Suzy P and the Trouble with Three Read Free Page A

top,” Abi says. She checks the tag in the dress, and makes a note of the barcode number. “I’ll scan that through in the morning, but now, it’s all yours.”
    “Thanks,” I say gloomily as I wriggle into my shirt, and slip on my shoes, which don’t go with the dress
at
all
. I can’t even put my trousers on underneath – the dress is too clingy for that to be an option, and putting them on top would look weirder.
    “At least you got a free dress out of it,” Lou says, as she escorts me to the exit. The dress is so tight I can only take teetering penguin steps.
    As the door closes behind me and the shutters drop down, the last thing I see in the shop is Lou and Abi, bent double with laughter.
    Gnargh.
    Standing outside Pink Panda, and yanking at my hem with my free hand, trying to cover more than a millimetre of thigh, I frantically dial home.
    If nobody can come and get me, things are rapidly going to get worse, as my only choice will be to walk through the shopping centre and get on the bus.
    Pick up, pick up
, I pray. People are staring curiouslyas they pass, but I’m doing my best to ignore them.
    There’s no answer. The phone rings and rings, until the answerphone kicks in. Rats!
    “You’ve reached the Puttock household,” Dad’s voice recites. “You probably don’t want to speak to me, but to one of the women I live with. If so, ring their mobiles. That’s why I pay all those damn phone bills. Otherwise, leave a message after the tone.”
    “Mum, Dad, it’s Suzy,” I say. “Um, I’ve had a bit of an incident in town, and I need you to call me as soon as you can. It’s urgent, okay?”
    I ring both their mobiles next, but they’re switched off. Pulling the bus timetable out of my bag, I scan it quickly. To my dismay, the last bus home is leaving in ten minutes and I’ve not got enough cash for a taxi. If Mum and Dad don’t get my message, I won’t be able to get home.
    Which means I’m going to have to head for the bus stop.
    Pushing my shoulders back, I decide the only way to carry this off is with an air of panache and fake confidence. I start to strut through the shopping centre, but the people laughing and pointing are somewhat off-putting. My confidence fizzles away until soon I’m doing a tottering waddle, head down, tugging my hem every painful step of the way.
    One last check of my mobile, and I try the house phone again, but no joy. Nobody’s around.
    Flipping marvellous.
    So that leaves getting the bus, then. As I join the crowd of people waiting for the number 16, I hear stifled giggles, and realise the Mulberry girls are leaning up against a wall, watching me and sniggering.
    It’s at this point I realise I am never going to be as glamorous and sophisticated as those two. Ever. I bet nothing like this happens to them.
    I busy myself trying to find some money in my purse, but fumble with the zip so the coins end up falling everywhere. It’s impossible to bend down elegantly in this stupid dress, but I scrabble around on the ground for the ones within reach and pray I’m not showing my pants.
    My face is now burning so hotly I may spontaneously combust.
    After the bus arrives I sink down into a free seat. The Mulberry girls glide past and settle themselves behind me. They get stuck straight into a discussion about summer holidays. One’s going to the family home in ‘Barbs’ (takes me a minute to figure out she means Barbados – hey, haven’t we all got a place in the Caribbean?) while the other’s looking forward to popping in to see her personal shopper in Selfridges at the weekend before heading off to Australia.
    I sigh enviously. I
knew
life was better for Mulberry girls.
    After the world’s longest bus ride, I finally make it to the house. Mrs Green, who lives next door, gets quite the surprise when she sees me scuttling past.
    “You’ll catch your death, love,” she calls after me.
     
    “Hello?” I say apprehensively, once I’m safely inside. No answer.