‘Madam, it has already been declined twice. A third time could flag a potential fraud to your bank and then you’ll be in an even worse position.’
I wasn’t sure that was how these things worked and guessed the shop assistant was trying to get rid of me and clear the backlog of customers caused by my incident.
‘Oh, God. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Do you have a different card you could try?’
‘No.’ I flushed an even deeper red. Rob only let me use the credit card, as it earned us air-miles for future holidays. I’d tried insisting a backup would be useful, but he’d laughed and shown me our extremely healthy bank balance. ‘Do you mind if I call my husband? He may be able to sort this out?’
The shop assistant sighed. ‘I can’t hold your place in the queue, it’s not fair to the other customers. Put the bags in the trolley and leave it here with me.’
‘Thank you, I won’t be long.’
It was a relief to step out into the supermarket car park, and find myself slapped in the face by an icy blast of March air. I held my face to the sky, waiting for the smattering of drizzle to calm my burning skin. After ten deep breaths, I pulled out my phone and dialled Rob’s number. When he didn’t pick up, I called his office, but instead of his cheery secretary answering, a robotic voice informed me I had dialled an incorrect number.
Humiliation deadened my legs, and forcing myself back into the supermarket was like walking through deep snow in a pair of stilettos. I put one foot in front of the other, aware that the shop assistant had seen me coming but was pretending she hadn’t.
I waited beside the checkout, keeping my eyes on the scuffed floor to avoid any sympathetic looks heading my way. ‘Excuse me…’
‘Please wait a moment, madam, until I’ve finished serving this customer.’
I dared lift my eyes, catching the look of pity thrown my way by the middle-aged man packing up his shopping. A flash of gold caught my eye, my lids widening in horror as a dolled-up Cressida Jamison shimmered and shimmied her way towards the checkout. What was she doing here? Surely she only shopped at Waitrose?
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. ‘Sorry,’ I said, turning on my heel and sprinting out of the shop.
‘What about your shopping?’ yelled the woman behind the checkout, but I was already racing towards my car, clicking the temperamental key fob and praying my escape wouldn’t be hindered by a faulty fuse.
As I pulled out of the car park, I spotted Cressida wheeling her shopping towards her Porsche, sunglasses perched on her head despite the dreary day. Had she spotted me? I prayed not, butthen again, what if she had? So what? Who cares? With a rush of shame, I realised I did care, and hated myself for it.
I left the salubrious suburbs and drove until I reached rows of ordinary terraced houses, children’s bikes propped up in gardens with cheerful metal benches and potted plants. Rob was so scathing about this area, but I loved it. Unlike on our executive estate, here they held community workshops, pub quizzes, mother-and-toddler groups and clothes swaps. For all the luxuries afforded to us in our four-bedroom, three-bathroom detached house, we knew nothing about our neighbours, not even their names, and every scrap of grass held a sign informing children thatno ball games are allowed.
‘Liv? What are you doing here?’
My sister answered the door wearing a paint-covered apron and her usual warm smile. In complete contrast to me, she took her looks firmly from the English side of our parentage. A good few centimetres taller than me, her pale face housed a smattering of freckles, framed by silky blonde locks, her green eyes sparkling with excitement for life. She was the spitting image of our mother, so much so, sometimes it physically hurt to look at her.
‘Hi, Cass. I was just passing. Actually, no, that’s not true. I had an incident at the supermarket and could do with a glass of wine if there’s one going spare?’
‘You’ve come to the right place. Come in. Sorry about the mess,’ she said, as we weaved our way through piles of washing and discarded toys.
‘What’s with the apron?’
‘I’m painting the twins’ room. They’re going through a goth phase and want the walls black.’
‘A goth phase? At ten?’
‘I know,’ said Cass with a laugh. ‘God knows what they’ll be like when they hit their teens. I suppose it’s better to get this lovefor all things dark out of their system before then. You should hear the music they listen to. Jasper calls it death by a thousand howls.’
I smiled at the mention of my brother-in-law. Bearded, plump and full of laughter, Cass had fallen for Jasper the moment she laid eyes on him in the sixth form common room and they’d been inseparable ever since.
‘Ooh, this is lovely,’ I said, walking into the newly painted kitchen. ‘What a gorgeous colour,’ I said, stroking the bubblegum-coloured walls.
‘Poor old Jasper hates it,’ said Cass. ‘I only painted it at the weekend. All the black was getting to me. Jasper keeps asking why I couldn’t have gone for a pale blue or teal, something more manly.’
‘Your husband’s a saint.’
‘I know,’ said Cass with a grin. ‘Anyway, here’s your wine. Now tell me what happened in the supermarket to get you so riled up.’
I told Cass about my card being declined, but instead of the sympathy I’d been hoping for, she laughed.
