by Ali Harris
‘Do I have much choice?’ I reply.
She shakes her head. ‘Nope. You will get lunch on the house, though. Now come on, no time for chatting!’
By the time I’ve helped Lily and Iris through the lunchtime rush, had my sandwich and weaved my way back through the busy store, it’s been well over half an hour since I left the stockroom. Carly isn’t happy and when I look at the stockroom, nor am I.
‘What on earth’s happened here?’ I ask as I look around at the bombsite that used to be my haven.
‘It was busy,’ snaps Carly from where she’s sitting in the middle of an aisle, surrounded by overflowing boxes. ‘You weren’t here. I did the best I could. You could have left me some instructions; I thought you’d only be gone ten minutes.’
‘Sharon asked you to cover me for my lunch break, which is always half an hour,’ I say evenly as I bend down and start scooping up the stock to tidy it away. Seeing my neat stockroom look like this is making me feel even more nauseous than I did before lunch. I stand up. ‘And I did offer to tell you where everything was but you told me you didn’t need me to.’
‘Well, you should have told me anyway,’ Carly says petulantly.
‘All the aisles are clearly marked for the relevant department, and each section in the aisle is marked alphabetically with the relevant groups of items. And I left out the annotated map for you. Like you said yourself, Carly, it’s not rocket science.’
‘Oh, well, you’re back now,’ she says brightly. ‘I guess I should go and see what’s going on with my staff on the shop floor. Who knows what they’ll be up to without their manager around.’
‘Aren’t you going to help me clear up this mess?’
‘Oh, no, I’ve got far more important things to do. Besides, you’re the expert here. See you, honey!’
And Carly swoops out of the stockroom without a backward glance, leaving me surrounded by her chaos.
‘She is driving me mad!’
‘Who does she think she is?’
‘That promotion has gone straight to her head!’
‘Rupert’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it . . .’
‘. . . She didn’t do the makeovers, no way!’
‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing!’
It’s 5 p.m. and I’ve finally managed to leave for the day. The store has quietened down with just a few straggling customers wandering through the ground floor. A group of staff is clustered by the perfume counter, talking about Carly. They don’t notice me quietly joining them at the back.
‘I just can’t stand the way she speaks to me,’ says Elaine. ‘She’s a complete nightmare to work with. And she hasn’t got a clue what she’s doing.’
There is a murmur of agreement.
‘I don’t think that’s fair,’ says Paula from Personal Shopping, valiantly defending her old colleague. ‘She was a brilliant personal stylist. Tamsin and I miss her up there – as do all the customers.’
‘Well, you can have her back then,’ grumbles Elaine. ‘It’ll get her out of my hair. Anyway, unlike pretty much every other department in this bloody place, Designers is quieter now than before the makeover. That’s why I don’t believe she’s responsible for the others.’
‘So who is?’ pipes up Becky. ‘And by the way, if it’s any of you lot can I request my department be the next on the list? I’ve become a glorified beauty assistant because my department is still so quiet.’
‘You’re a very good beauty assistant, though,’ says Jenny, kindly.
‘Thanks, Jen,’ Becky sighs. ‘I just think I need to prove that I can do my job. Rupert was sniffing around today and he didn’t seem very pleased. He and Sharon kept muttering together, but that woman’s voice is so loud I could hear what they were saying. According to them if I don’t get my act together, I’ll be out of a job before the New Year.’
I take a sharp breath and vow to make over Becky’s department next.
‘Don’t you worry,’ says Susan from Haberdashery, and Bernie nods in agreement. ‘We’ll stick up for you. You’re a very good saleswoman, you just need some help with merchandising.’
‘I know,’ Becky wails. ‘I just don’t know how to make a load of brown and black handbags look nice.’ Everyone nods sympathetically.
‘I just wish we knew who was doing the makeovers,’ says Gwen.
‘Do you think it’s Sharon?’ Paula says. ‘She’s the most experienced.’
‘Nah, she’s as bemused as the rest of us,’ says Tamsin.
‘What about Rupert?’ Becky suggests.
Everyone laughs. ‘He wouldn’t have a clue,’ Tamsin scoffs. ‘Numbers and farm animals are his things, not visual merchandising.’
‘Guy?’
‘No.’
‘How about Jane?’
There is a pause, everyone looks around, but Jane is nowhere to be seen. I actually saw her leaving hand in hand with Stuart about five minutes before. They were off for some romantic pre-dinner drinks. Jane told me that they’re dating like some new couple, not an old married one. She seems utterly blissful.
‘Could be,’ says Elaine thoughtfully. ‘Have you seen how fab she looks all of a sudden? Like some 1950s siren! Maybe she’s into all this old-fashioned stuff and has been secretly doing the makeovers.’
There is nodding and quiet deliberation whilst more names are thrown up for discussion. Every name, in fact, except for mine.
It don’t know whether to be relieved or offended.
I slip away as they continue to deliberate who Hardy’s Secret Elf is.
The street is flooded with bright orange light from the old Victorian streetlamps outside the store. And suddenly the screen on my phone is flooded with light too.
‘Joel!’ I answer immediately, unable to hide the pleasure in my voice.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he drawls. ‘I’ve missed you today. How’s work been?’
‘Oh, you know, same old same old,’ I reply obliquely, hoping he won’t expect any more details.
It’s one thing to pretend to be someone I’m not, but I’m trying to make things as uncomplicated as possible. As much as I’m relishing my time with Joel, I know that it can’t go on forever. Either he will discover that I’m just a lowly stockroom girl and will never want to see me again, or he won’t find that out, things will go on being as wonderful as they are, and then he will want to get closer to me than I can let him. You know, meet my family and friends, introduce me to his, and obviously that can never happen. Ultimately it’s a no-win situation but I’m trying not to let that thought cast a shadow over everything, because for the time being I want to wallow in this imaginary world where I am a girl like Carly with a gorgeous man and a fabulous job. I know it can’t last, but the prospect of going back to my old life, to the old me just yet, doesn’t bear thinking about. So all I can do is block out any thoughts of what will happen when Joel finds out who I really am and focus on the here and now.
Joel and me, together, alone. With no one else around who could spoil it. Is that too much to ask?
‘I hear you,’ Joel laughs, his voice as rich and warm as a cup of Java coffee. ‘Sometimes work just feels like one long groundhog day. I have to say, right now, I wish that I could just pack up and go back to Willow Grove and work in the store.’
I gulp as my heart plummets. ‘You’re not going to, though, are you?’ I say quietly.
‘No,’ he sighs. ‘Too much business here. But it won’t be long. My flight is booked for Boxing Day.’
A silence falls between us.
‘That’s little more than two weeks away,’ I say at last.
‘I know,’ he murmurs, ‘that’s why I want to make the most of every moment with you.’
I feel a flood of joy and then despair as it occurs to me what this really is. I’m just a holiday romance, a convenient distraction while Joel’s in London. He’s settled for me because I’m at his disposal; he can use me for now and then get rid of me when he’s done here. Just like Jamie did.
‘You could come back with me,’ he says hopefully, and suddenly I feel ashamed. Have I got him all wrong?
‘That’s crazy,’ I say, immediately dismissing the idea as I imagine he hoped I would. Wrong again.
‘Why?’ he laughs. ‘What’s so crazy about visiting your boyfriend over the festive season and meeting his family?’
Boyfriend.
‘Boyfriend,’ I say aloud, disguising my joy with a gentle tease in my voice. ‘Is that what you are?’
‘I hope so,’ Joel replies. ‘I know it’s not been very long . . .’
‘You’re right, it hasn’t,’ I say softly. ‘And you live in a different country, and I . . .’
And I’m not who you think I am.
‘I know all that, but we can work it out. I really like you, Carly.’
‘And I-I like you, too,’ I reply at last.
‘Well, at least that’s settled!’ he laughs. ‘As I was saying, I just want to spend as much time with my girlfriend as possible. So, can I see you tomorrow? I know it’s short notice for a Saturday night and a girl like you has probably got lots of offers . . .’
I can’t help but smile through the tears that are forming in my eyes. If only he knew. I want to see him so badly but I promised ages ago that I’d baby-sit for Delilah as she’s going out with her girlfriends. But, I’m so tempted to see Joel. After all, there’s only just over two weeks left till Christmas and I have to make the most of these precious moments before he goes back to Pennsylvania and I never see him again. But Delilah, the kids . . . I’ve barely been there all week. And I promised. I can’t go back on my promise.
‘I can’t. I’m baby-sitting,’ I reply remorsefully.
‘I could keep you company?’ he offers, with a sexy tease to his voice.
‘Oh, you don’t want to do that,’ I say quickly, knowing I can’t bring him back to Delilah’s house in case I slip up and he realizes I live there. ‘Not on a Saturday night. Let me see if I can get out of it. I’m sure my sis— I mean, my friend won’t mind. Let me just call her and I’ll call you right back.’
I dial Delilah’s number and she picks up immediately.
‘Evie?’ she says. ‘Are you OK?’ She sounds strange.
‘I’m fine, I’ve just been really busy at work,’ I reply, feeling guilty for neglecting her.
‘But you didn’t come back at all last night,’ she points out.
‘Oh, that.’ I feel myself blushing. ‘I went to see Joel. I left you a note.’
‘I saw it,’ Delilah says, the disapproval apparent in her voice. ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing, Evie.’
‘I do!’ I reply defensively. ‘He really likes me, Lila, honestly he does.’
‘Of course he does,’ she says softly. ‘How could he not? Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying. I know how vulnerable you are.’
I swallow, trying hard not to cry as I think of how she nursed me through my last break-up, a break-up that until I met Joel still felt terribly raw. And now I think of what I overheard Will saying and how vulnerable my big sister is, while she is busy worrying about me. I feel a stab of guilt at what I’m hiding from her.
‘I know, Lila, but you needn’t worry. Joel’s a really nice guy, honestly. I think you’d like him,’ I add shyly, suddenly imagining him reclining on one of her Eames chairs after a cosy dinner party. Just like one of the family.
She doesn’t reply. I try to gauge if this is a good moment to ask for more time off. ‘Actually, Delilah, I was just calling to ask you something.’
‘I hope it’s not another night off,’ she says curtly.
That’ll be no, then.
‘Erm, it was actually,’ I say tentatively, then can’t help blurting out, ‘Joel wants to see me tomorrow and I really want to so please say I can, Lila, pleeeease.’ I hear the begging tone in my voice and suddenly see how ridiculous this is. I’m twenty-eight years old and I feel like a child asking her mother for permission to go round her friend’s house on a Saturday night. Shouldn’t a woman of my age have more freedom? I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for my sister to answer.
‘What? No! I’m meant to be going out with the girls, Evie. And after the week I’ve had I really need to let off some steam.’
‘But Joel’s—’
‘Joel’s seen more of you this week than I have!’ Delilah shoots back. ‘Anyway, you were with him last night!’
‘I know, I know, but—’ I begin, hoping that Delilah will change her mind. She knows how much I’ve needed this – and how long I’ve waited for it
‘No buts, Evie,’ Delilah says firmly. ‘I need you home tomorrow tonight.’ And she puts down the phone before I can respond.
I press redial to Joel’s mobile miserably.
‘Hey,’ he answers warmly. ‘So do we have a date?’
‘Um, I’m really sorry, Joel,’ I say, trying to stop my voice from cracking. ‘I can’t tomorrow. I, um, I have to baby-sit.’ It’s not that I’m upset that I can’t see Joel, but more that Delilah put down the phone on me. She’s never done that. Ever.
‘Oh, that sucks,’ he says distractedly. ‘Are you sure I can’t join you?’
‘No!’ I exclaim, then realize how bad that must sound. ‘It’s just, er, my friend isn’t keen on people she doesn’t know coming over when the kids are in bed, you know, just in case they wake up and get scared that a stranger is in the house.’
‘OK, I can understand that,’ he says reasonably. Then adds:‘How about Sunday? You’re not working then, are you?’
‘I’m not,’ I smile, thinking of my rare one day off a week from both the store and the kids – and feeling happier just at the thought of seeing him.
‘Great! Let’s do something fun. You said you live in Clapham, right? I’ll come and pick you up.’
‘No!’ I exclaim. Oh shit. Oh, I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I foresee this happening? If he picks me up from there, he’ll find out who I really am. I laugh forcibly. ‘I mean no you don’t have to pick me up. We can meet somewhere else . . . like the, uh, tube station?’ I add somewhat desperately.
‘Fine . . .’ Joel says quietly. There’s a long pause before he speaks again. ‘Listen, Carly, I’m kinda getting the feeling that you’re blowing hot and cold on me. Is there anything you’re not telling me? I mean, I’d love to see where you live and meet your friends, but if it’s too soon or if I’m crowding you or coming on too strong, then just tell me . . .’
‘No!’ I almost shout. I have to think of something else to say other than no. But here it is again. ‘No,’ I say again. ‘Look, Joel,’ I try to elaborate but don’t know how to without telling him the truth, ‘it’s not that you’re crowding me, I promise, it’s just . . .’ I’m scrabbling around for words, desperately trying to think of a way to convince him that everything is OK. ‘. . . You know what?’ I say at last, beaten by my lack of imagination. ‘I’d really love for you to see where I live . . .’
‘Great!’ he replies enthusiastically. ‘So shall I pick you up at yours then?’
‘Yes! Lovely!’ I say in a strangulated voice. ‘Shall we say, er, 8.30 a.m? Nice and bright and early! We could er, go for breakfast or something?’
‘O . . . K,’ Joel replies. ‘I can do early. What’s your address again?’
‘Um, it’s, er, Venn Street,’ I say, trying to remember Carly’s address.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he drawls, ‘I remember. Number thirty-four, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I squeak.
‘Great. I’ll be there!’ And Joel rings off.
I put my phone back in my bag and rub my forehead wearily. I now just have to hope that Carly has one of her usual big Saturday nights out and won’t be getting up till past lunchtime. I know she’s not usually an early riser at weekends, which is why I suggested to Joel that he come round so early. If I can just get him to meet me outside the flat, time it so I can just pretend to shut and lock the front door, I can somehow steer him away for breakfast
without Carly seeing us, or having to show him inside the flat. It’s a crazy, desperate plan . . . but if I’m lucky it might just work.
Sunday 11 December
14 Shopping Days Until Christmas
My Saturday night spent baby-sitting for a sleeping Lola and Raffy was interminably long and uncomfortable, mainly because I couldn’t concentrate on anything, so consumed was I with worry for Delilah who, since our phone conversation the day before, kept making snide comments in my direction via her dialogue with the kids. It was all, ‘Isn’t Auntie Teevee looking pretty these days, Lola? She’s got a new boyfriend. That’s why we hardly see her any more.’ She was being unfair but I couldn’t say anything as I knew her mood was blacker than black because of Will’s absence all day (at a weekend work meeting on the golf course, apparently). But even when she left the house to go on her night out, the icy atmosphere remained. I went to bed at ten o’clock, feeling increasingly like I was living in a place I didn’t belong. That’s why I’m so thankful that it’s finally Sunday and I can relax and be myself for the day. Well, kind of.
The tube shudders to a stop at Clapham Common station at just gone 8 a.m., and I pick up my bag and bound out of my empty carriage. On the platform, a handful of miserable, tired-looking people stare blankly into the distance as I walk past them, the unfortunate few for whom Sunday is a working day just like any other. I smile sympathetically at them as I pass, but they don’t seem to see me, or if they do, they choose to ignore me. One of the downsides of working in retail is that weekends are no longer your own but I’ve always been lucky enough to have Sundays off.
I exit the station shivering and clutching my A-Z. It’s a bright but cold morning and Clapham High Street is devoid of life, save for a few stragglers from the night before. I cross the street, past Starbucks and the newsagent’s, and take an immediate left into Venn Street, past some cute bars and restaurants and a little cinema. It’s a nice but not particularly salubrious street, which surprises me. The houses are all unremarkable Victorian terraces, not at all where I imagined Carly living. I’d always seen her in some swanky modern riverside flat with a private gym and roof terrace. But this is all very . . . ordinary.
