The Personal Shopper Read Online Free Page A

other ports that finally sank his boat.
    Owen and Lana’s dad, Roddy Valentine – mischievous and funny, a Celtic blue-black-haired heartthrob – had been so much better at family life at first. But   then he was an actor, away a lot, and despite his assurances Annie had not been able to stop herself from   wondering about   the possibility of other women. However, nothing had   prepared her for the abrupt and sho cking end to her   marriage . Overnight, Roddy had become history and she’d had to deal with it, somehow get over it, use every ounce of strength to pick herself and her two devastated children up and carry on.
    How had this happened? It was a story that she didn’t like to tell. It was a story that somewhere in her head she didn’t really believe. She still didn’t like to hear his name unexpectedly, as it made her jump. Although Roddy had left over two and a half years ago now, she still woke up most mornings and looked across the bed for her handsome husband, momentarily convinced that it had all been a terrible dream.
    A schoolboy handed her an information sheet and she scanned it over, checking the order of events and the rooms she should be heading towards.
    An hour and a half had been allocated for form teacher talks, then it was into the hall for the headmaster’s speech and the performances. Would anyone notice if she skipped the main event?
    ‘Annie! Hello! How are you?’ Becca Wolstonecroft was bounding over, a plump, curly-blond-haired, friendly face, mother of four. Either fabulously rich sending four kids here, or fabulously broke, Annie hadn’t yet figured out which.
    ‘You’re looking wonderful – as usual,’ Becca said, kissing her on the cheek.
    ‘Oh that’s sweet of you,’ was Annie’s response. ‘Maybe you need new glasses, babes.’
    ‘No, no. Now that’s it, Annie, I’m going to have to get you to make me over one of these days. Look at me!’ Becca tipped her chin down and gestured with her arms. ‘I look like a bloody Lab rador .’
    Annie choked back the laugh this deserved. Not just because it was funny, but because, yes, blond knee-length fake fur wasn’t perhaps the best look for Becca’s short, stocky physique.
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ Annie insisted. ‘It’s cuddly and . . . so   .   . .’ she struggled . . . ‘warm.’
    ‘Oh yes well, a warm, cuddly Lab then!’ Becca exclaimed.
    ‘Right, OK. Do you do anything on a Tuesday evening?’ Annie asked.
    ‘No,’ she said hesitantly.
    ‘Next Tuesday evening, then.’
    ‘Hmmm?’ Becca sounded confused.
    Annie had already whipped her pink mock croc Filofax out of her handbag – she didn’t hold with electronic diaries, having crashed too many of them in the past. She also didn’t hold with handing out her business card and expecting people to call: they never did, you had to get them to commit while you had them by the short and curlies. She never left a St Vincent’s event without netting at least one new client.
    ‘Next Tuesday evening,’ Annie began. ‘Me in your wardrobe sorting you out, telling you what to keep and what to bin. Explaining in detail, with pictures, what and where you need to buy to make sure you always look amazing from now on.’
    Becca was looking very doubtful: ‘Erm . . . well . . . What do you charge?’
    ‘Probably just a bit more than the value of your current outfit,’ Annie teased.
    ‘And what do you think that is?’ Becca looked down at her furry coat.
    ‘Hmmm . . . all in, including the M&S shoes . . . two hundred and twenty pounds?’ came the guess.
    ‘Good grief ! How much!? ’ Becca look ed genuinely horrified.
    ‘It’ll be mates’ rates,’ Annie assured her. ‘We’ll be all done for less than a trolley dash round the M&S food hall.’
    ‘Well, er . . .’
    ‘Look, I’ll pencil you in. What’s your telephone number and I’ll phone to confirm a few days before?’
    ‘OK, great.’ Becca brightened up, obviously under the delusion that when