“No!” Mum steps in front of Dad before he can choose a pencil, and we all stare at her in surprise. “That’s not what this is about. This is about Becky. And what’s going on inside Becky.” She pauses, as though marshaling her thoughts, and everyone exchanges uncertain looks. “I refuse to have brought up a daughter who can’t buy herself a pencil, because she feels too bad about herself,” she says at last. “Becky, there’s not-shopping for good reasons. And there’s not-shopping for bad reasons. And they’re not the same.” She’s breathing hard and her eyes are glittering. “No one wants you to go back to the way you were. No one wants you to be hiding Visa bills under the bed. Sorry, love,” she adds, pink in the face. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“It’s OK,” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush too. “Everyone here knows; we’re all friends.” I catch the eye of a woman in blue lurking nearby, totally eavesdropping, and she hastily moves away.

“But this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t my Becky.” She gazes at me in concern. “Are you overdrawn?”

“Actually…no, I’m not,” I admit. “In fact, I just got paid for my styling work in L.A. I’m doing pretty well for money.”

“Would you like a pencil?”

“Um…” I swallow hard. “Yes. I suppose I would. Maybe.”

“Well. It’s up to you, love. You have to make your own choices. Maybe you don’t want to buy anything.” Mum steps back and blows her nose. “But no more of this talk about ‘not deserving’ it. The idea!”

There’s a short silence as everyone moves away a little and pretends not to be watching. I feel so, so weird. Everything’s reshuffling in my mind. Bits that have felt stuck for so long are coming free. It wasn’t my fault. At least…it wasn’t all my fault. Maybe…

Maybe I could get myself a pencil. Just as a souvenir. Maybe that beautiful purple one with the gray bird print and the pale-orange wood. I mean, it’s only $2.49. And pencils are always useful, aren’t they?

Yes, I, Becky Brandon, née Bloomwood, am going to buy myself a pencil.

I reach for it, and as my fingers close over it, I feel a happy beam spreading slowly over my face. A kind of warmth in my stomach. I have so missed this feeling….

Ooh. Wait a minute. So am I shopping “calmly and with meaning”? The thought passes through my mind and I pause, trying to examine myself. Oh, for God’s sake, I don’t know. I feel calm-ish, I suppose. As for “meaning”…Well. The fact is, this one little pencil seems to have taken on a ridiculous amount of meaning.

The thing is, it is a gorgeous pencil. I’m not just saying that. Suze said so too.

“Nice pencil, Bex,” says Suze with a grin, as though she can read my mind. Dad nods his head and Janice says encouragingly, “You’ll enjoy using that, love!” And basically I feel like I’m five years old again. Especially when Mum and Dad meet eyes and Mum says, “Do you remember the going-back-to-school shopping trip every September?” and I suddenly feel like I’ve whooshed back in time and we’re looking at pencil cases and I’m begging for a pink furry one and next they’ll be asking if I really need a new set-triangle thing, or whatever it’s called.