Christmas at Carrington’s

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘Oh God, you were sleeping together, weren’t you? Oh honey, come here.’ Sam swings her arms around my shoulders and gives me an enormous hug, enveloping me in a heady mixture of Halston Woman perfume and vanilla frosting.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I lean in to her for maximum comfort.

  ‘What for?’ She pulls back to see my face.

  ‘For not telling you,’ I say, running my index fingers under my eyes in a feeble attempt to keep my mascara intact.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘But we tell each other everything. It was only one night,’ I sniff, unable to stem the tears any longer. I wipe the back of my hand across my cheek. ‘I’m such a rubbish friend,’ I add, feeling really sorry for myself. Sam places her hands on my arms.

  ‘Now, listen. You are an amazing friend, and an amazing person, and if Tom doesn’t realise when he’s well off, then he’s … well, he’s a mug, quite frankly.’ Sam shakes her curls defiantly. ‘I would call him an arse, a wanker even, but if you end up sorting it all out and marrying him or something, then you’ll never forgive me. So for now, he’s just a mug.’ She grabs a napkin and hands it to me. ‘A really crappy one. One that you get in Poundland or, worse still, one of those mugs that comes free with an Easter egg and practically melts your fingerprints right off because the china is so thin.’ I attempt a watery smile.

  ‘God, I’m sorry. I feel like such an idiot. I knew deep down that I was probably punching above my weight with Tom.’ I pull a face.

  ‘Will you stop it! You’re my best friend and I love you, but I hate hearing you rubbish yourself like this. You’re gorgeous, funny, kind – a bit bonkers sometimes, admittedly,’ she shakes her head, ‘but Tom is crazy about you. And I should know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Italy. Ring any bells? He couldn’t wait to come and surprise you. He’s besotted with you. I could hear it in his voice, every time we spoke on the phone to go over the plans.’

  ‘Well, he has a funny way of showing it,’ I say, taking a massive slurp of hot chocolate and scalding the roof of my mouth in the process. I grab a slice of Battenberg and take a big bite to sooth the pain.

  ‘He even said as much to Nathan … how you’re not like any other girl he’s known.’

  ‘I bet. Especially if they are all stunning like … Zaaara. Even her name is flirty and glamorous-sounding.’ I take another bite of the cake.

  ‘Now that’s enough,’ Sam says. ‘Will you please have a bit of faith? You’re a grown, confident woman, so put a smile on your face, swallow your pride, find out what time it is in Paris and bloody call him. I’m not going to sit back while you throw a pity party for one.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a feeble voice.

  ‘And quit saying sorry.’ She creases her forehead. ‘Sorry,’ she quickly adds, and we both crack up.

  ‘Ha!’ I’m the first to recover. ‘I’m being silly, aren’t I?’ I pull a cartoon sad face to lighten the mood.

  ‘A bit.’ Sam holds up a thumb and index finger in front of my face as a measure. ‘Look, life is too short. We both know that.’ She squeezes my hand gently as the unspoken thought passes between us. I nod, remembering Mum, gone too soon, and now Alfie.

  ‘Do you want Tom back?’ she asks, looking serious now.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, relishing the feeling I get whenever I think about him. I’ve never felt it so intensely and that has to mean something. Maybe he still is my one. And if there’s a glimmer of a chance that he is, then I can’t just give up. Some people search a lifetime looking for their one, so I should count myself lucky that he’s here, right under my nose … well, in Paris to be exact, if I really want to get picky about it.

  ‘So go for what you want. Grab him with both hands—’

  ‘One on each bum cheek.’ I snort.

  ‘Exactly. Don’t let her steal him away from you. Call him.’

  ‘OK. I will.’ I swallow hard.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise. Now, can we please change the subject?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sam says, decisively. ‘I’m going to have one of those 4D scans.’

  ‘Fab.’ I smile.

  ‘It is.’ Sam tries not to laugh again as we attempt a sensible conversation.

  ‘Err, what is a 4D scan?’

  ‘I have no idea. But Jenny – works in Greggs up by the station, you know, the one whose husband is in Afghanistan?’ I nod. ‘Well, she’s pregnant as well and due a few months before me.’

  ‘Ahh, that’s nice,’ I say, wondering how she managed it. Last time I bumped into Jenny on the bus, she said Tony was away on another tour.

  ‘They got lucky during his last R&R,’ Sam explains, as if reading my mind. ‘Anyway, she gave me the number of a clinic over by the golf course that does a whole range of different scans, and they give you a DVD to take away. And if you sign up for the pay-per-view scheme, you can even go in and watch the baby whenever you like on their fifty-inch plasma screen. It’s just like being at the cinema, she said. I’m so excited and I can’t wait to see little Honey Moon Taylor making her debut. Wonder if she’ll give me a wave,’ Sam squeals, and I give her a big hug.

  ‘Oh me too. When can you tell if it is actually a girl?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m not sure. But I just know there’s a girl in here.’ Sam rubs her tummy. ‘At least there’d better be. I’m seeing gorgeous little dresses and Hello Kitty everywhere, not Bob the Builder and mountains of mud.’ Sam rolls her eyes.

  ‘And what about Nathan?’

  ‘Ahh, he says any child is a gift and he just wants them to be happy and healthy. Me too, of course … but a girl would be really nice,’ she quickly adds.

  ‘Hmm, well I hope little Honey has more luck than me with men,’ I smile wryly.

  ‘Oh, you’ll be fine. Just call him.’ Sam stands up and starts clearing the table. I help her carry the cake stand and mugs over to the counter. ‘Let me know how it goes,’ she says, pushing open the swing door to the kitchen with her hip. I follow and place the mugs in the dishwasher, and the cake stand on the side, knowing how Sam likes them hand-washed instead.

  ‘Will do.’ I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Oh, one last thing – do you know what a shaman is?’

  ‘A whaat?’ Sam shrugs and pulls a face. ‘Can you eat it?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I smile.

  ‘Then I’m not interested. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Just something I heard earlier.’

  ‘Is it important?’

  ‘No!’

  Waving, I push though the swing door and take a deep breath before leaving the café and heading towards the staff lift. I’m going to call into Masood’s shop, and then ring Tom later because, it’s like Sam said, I’m a grown, confident woman. I say it over and over as a mantra inside my head while doing my absolute best to ignore a raft of sabotaging thoughts about mince pies and custard with ten Benson thrown in, while Zara boards an aeroplane bound for Paris wearing the teeniest-tiniest string bikini she can find.

  8

  Seven shopping weeks until Christmas

  It’s Sunday morning and I’m admiring my gorgeous new big hair in the light-bulb-framed mirror and wondering if it might be just a bit over the top for a sales assistant. But Kelly insisted and who am I to argue? Besides, I secretly love my new hair extensions. I’ve gone from having a wispy brunette bob to mid-length luscious hair with caramel and honey highlights that swings back into place whenever I shake my head. I’m like something out of a L’Oréal advert. And I’ve had my teeth whitened, which was excruciating by the way, but sooo worth it as I now have a proper gleaming Hollywood smile.

  Annie is sitting next to me and we’re in the makeshift dressing room down in the basement, which has been adorned with paper chains and tinsel so it feels really Christmassy, especially when Michael Bublé starts singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ on the radio. Kelly had an old stockroom cleared out and furnished with a row of
chairs, mirrors and little changing cubicles. Every surface is crammed with cosmetics, packs of fashion tape, hair paraphernalia and continental breakfast platters, piled high with pastries and fruit, courtesy of Sam’s café. An enormous clothes rail runs the length of the room, crammed with virtually all of Womenswear’s stock, and an assortment of divine heels from Footwear. And I’m sure I spotted a pair of red lacquer-soled Louboutins nestling at the back – I sooo hope I get to wear them.

  ‘See you later, Georgie,’ Annie says, as Millie arrives to take her off somewhere.

  ‘Yes, will do, and good luck,’ I call out over my shoulder.

  My mobile buzzes with the arrival of a text message. I quickly check the screen, hoping it’s from Tom, but it isn’t. I sag in disappointment on seeing that it’s another message from Dad. Not that I don’t like hearing from Dad, I do. I really do. Our relationship is great now and he’s really getting the hang of texting; he wants to know if I prefer carrots, cauliflower cheese or both with my roast dinner later on. I still don’t know the news he wants to share – he wouldn’t say when we spoke on the phone yesterday, said it’s best kept until he sees me – but it must be something important if he’s actually cooking. It’s not his forte. I tap out a reply and end it with a kiss followed by a heart icon – Dad will love it, inserting icons into a message is next on his agenda to master.

  My finger hovers over the text message stream between Tom and me, and as I read the last four that I sent to him on Monday evening, right after seeing myself on TV, I cringe all over again. And like I have a trillion times – at least – since then, I ponder on sending him one last text.

  After my chat with Sam in the café, I’ve tried calling Tom, several times in fact, but his number does an international ringing tone before going straight to voicemail, leaving me wondering if he’s actually avoiding me on purpose. I’m reluctant to leave a voice message for fear of umming and ahhing or generally making a fool of myself by sounding desperate. I’m not sure I could bear it if he didn’t call back. I decide to go ahead and text him instead. I’ve typed out:

  Hi Tom hope you arrived safel

  when Eddie appears, so I quickly delete it and shove the phone inside my pocket instead.

  ‘Heeeey sexy ladeeeee … ’ Eddie sings, doing a lasso movement in the air and shaking his hips in proper gangnam style. Pussy is tucked under his free arm and she’s wearing a Wonder Woman outfit complete with tiny red cape. I stroke her ear and she nuzzles into the palm of my hand as Eddie leans down to kiss my cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, doing a quick swing of my hair.

  ‘Oooh, get you, very red carpet and swishy. Has Kelly forgotten that we’re inside a department store located in a dull little seaside town?’ he sniffs, giving Pussy a treat from a tiny plastic barrel attached to her lead.

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not complaining.’ I grin and turn back to face the mirror.

  ‘Good. So no more tantrums about being a dramality star.’ He squeezes my shoulder and smiles over my head in the mirror.

  ‘Who, me?’ I laugh, waving a hand in the air as if to shoo him away. And Mulberry-On-Sea isn’t dull.’ I pull a pretend indignant face. I love living here.

  ‘Ha-ha. Well, it’s hardly Hollywood now, is it?’ Eddie quips. ‘Anyway, what do you think of my look? Dapper and debonair, yes?’ He does a twirl to show off another new suit. ‘Ciaran reckons I look like Gary Barlow channelling lord of the manor at Glastonbury. In the VIP area, obvs – I don’t do mud.’ He curls his top lip.

  ‘Hmm,’ I nod. ‘Well I can see why Ciaran thinks that. You look very suave in tweed, but are those green Hunter wellies really necessary?’ Eddie pulls a face. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard from Tom yet?’ I add, changing the subject.

  ‘No sugar. Like I said when you asked me yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, only emails – work-related ones. And no, I can’t ask why he hasn’t been in contact with you. More than my job’s worth. He made it very clear after that time you asked me to find out about his favourite aftershave, right at the start when you wanted to get him a little present. He was very insistent on the importance of our relationship remaining professional. I’m his BA, not his GBF.’ Eddie rolls his eyes. ‘And y’all know how gloriously masterful and proper he can be,’ he adds in an American accent as he flings the back of his left hand against his forehead like a lovestruck Southern belle in a back-and-white movie epic.

  ‘Hmm. Well you must at least know when he’s coming back. As his BA, won’t you have booked the flight?’ I say, giving my hair a quick pat.

  ‘Oh no, KCTV take care of all that now. And with Tom away, I’m to be Kelly’s go-to man while they’re filming instore, so I’ll be cutting back on my Carrington’s work – Kelly needs me more.’ He pauses to preen for a bit.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He did mention that he was hoping to be back in a week or two, though.’ My heart sinks at this news. I’ve really missed Tom and it’s only been five days since I last saw him. I can’t imagine another week, or possibly two, without him. ‘But it depends – he’s hoping to get his filming in the can, as it were up front. The plan is to then spread his scenes out over all of the weekly episodes, so the viewers think he’s travelling for the duration of the series. I heard Kelly chatting about it to one of her flunkies.’

  ‘Oh right.’ But before I can probe him further, Zara appears by the clothes rail, wearing a brown peplum dress. Eddie swivels his head to follow my eye line.

  ‘Ew, what’s she come as? A pork pie!’ he blurts out, before helping himself to a croissant. He pulls one claw off and stuffs it into his mouth.

  ‘Eddie! Whisper voice, she might hear you,’ I say, not wanting to antagonise her. She already hates me. The ghastly image from the internet, of her draped all over Tom, flashes inside my head, followed by an overwhelming sense of relief – at least she’s still here and not in Paris! Small mercies, and all that, I suppose.

  ‘Good,’ he huffs, before giving Pussy a tiny bite of his croissant. ‘That girl is driving me insane.’

  ‘Why? What’s she done?’ I crease my forehead.

  ‘What hasn’t she done, more like? Parading around the executive floor with her Swarovski-encrusted mobile welded to her ear while I do all the work running after Kelly and her entourage. Not that I mind, of course, Kelly is a proper ledge, but honestly – comes to something when her own daughter can’t even be bothered to pick out a Christmas present for her. Had me calling all over the place in search of something suitable for a “mean old mare” – her words, not mine.’

  ‘Ahh, such a shame,’ I say, thinking how exciting it would be to be able to go Christmas shopping for Mum. She loved all the build-up, marking off the days on her kitchen calendar, and she always got teary on opening her present from me. I make a note to visit her grave soon; perhaps Dad and I could go together. I’d like that.

  ‘Oh purlease, cry me a fucking river. That girl is up to something, I’m convinced of it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, numerous international calls from the landline in Tom’s office. The bill arrived on Friday and it was nearly treble what it usually is. Flaming cheek, and it’s not like she’s so hard up for cash that she can’t afford to pay for her own personal phone calls. Kelly gave her two thousand pounds the other day, in fifties. Just like that!’ He clicks his fingers in the air. ‘All because she wanted to pamper herself ahead of today’s filming. Excuse me! But where do you know around here that charges money like that for a mani and pedi with a bit of a shoulder rub thrown in? Nowhere, that’s where! I mean, what are they using? Crushed diamond dust!’ Eddie flops down in the chair next to me. I try not to laugh at his indignation as he plonks Pussy on my lap and leans forward to inspect his teeth in the mirror.

  ‘Uh-oh, here she comes.’ Eddie elbows me and then jumps up and smoothes down his suit jacket.

  ‘There you are! Eddie, sweetheart, I’ve been looking all over for you.’ Zara flashes her
perfect white veneers. ‘What are you two talking about?’ she adds, running a finger along the table in front of me.

  ‘Oh, we were just saying how fabulous you look and how exciting today is going to be, weren’t we Georgie?’ Eddie kisses the air either side of Zara’s head, which she reciprocates, while I cough as her flirty sweet Clive Christian perfume catches in my throat.

  ‘Err, yes. That’s right,’ I say, recovering quickly and flashing big eyes in Eddie’s direction when Zara isn’t looking.

  ‘Well, don’t get too excited. We’re going to be focusing on highlighting your inadequacies today,’ she says, inspecting her immaculately manicured nails and flashing me a look.

  ‘Oh?’ I stand up, so I’m operating from the same level as her, and hand Pussy back to Eddie.

  ‘Yes. That’s right. The board of directors asked KCTV to help you up your game, remember? So naturally we have to show the viewers that it needs upping in the first place, obviously. You’re going to be dealing with a customer complaint.’ Zara points at me. ‘And you, darling,’ she pauses to flutter her extra-long eyelashes at Eddie, ‘well, you and the dog are going to be showing off the new pet spa.’ She runs an index finger down Eddie’s lapel.

  ‘Fabulous. Kelly did mention it, hence the boots.’ Eddie grins, twirling a welly-clad foot in the air. ‘Can get very mucky in there with all that sluicing going on,’ he adds, lowering his voice and pulling an exaggerated grimace. Zara does a tinkly laugh before shaking her big hair around for a bit while admiring herself in the mirror.

  ‘OK, five minutes. Then can I have you all out on the shop floor?’ someone shouts out, before I have a chance to quiz Zara for details. I can’t imagine what the complaint is about; we don’t get many disgruntled customers, other than the odd light-hearted comment from a local about the high-end bags being too expensive.

  After doing more air kisses with Eddie, Zara sashays off with her mobile pressed up to her ear, and the first thing that pops into my head is – I wonder if it’s Tom she’s whispering to? I quickly shove the thought away and turn to face Eddie.