Читать книгу The Map of Us - Jules Preston - Страница 17

It was a patent leather top handle with a double zip and a detachable cross body strap. Katherine knew that she shouldn’t stop and look. It was already too late. She had stopped. She had looked. She was drawn in. Her face was pressed against the glass.

It was sitting on its own acrylic plinth in the window of a shop that she was not allowed to enter. She was not banned. Katherine was always welcome inside. Cash or credit card. That was not the issue. She had made a promise. She had made the same promise before and been weak. Her resolve had not held. Not for long. She had given in after a month. Maybe a little less, but a month sounded better.

She had other top handle handbags of a similar design. Thirty or so. And three hundred different styles of handbag as well. In their own room. Lined up. On glass shelves. Constantly rearranged by size and colour and designer and season. That was a lot of handbags. That was why she had promised. So many times before. No more handbags. But this was different. This was something else. It was £485. It was worth it.

She tried to walk away but found herself walking towards the door of the shop instead. She couldn’t stop herself. She went inside and was greeted like an old friend. She was weak. She knew it. She hated herself. But she bought the handbag anyway. She wanted it.