my right. The shops are to my left.
    I must
ignore
the shops. I must practice frugality, go straight home, and plot my expenditure graph. If I need entertainment, I can watch some nice free television and perhaps make some inexpensive, nutritious soup.
    But there’s nothing good on tonight, at least not until
EastEnders
. And I don’t want soup. I really feel as if I need something to cheer me up. And besides—my mind’s working fast—I’ll be giving it all up tomorrow, won’t I? It’s like the beginning of Lent. This is my Shopping Pancake Day. I need to cram it all in before the fast begins.
    With a surge of excitement I hurry toward the Barkers Centre. I won’t go mad, I promise myself. Just one little treat to see me through. I’ve already got my cardigan—so not clothes … and I bought some new kitten heels the other day—so not that … although there are some nice Prada-type shoes in Hobbs … Hmm. I’m not sure.
    I arrive at the cosmetics department of Barkers and suddenly I know. Makeup! That’s what I need. A new mascara, and maybe a new lipstick. Happily I start to wander around the bright, heady room, dodging sprays of perfume and painting lipsticks onto the back of my hand. I want a really pale lipstick, I decide. Sort of nudey beige/pink, and a lip liner to go with it …
    At the Clarins counter, my attention is grabbed by a big promotional sign.
    BUY TWO SKIN-CARE PRODUCTS, AND RECEIVE FREE BEAUTY BAG, CONTAINING TRIAL-SIZE CLEANSER, TONER, AND MOISTURIZER, AUTUMN BLAZE LIPSTICK, EXTRA STRENGTH MASCARA AND SAMPLE-SIZE EAU DYNAMISANTE. STOCKS LIMITED SO HURRY.
    But this is fantastic! Do you know how much Clarins lipstick usually costs? And here they are, giving it away! Excitedly I start rooting through all the skin-care products, trying to decide which two to buy. How about some neck cream? I’ve never used that before. And some of this Revitalizing Moisturizer. And then I’ll get a free lipstick! It’s a complete bargain.
    “Hi,” I say to the woman in the white uniform. “I’d like the Neck Cream and the Revitalizing Moisturizer. And the beauty bag,” I add, suddenly petrified that I might be