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Authors: Sophie Kinsella
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much as I do, because Luke has totally got the wrong end of the stick and thinks she and Tarkie paid for the party.
‘I can’t. I promised. She’s got this whole thing about not wanting to buy his love.’
‘Throwing someone a party isn’t buying their love,’ protests Suze. ‘I think she’s all wrong. I think he’d be touched. It’s so stupid!’ she says with sudden vehemence. ‘It’s such a waste! Think of all the time you could spend together, and with Minnie too …’
‘Minnie misses her,’ I admit. ‘She keeps saying, “Where Lady?” But if Luke even knew they’d been seeing each other, he’d flip out.’
‘Families.’
Suze shakes her head. ‘They’re just the end. Poor old Tarkie’s in a total tizz about the fountain, just because his father’s here. I said to him, “If your dad can’t say anything positive, he should have stayed in Scotland!”’ She sounds so fierce, I want to laugh. ‘We must hurry,’ she adds, glancing at her watch. ‘The countdown will have begun!’
Suze’s ‘garden’ is basically an enormous great park. There are huge lawns and acres of topiary and a famous rose garden and loads of special plants which I now can’t remember. (I’m definitely going on the proper tour one day.)
We head down from the big gravelled terrace to find that crowds are already gathering on the lawn and setting up deck chairs among the trees. Music is playing from loudspeakers, waitresses are circling with glasses of wine, and a massive electronic countdown board reads
16:43
. There’s a rectangular lake, directly in front of the house, and that’s where The Surge is. I’ve only seen an artist’s impression of it, but it’s really pretty. It shoots straight up about a zillion feet and then falls down in a graceful arc. Then it swings backwards and forwards, and then at the end it shoots little droplets into the air. It’s so clever, and there are going to be coloured lights in the evenings.
As we get near, we find a cordoned-off area for VIP visitors, where my mum and dad have commandeered a prime position, along with our neighbours Janice and Martin.
‘Becky!’ exclaims Mum. ‘Just in time!’
‘Becky! We’ve missed you!’ Janice gives me a hug. ‘How was LA?’
‘Great, thanks!’
‘Really, love?’ Janice clicks her tongue disbelievingly, as though I’m putting a brave face on some personal tragedy. ‘But the people. All those plastic faces and whale pouts.’
‘Do you mean trout pouts?’
‘And drugs,’ puts in Martin ponderously.
‘Exactly!’
‘You need to be careful, Becky,’ he adds. ‘Don’t let them suck you into their way of thinking.’
‘Unhappiest city on the planet,’ agrees Janice. ‘It said so in the paper.’
They’re both staring at me mournfully, as though I’m about to be carted off to a penal colony on Mars.
‘It’s a brilliant city,’ I say defiantly. ‘And we can’t wait to get there.’
‘Well, maybe you’ll see Jess,’ says Janice, as though this is the only possible ray of light. ‘How far’s Chile from LA?’
‘It’s …’ I try to sound knowledgeable. ‘Not far. Same general area.’
My half-sister Jess is married to Janice and Martin’s son Tom, and they’re out in Chile, where they’re planning to adopt a little boy. Poor Janice is trying to wait patiently, but apparently it could be a year before they come back.
‘Don’t listen to them, love,’ Dad chimes in cheerfully. ‘LA is a fine city. I still remember the glint of the Cadillacs. The surf on the sand. And the ice-cream sundaes. Look out for those, Becky.’
‘Right.’ I nod patiently. ‘Ice-cream sundaes.’
Dad spent a summer driving around California before he got married, so his version of LA is basically from 1972. There’s no point saying, ‘No one eats ice-cream sundaes any more, it’s all about flavoured fro-yo.’
‘In fact, Becky,’ Dad adds, ‘I’ve got a couple of favours to ask you.’ He draws me to one
‘I can’t. I promised. She’s got this whole thing about not wanting to buy his love.’
‘Throwing someone a party isn’t buying their love,’ protests Suze. ‘I think she’s all wrong. I think he’d be touched. It’s so stupid!’ she says with sudden vehemence. ‘It’s such a waste! Think of all the time you could spend together, and with Minnie too …’
‘Minnie misses her,’ I admit. ‘She keeps saying, “Where Lady?” But if Luke even knew they’d been seeing each other, he’d flip out.’
‘Families.’
Suze shakes her head. ‘They’re just the end. Poor old Tarkie’s in a total tizz about the fountain, just because his father’s here. I said to him, “If your dad can’t say anything positive, he should have stayed in Scotland!”’ She sounds so fierce, I want to laugh. ‘We must hurry,’ she adds, glancing at her watch. ‘The countdown will have begun!’
Suze’s ‘garden’ is basically an enormous great park. There are huge lawns and acres of topiary and a famous rose garden and loads of special plants which I now can’t remember. (I’m definitely going on the proper tour one day.)
We head down from the big gravelled terrace to find that crowds are already gathering on the lawn and setting up deck chairs among the trees. Music is playing from loudspeakers, waitresses are circling with glasses of wine, and a massive electronic countdown board reads
16:43
. There’s a rectangular lake, directly in front of the house, and that’s where The Surge is. I’ve only seen an artist’s impression of it, but it’s really pretty. It shoots straight up about a zillion feet and then falls down in a graceful arc. Then it swings backwards and forwards, and then at the end it shoots little droplets into the air. It’s so clever, and there are going to be coloured lights in the evenings.
As we get near, we find a cordoned-off area for VIP visitors, where my mum and dad have commandeered a prime position, along with our neighbours Janice and Martin.
‘Becky!’ exclaims Mum. ‘Just in time!’
‘Becky! We’ve missed you!’ Janice gives me a hug. ‘How was LA?’
‘Great, thanks!’
‘Really, love?’ Janice clicks her tongue disbelievingly, as though I’m putting a brave face on some personal tragedy. ‘But the people. All those plastic faces and whale pouts.’
‘Do you mean trout pouts?’
‘And drugs,’ puts in Martin ponderously.
‘Exactly!’
‘You need to be careful, Becky,’ he adds. ‘Don’t let them suck you into their way of thinking.’
‘Unhappiest city on the planet,’ agrees Janice. ‘It said so in the paper.’
They’re both staring at me mournfully, as though I’m about to be carted off to a penal colony on Mars.
‘It’s a brilliant city,’ I say defiantly. ‘And we can’t wait to get there.’
‘Well, maybe you’ll see Jess,’ says Janice, as though this is the only possible ray of light. ‘How far’s Chile from LA?’
‘It’s …’ I try to sound knowledgeable. ‘Not far. Same general area.’
My half-sister Jess is married to Janice and Martin’s son Tom, and they’re out in Chile, where they’re planning to adopt a little boy. Poor Janice is trying to wait patiently, but apparently it could be a year before they come back.
‘Don’t listen to them, love,’ Dad chimes in cheerfully. ‘LA is a fine city. I still remember the glint of the Cadillacs. The surf on the sand. And the ice-cream sundaes. Look out for those, Becky.’
‘Right.’ I nod patiently. ‘Ice-cream sundaes.’
Dad spent a summer driving around California before he got married, so his version of LA is basically from 1972. There’s no point saying, ‘No one eats ice-cream sundaes any more, it’s all about flavoured fro-yo.’
‘In fact, Becky,’ Dad adds, ‘I’ve got a couple of favours to ask you.’ He draws me to one
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