‘Come on, let’s get a coffee while we wait,’ Tom says, picking up my carry-on bag and turning towards a nearby Costa Coffee.
‘Sure, why not? Plenty of time.’ I glance at my watch. Four hours left before check-in even opens.
‘Indeed.’ Tom smirks. ‘I did say you might be giving yourself just a bit too much extra time …’ He laughs and holds up his left thumb and index finger in front of my face as a measure.
‘OK, smartarse.’ I bat his hand away. ‘But you can never be too careful when it comes to getting to airports on time.’
I have an intense fear of arriving too late for check-in – or having to run at speed all the way to the gate with my name being Tannoyed around the airport so everyone knows I’m the one who will make them miss the flight departure slot when my luggage has to be chucked off due to me being a ‘no show’! But I guess in this instance, I probably was a little overzealous in my timings. Oh well, more time together before we’re apart for two weeks – the perfect opportunity to have that chat about us living together. We still haven’t really talked about it, and Tom hasn’t mentioned it for ages now. I’m going to miss him like crazy. We’ve agreed to call every day. It would have been great if Tom was able to come too, but he has back-to-back meetings lined up in his quest to find suitable premises for the new store. Apparently, the board has whittled it down to a shortlist of three now, but it’s all top secret – Tom has promised to tell me the very minute he can.
We find a booth, just as my mobile rings. I quickly slip it from the cover, hoping it’s Sam, but it’s Eddie instead. Tom stows my carry-on bag under the table and heads to the counter, after asking if I want my usual. A milky tea. Smiling, I nod and give him a silly Wayne’s World thumbs-up.
‘Flower! Are you sitting down? Really bad news I’m afraid, I don’t how to tell you …’ Eddie says to open the conversation, and his voice has a weird seriousness to it that I haven’t heard from him before.
‘Oh no! Tell me.’ A hand instinctively goes to my throat as I hold my breath, wondering what on earth has happened. ‘Oh God, it’s not Sam is it?’ A horrible, hideous chill spikes the length of my spine. Why the hell didn’t I make the effort to go to her house? ‘Oh please, Eddie, not the twins, has something happened to one of them? Is that why I haven’t been able to contact her?’
‘Don’t be ridic! Sam and the twins are fine. I assume, not that I’ve spoken to her since Christy, the rock chick, turned up. I’ve tried ringing, but she doesn’t seem to want to take my calls …’ So not just me then … I must call her, and keep calling until she talks to me. ‘I’m joking! No bad stuff here.’
‘Well, how the bloody hell was I supposed to know you were joking? You scared me with your super-serious voice.’
‘Honestly, sugarpie, you really need to stop being such a drama queen … Two and two makes four, remember? Not five trillion.’
‘Well, you can talk; you’re the biggest drama queen I know. In the whole world in fact, I bet, no, I guarantee. Actually!’ Relief and irritation makes me shout, causing a breast-feeding woman on the opposite table to give me a really filthy look. ‘Sorry,’ I mouth to her, as the baby sticks its papery little hand out from under the scarf she has draped over her left boob and lets out a glass-shattering shriek. Oh God.
‘O-M-A-G! What is that noise? I swear my eardrum just exploded inside my actual head.’
‘I’m in Costa,’ I tell him diplomatically, making sure I keep my voice low.
‘Oh no. What for? You poor thing.’
‘Oh Ed, purlease. Don’t go all Kardashian on me …’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘You know very well what I mean.’
‘Hmmm, anyway, I was just calling to say change of plan. I’m so sorry, but I can’t make Mulberry this summer. NYC beckons instead!’
‘You’re bloody joking.’
‘Darling, honestly, there’s no need to sound quite so disappointed. I’ll try and pop back for Christm—’
‘No need. Ed, I’ll see you there. I’m coming to New York for two weeks,’ I whisper-yell right into the phone so as not to disturb the baby again. But rewind a second – Eddie is going to be in New York too! See! The universe knows. How bloody exciting.
‘Whaaaat? When?’ he yells.
‘I’m at the actual airport right now. I’ll be in New York in like … seven and a half hours.’
‘Scream. Call me the minute you arrive. I’ll be there on Monday.’
‘Brilliant. And of course I will!’ I’m practically hyperventilating – this is going to be so shamazing. My best friend is going to be biting the big apple too.
‘OK sugarpie. Gotta go, Carly is glaring. Oh, really quickly … Have a good flight, flower, and pay for the upgrade if it’s an option, sooo worth it! I practically floated through LAX on my return home.’
And he’s gone, typical Eddie, he’s not even bothered about knowing the reason for my trip. He’s just straight to the fun bit … after scaring me half to death with his stupid jokes first though, of course.
Tom arrives back with the drinks and two raspberry ripple cupcakes.
‘Can you believe this?’ I say, waggling my phone in the air. ‘That was Eddie! He just called and you’ll never guess what … he is only going to be in New York too, at the same time as me …’
‘Well, there you go! All the more reason why it’s a fantastic time for you to go and not worry about the regatta.’ Tom grins, and a fleeting glimmer of guilt darts across his face.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, slowly.
‘Nothing.’ Tom sips his coffee to avoid eye contact.
‘Tell me.’ And he caves right away.
‘I told him you were going to be in New York. Sorry. Did I steal your thunder?’
‘Hmm, I’m not sure. Tell me more …’ So Eddie already knew, hence the silly joke to wind me up. I’ll kill him when I see him.
‘He called me—’
‘Why?’ I jump in.
‘Well, give me a chance,’ Tom laughs, shaking his head.
‘Sorry.’ I take a mouthful of tea and shut up.
‘He called for a chat and it kind of came out.’
‘Hang on. Since when did Eddie just call you for a chat?’ I ask, praying that Eddie wasn’t tapping Tom for clues about his intentions re. us living together. Quizzing Tom about proposing, just to win a bet – I wouldn’t put it past Eddie to try to engineer things.
‘Since it’s your birthday soon.’
‘Wow. Really?’ I say, my voice full of excitement now.
‘Yes, he wanted to know what I was getting you, so we didn’t duplicate … seeing as it’s your thirtieth, he wondered if I was going big, whatever that means. But don’t worry; I didn’t tell him, definitely not, you know how useless he is at keeping a secret. I certainly wasn’t going to take a chance on him inadvertently spoiling the surprise, all because he couldn’t contain himself,’ Tom grins, mysteriously.
‘Aw, that’s lovely. Eddie can be very thoughtful,’ I reply. Maybe I won’t kill him after all. Or, hold on … going big? Hmmm, on second thoughts, that definitely sounds like Eddie-talk for something extravagant, a statement piece, a special gift, or … God, he’s incorrigible, jewellery! A ring! Perhaps I will kill him after all. He just can’t help himself.
‘Only if he likes you, of course,’ Tom says, not missing a beat. He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Well, it’s true. And I wish I could be like him; it can be exhausting having to be nice to everyone all the time,’ Tom adds, with a weary look on his face. I know he finds it hard sometimes, keeping up the nice, measured Mr Carrington image, especially when Mrs Godfrey from the WI is on the warpath about something or another that’s not right in store. Just a few weeks ago, she beat a path direct to Tom’s office on the executive floor to voice her concerns, loudly, over the giant Ann Summers display with its ‘scantily dressed mannequins’ in one of the side windows. Apparently, peekaboo bras have no place in Mulberry-On-Sea and must be removed
forthwith and certainly before the regatta.
‘Indeed,’ I say, on autopilot, still pondering on what Eddie is up to. He never normally calls Tom. I take another mouthful of tea followed by a big bite of my cupcake. Mm-mmm. It tastes good. Not as good as Sam’s, but a very close second. Tom gestures to my chin before handing me a napkin to wipe the buttercream frosting away – I find it impossible to eat cake without getting covered, but then that’s half the fun, I suppose. I take another massive bite and relish the sugary soft sweetness.
‘And he is your best friend – I’m sure the regatta will be fine … don’t worry about it,’ Tom says absent-mindedly, before tucking into his cupcake too. He’s busy licking his fingers when he realises what he’s just said. He stops licking and looks me straight in the eye.
‘So you do have doubts?’ I knew it.
‘No, well, not really … it’ll be fine. Like I said, the team will hold the fort, you’ll be back before you know it … you have everything planned.’ Tom grins and pushes a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, but he’s not fooling me.
‘But there is something, isn’t there?’ I probe. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea for me to go after all.
‘It’s nothing, a minor detail. Look, let’s not think about it now. Let’s talk about us instead – have you decided when you’re moving in with me?’ Tom grins.
‘Um, yes, err … or you could move in with me?’ I start distractedly, and Tom nods his head slowly, but it’s obvious he’s not keen on my flat being his new home.
‘Sorry, I can’t really think about it right now. Please, just tell me what the “minor detail” is that I’ve overlooked.’
‘OK. It’s Uncle Marco. He also called, yesterday, asking about the stickers for the ice-cream vans – the ones with the Carrington’s logo on … he’s been trying to get hold of you. Weren’t you supposed to be visiting him yesterday to deliver the stickers?’
‘Oh my God!’ A horrible sinking feeling rushes through me. I put the rest of the cake back on the plate. ‘I’m so sorry – I totally forgot.’ And what about Lauren, and Jack? They’ve missed out now. I’m not sure I even let Lauren know the visit was scheduled for yesterday – it must have slipped my mind in all the excitement over going to New York. ‘I’d better call him, and Lauren too … to apologise.’ I reach for my phone.
‘It’s fine.’ Tom places his hand over mine. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve sorted it out. The stickers are being couriered up to Scarborough and he’ll distribute them to the guys from there, so they can put them on the side of the vans before travelling to Mulberry for the regatta – he’s called in about thirty vendors so far, which I gather is no mean feat, and it’ll be fantastic publicity for Carrington’s as they travel from all over the country.’
‘Wow! Thank you so much. And I truly am sorry, I totally forgot.’
‘Don’t be daft, like I said, it’s fine.’ Tom smiles. ‘And he said you had already talked about ice-cream flavours, so he’s happy to just go ahead and choose a nice selection. He was telling me about a new bubble gum flavour, which sounds awesome. And he’ll make sure the vans are stocked. So if there’s anything else I can do to help, then you only have to let me know – I really enjoyed chatting about ice cream instead of shrinkage and stock figures for a change.’
‘But I was supposed to be managing it all.’ I feel rubbish now. And there’s no way I’m adding to Tom’s workload by getting him involved, and what would Isabella think? That I can’t cope, that’s what! Oh no. Maybe I shouldn’t go to New York after all. But I want to. I really want to.
‘And you have. Like I said, it’s just one minor detail, everything else is going to plan.’ I nod, to reassure him, as it’s true – it is all on track. But I’m still cross with myself for lapsing on the stickers. ‘You know, I asked him to bring some of those screwball things to the regatta, do you remember them? Raspberry ripple ice cream in a plastic cone with bubble gum at the bottom?’ He’s grinning like a big kid as I tap out a note on my phone reminding me to check that Annie follows my project plan to the letter. I’ve emailed it to her, and I’ve even left the notepads and the various highlighter pens in her locker in the staff room. I called in last night especially; to make sure they were there, waiting for her when she gets into work tomorrow morning.
‘Yes, I was never allowed one – Mum used to worry about me choking on the frozen bubble gum.’
‘Aw, well, we’ll just have to make sure you get one at the regatta,’ he says brightly, and I smile – he’s so kind. I so want to make the regatta a success, not just for my sake, but for his too. He’s trusted me with it, to represent Carrington’s, his store, his business, and his reputation in the local community.
‘I’ll call Annie tomorrow for an update, and I can always ring Uncle Marco from New York to apologise,’ I say, still feeling deflated. And I must apologise to Lauren; maybe I can make it up to her and Jack when I get back, organise another trip perhaps.
‘Georgie, stop looking for things to worry about. It will all be OK.’ Tom finishes his coffee before devouring the rest of the cupcake.
Silence follows. I check the clock on my phone, and then jump when it suddenly vibrates in synch with my ringtone – the ‘Oh oh oh’ bit of Lawson’s ‘Juliet’, alerting me to a call.
‘It’s Dad.’ I show Tom the screen.
‘Quick, you’d better answer it!’ he says, motioning to the phone with an urgent look in his eye, knowing what a nightmare it’s been trying to get hold of Dad or Nancy since they went away. Dad still hasn’t grasped the concept of keeping his mobile switched on at all times like the rest of the world’s population – he says it’s a waste of battery life, so he only puts it on to make an actual call, oblivious to the fact that somebody might be trying to get hold of him at times outside the designated ‘mobile on’ time! And Nancy doesn’t even have a mobile – can’t get on with them, she says.
‘Dad! How are you? Where are you? Why haven’t you called back?’
‘Yes, yes, we’re all fine. No need to panic. I just got your message; we were out of signal in a remote French village whenever you called, so I didn’t bother putting the phone on. How are you, darling?’
‘I’m fine, Dad. And really pleased to have the chance to speak to you before I go,’ I say, trying to hide the concern from my voice. I left the message days ago. Common sense told me he had the phone off, or they were just in a bad signal area – Dad had tried calling me previously from Calais to say they had made it through the Eurotunnel, but all I heard was a load of static followed by some crackles, so he sent a text in the end which arrived the following day! Ridic, given that France is only a few hours away from Mulberry-On-Sea. And surely someone would call me if there had been an actual emergency, isn’t that what the British embassy does – track down loved ones in times of crisis? I’ve seen them on the news, chaperoning suspected drug mules in Peru before the designated family member gets there … Nevertheless my irrational self was already imagining all kinds of dramas. I let out a big sigh of relief.
‘Well, we were delighted when we heard your news. You’re going to have a wonderful time, sweetheart.’
‘Thanks Dad, and I hope you are too. How are you getting on?’
‘Brilliantly, love. It’s such a tonic. And Nancy is enjoying the break from all the cooking and cleaning at home, which is a surprise because whenever I’ve offered to do my bit in the past, she’s been very reluctant to hand over the reins, but now she’s happy to let me loose in Daisy’s little kitchenette area. I made a superb Welsh rarebit for our breakfast today with lashings of Worcester sauce, just the way Nancy likes it.’
‘That’s nice, Dad.’
‘And you know, she even went skinny-dipping in a lake yesterday … said she just forgot to put her bathing suit on, but she’s not fooling me.’ He chuckles. ‘She’s having the time of her life. So I whipped off my undies and ran in to join her.’
‘Oh Dad, you didn’t?’ I say, shocked, amused and perpl
exed. I just can’t imagine him, or Nancy come to think of it, skinny-dipping in a French lake. And it’s an image I definitely don’t want inside my head. Who would have thought it? Such a far cry from his more formal shirt, tie and trousers attire at all times, even when lounging at home watching those gardening programmes that he likes.
‘I absolutely did. Mind you, I have got a bit of a raspy chest today.’ He coughs in that way people always do when describing their symptoms. ‘Don’t think I’ll be rushing into the water again in a hurry. Georgie, it was perishing.’
‘Good, then take that as a warning,’ I say, firmly. ‘Honestly, Dad, you really must be careful. Have you been keeping up with your tablets?’
‘Of course, sweetheart. I wish you would stop worrying. That’s my job as a parent.’ A short silence follows. ‘I know I didn’t do a very good job of it when you were growing up, so at least let me make up for it now.’
‘Oh Dad! Please, you did what you could,’ I say, remembering the birthday and Christmas cards every year that always arrived on time – albeit with the prison postmark on, but he never forgot. ‘Anyway, it’s all in the past,’ I add to change the subject.
‘Right you are. So, have you packed your camera? You must take lots of snaps for us to see,’ he says, back in his usual jovial voice now.
‘I don’t have a camera, Dad, I’ll just use my iPhone.’
‘Ahh, yes, so much easier. Well, I’d better go, must keep an eye on the bill. I’ve heard these roaming charges can go stratospheric if you’re not careful, so have a wonderful trip, love, and do look after yourself.’
‘I will, thanks Dad. You too.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart. I love you, Georgie.’
‘And I love you too.’ And I do. My heart lifts. And in an instant, I realise that I can’t remember the last time we told each other … Certainly not since he came back into my life, and that must be at least two years now. I’m shocked. It must be back when I was a child, before he went to prison. I have to rectify this. I make a vow to tell him more often, as soon as he gets back.
Ice Creams at Carrington’s Page 11
