Splurge

I’m in London – outside Selfridges actually, and it’s making my head spin a little

“Here take it”

It’s so much money it won’t fit in my wallet – a great huge wad of notes – new ones mostly, so they’re shiny, and they stick together slightly, but they also feel a little slippery between my fingers

“Splurge. Go on splurge”

“I’m not sure”

“What do you mean you’re not sure? “

“I don’t know. It feels ….. what do you mean by splurge?”

“Splurge! Blow money bigtime – anything you want, just for today”

“You’re sure it’s ok? I’m not …”

“It’s fine! Go ahead”

I feel oddly reluctant. It’s the kind of thing you dream about - isn’t it? Someone gives you wads of cash and tells you that you have a couple of hours to blow it all – the only restriction is that it has to be for you, and you have to do it there and then.

How many times is this ever going to happen to me in my life? How many times has anyone ever said that to you? Has anyone ever given you carte blanche – as good as – and ordered you to be frivolous? I thought not. Would you honestly say no? Or would you do what I did, and think that you couldn’t really see the harm in it.

If you had the choice, if it were your money and you’d been pretty broke recently, then obviously, you’d do it differently – you have children, you would want to plan a bit, keep the money and think for a while, but would you honestly turn it down?

He kisses me lightly on the cheek and I watch as he hails a taxi, gives the driver the name of the hotel, and finally jumps into the cab, shutting the door behind him.

I take a deep breath – it feels as if I need to for some reason – maybe the diesel fumes from the slow-moving line of buses along Oxford Street, and then I join the stream of people pouring through the doors

Instantly you’re in another world. The ground floor is quiet, except for the voices of the crowds and somehow they’re muffled once you get inside. What hits me most is the smell – a million different scents all mixed together. It’s not exactly unpleasant - it certainly beats the bus fumes hands down. I scan the different counters – they have them all here of course. I begin to move, carried along in the stream of people. When I get further in I’ll stop for a minute – it’s too busy here. I can come back – I have time for that.

My heart’s beating quite fast. I’m trying to decide what to buy. Anything I want is quite daunting, and for a moment it’s hard to think - I’m not sure where to start. I look around me. I am in the handbags department. I walk past the sale section where people are rummaging on shelves and everything is flung around. I don’t need to worry about the price of anything – it’s a really enormous wad of money I’ve been given. I duck out of the throng and go into one of the concessions – the sectioned off areas where the really expensive brands are.

Now it’s silent – it’s amazing what a glass wall can do. The carpet underfoot is thicker and the assistants smile at me. I haven’t time to waste. For a second, I feel hesitant – but then I decide I’m being stupid – ungrateful - so I block it out. How many times am I ever going to get this chance again. What harm can it do? I know which two I’ll buy – it’s easy – that one and that one. The assistant smiles – she’s genuinely happy for me – they’re nice bags. You can see that she enjoys doing her job – she makes dreams come true. Other people would kill to do this.

It’s a lot of money and it takes while to count it out. They’re used to people paying cash here – I expect they’re used to just about everything at Selfridges – it’s an odd kind of shop. I get impatient while they wrap them up - there’s this ceremony you have to go through. A lot of people enjoy it – the thick dustbags to protect the soft leather, then the tissue paper – layers and layers, the ribbon, with the designer’s name running through it. You are supposed to enjoy watching the care they take in the wrapping up of your purchases. I don’t. I am impatient. The clock’s ticking. I tap my foot

Finally I am done, Where next? I go out into the main section and look around. Might as well finish on the ground floor first – or shall I go up to the top and work my way down? I decide on the top – that’s where I’ll spend the most and it’s probably going to be the most intelligent thing I can buy here. I ride the escalator instead of taking the lift. I haven’t much time, but I need some breathing space. We go up – the sounds change. The next floor is men’s fashion and the music gets louder. I look around as I walk through to the next up escalator – there is so much of everything, it makes me dizzy – crowds and crowds of people, bright colours, and lavish displays. Next, the women’s fashions and that’s even worse – it’s a labyrinth. I have been lost here so many times.

Up and up I go until I reach the floor I need – it’s very quiet here. The lighting is softer. My head’s beginning to ache a little. The assistants here all wear suits, and they’re mostly male. Again, there’s no time to browse. I speed past the televisions – I never realised they made them that big before. I know which laptop I’m getting - the tiniest silver Mac. I catch the eye of an assistant, point to it, and follow him to the till. While he fetches all the extras, I look at the time – it’s going quite quickly. I put my bags on the floor while I wait. I’m beginning to feel tired now that I’m not moving. I must push on though – there’s no time to stop and think. I need to work out what else to buy. I take out the pile of notes from my bag, counting out the thousands I need for the computer stuff – it’s made a dent, but there’s plenty more. I watch the boxes get put into the soft white and silver bag – I am glad I chose such a light model. I pick up the carriers again. The string handles are beginning to make red marks on my arms now.

I go downstairs again. Everything is quite rushed now and I pick a coat almost carelessly – cashmere.. Can I pay for this with the shoes? I am buying some shoes next. Yes certainly, of course you can. They all smile at me and I smile back, briefly, before rushing off to the next department. This isn’t much fun. I would like to stop – but I can’t – it’s now or never. I rub the small of my back – it’s aching. Tod’s – two pairs. They are so expensive I would never normally bother – tan and…..black suede will do. The one on display is my size and I slip it on while the woman sails off to get the other pair. It fits perfectly, and I wait impatiently for her to return. I am already planning the next thing.

Now I am loaded up with stuff. I have so much that people can’t get past me on the escalator. My hands are hot and sore from the bags – the rest of me is hot too. I so want to sit down, catch my breath. I take my phone out again and look at the time. I only have a little left. I actually want to stop quite badly but I can’t – just one more place and I will be done.

I always wonder why they let the women on the beauty counters plaster themselves in so much makeup – I think they would look much better without it. I begin to gather up what I want – now it gets really expensive – all the wonder creams – the ones that promise science and miracles – the serums and polishes and gels – I’ll take one of each – and scent of course and make up…….and that’s it.

There’s a little stool where people sit to have makeovers done. While I am waiting to pay I perch on it. My heart’s beating fast, and I suddenly realise the scented air is really quite cloying. I feel a bit sick and I long to get outside again – I don’t care about the diesel fumes anymore – I think they’ll be more refreshing that this at least.

Finally it’s all done, and I walk as fast as I can towards one of the side exits. Orchard Street is surprisingly quiet and the air feels cold and fresh. I put my bags down, lean against one of the big windows and light a cigarette. I take a deep breath. I’ve blown almost all the money – an astonishing amount.

I look down at my bags – the bright yellow plastic is loud and unpleasant looking in the daylight and there’s so much of it. I feel numb, exhausted and empty. I’m not grateful at all – and I’m ashamed of that. I realise I’ve just allowed myself to be bought. I think I knew all along I shouldn’t have married him. It’s all my own fault of course – no one else to blame. I am stupid and shallow and I’m going to pay for it for a very long time – not in money, but there are plenty of other ways.

I try to shut it out of my brain – to think of something different – there’s nothing I can do, after all, to change anything.

I close my eyes and I can see Matty. I smile at the memory of our meeting – the first time for years and years. I remember him telling me about how broke he was – the horrible flat he lived in. I remember his face grey with cold, and his limp, and his thin dry hands, but I also remember how his eyes lit up – they really shone like stars – as he told me how much he loved his work – the art and the music. His face came alive when he talked about it. And then I thought about what I’d done, and I envied him. I wonder if I’d ever manage to find something that would make me feel like he looked, or if it was too late for all that.

Then I notice that it’s started to rain and I look at the time and realise I should have left fifteen minutes ago. He’ll be angry if I'm late. I pick up my stuff, step into the road, and begin to look for a taxi.