“I knew it!” I glare at her. “That’s what your daughter thought when I met her at the trailer park. You must have looked Dad up online and found out about me, and you simply assumed that he’d called me Rebecca after you.” I lift my chin firmly. “Well, guess what? He didn’t. I’m named after the book.”
“Hear, hear!” chimes in Mum wildly. “The book!”
“And you want to know something even more interesting?” I add, in my most lacerating tones. “Dad didn’t want to name me Rebecca. He wanted to name me anything but Rebecca. I wonder why?”
Rebecca says nothing, but I can see two small pink dots appear on her cheeks. Ha. That tells her. A moment later, the beads have fallen in a noisy clatter behind her, and we all look at one another.
“Well!” says Mum, breathing hard. “Well! Of all the…”
“Dear oh dear,” says Dad, shaking his head, in that understated way he has.
“She reminds me of that Angela who used to run the church raffle,” muses Janice. “Do you remember her, Jane? With the bracelets? Drove a blue Honda?”
Only Janice could bring up the church raffle at this moment in time. I feel a giggle rising, and then it’s a snuffle, and then it’s a full-blown burst of laughter. I feel like I haven’t laughed in so long.
Dad’s smiling too, and even Mum seems to see the funny side. As I glance at Luke, he’s also grinning, and then Minnie decides that she finds it all hilarious too.
“Funny!” she announces, clutching her stomach with laughter. “Funny lady!”
“She was a funny lady,” agrees Janice, and that sets us all off again. As Suze rejoins us, we’re still giving the occasional giggle, and she stares at us in astonishment.
“Sorry.” I wipe my nose. “I’ll explain later. What’s up at home?”
“Oh, everything’s fine,” says Suze. “I was just thinking, it’s still a nice afternoon. D’you want to go for a little walk?”
FIFTEEN
Sedona’s an amazing place to walk. The panorama of towering red rocks is like some kind of film backdrop, and all of us keep glancing up as though to check it’s still there. As we stroll past the “chic shops and galleries,” Mum and Dad are walking arm in arm, which is very sweet. Suze and Janice are holding Minnie’s hands and showing her things in windows. Luke is typing an email. And I’m walking along in a bit of a trance. I’m still seething with indignation at Rebecca. (And her daughter.) The more people tell me I can’t succeed at something, the more I want to prove them wrong. We will right this injustice. We will. She’ll see.
Ideas are seeding in my brain, thoughts, half plans….I keep taking a pen out of my bag and scribbling odd words on a scrap of paper. Surely we can do it, somehow?
“What are you up to, love?” says Mum, noticing me, and I pause mid-word.
“Thinking of a plan to squash Corey. But I’m not sure yet.” I glance down again at my page. “I’ve got a bit of an idea….”
We’re going to have a meeting later to discuss everything, and I might raise my plan as a possibility. Maybe.
“Well done, love!” says Mum, and I shrug.
“I don’t know. It’s only a few thoughts so far. I need to work on it.”
“Look at that!” says Suze, and we all pause at a shop called Someday My Prints Will Come. The window is full of gorgeous books, folders, boxes, and cushions—all covered in hand-blocked prints of trees, birds, and other nature-y stuff.
“Beautiful!” Mum agrees. “Becky, look at those dinky little suitcases! Let’s go in!”
We leave Luke outside, finishing his email, because he says it’s super-urgent and otherwise he would absolutely have loved to go and browse photo frames covered in cactuses. (He’s such a fibber.) As we enter, a woman wearing a feather-print dress rises from behind the till with a smile.
“Welcome,” she says in a soft voice.
“Did you create these prints?” asks Suze, and as the woman nods her head, Suze adds, “I love them!”
As I stroll around, I can hear Suze asking lots of questions about printmaking. The thing about Suze is, she’s very artistic. She could totally open a shop like this. In fact, maybe that’s what she should do at Letherby Halclass="underline" “The Letherby Print Collection.” It would be fantastic! I’m just squirreling this idea away to tell her later, when I come across a display of pencils and stop dead. Wow. I’ve never seen such amazing pencils.
They’re a little thicker than normal pencils, and each is covered in a different print. But not just that: The wood’s colored too. There are orange-print pencils with lavender-colored wood…turquoise-print pencils with crimson wood….They’re just stunning. As I raise one to my nose, I can smell this gorgeous, wafty, sandalwood-y scent.
“Are you buying one, Becky?” says Mum, and I swivel round to see her, Dad, and Janice approaching. Mum’s carrying three box files decorated with a tree print, and Janice has about a dozen tea towels covered in pumpkins.
“Oh no,” I say automatically, and put the pencil back. “They’re lovely, though, aren’t they?”
“They’re only two forty-nine,” says Mum, picking up a green-leaf-print pencil with amber wood. “You should get one.”
“It’s fine,” I say hastily. “What are you getting?”
“I’m organizing my life,” says Mum with a flourish. “It’s all changing.” She taps each box file in turn. “Letters, warranties, and printed-out emails. They’ll be the death of me. All over the kitchen.”
“Why do you print out your emails?” I say, puzzled.
“Oh, I can’t read emails on the screen.” Mum wrinkles her nose as though this is a mad idea. “I don’t know how you do that, love. And Luke! Doing all his business on a tiny little phone! How on earth does he manage it?”
“You could increase the font size,” I suggest, whereupon Mum looks as though I’ve said, You could travel to Mars.
“I’ll buy myself a set of box files.” She pats them fondly. “Much simpler.”
OK. I already know Mum’s next birthday present. A day with an IT tutor.
“So, what are you getting?” Mum looks over the display. “What about a pencil? They’re lovely.”
“Nothing.” I smile. “Let’s go and pay for your box files.”
“Bex doesn’t shop anymore,” says Suze, joining us. “Even if she can afford it.” She’s holding Minnie’s hand and they’re both clutching what look like aprons decorated with rabbits.
“What do you mean, she doesn’t shop anymore?” says Mum, looking baffled.
“I tried to buy her a pair of cowboy boots. She wouldn’t let me.”
“I didn’t need cowboy boots.”
“Well, you need a pencil!” says Mum brightly. “You can use it to write out your plan, love.”
“I don’t.” I abruptly turn away. “Let’s go.”
“They’re only two forty-nine,” points out Suze, picking one up. “Wow, they smell amazing.”
I let my gaze run over the pencils, feeling all twisty and miserable again. They are gorgeous. And of course I can afford one. But something’s blocking me. I can hear that horrible voice inside my head again.
“Let’s go and explore the rest of the town,” I say, trying to move everyone on, trying to get away. But Mum is gazing at me, her brow all wrinkled up.
“Becky, love…” she says gently. “This isn’t you. What’s happened to you, love? What’s going on inside?”