by Ali Harris
‘Don’t call me an idiot,’ Carly snarls, jumping up to her feet and launching herself at Elaine.
Guy and I quickly pull her back as Rupert starts flapping and the rest of the staff squeal and clap in the excitement of a possible bitch-fight.
‘Well, no one else has made such a mess of their department, have they?’ shouts Elaine as Sharon physically restrains her.
‘Oh, really?’ yells back Carly. ‘Well, my ideas are working in the rest of the store, aren’t they?’
A sudden silence descends over the room and everyone looks at each other uncertainly and then back at Carly. Guy and I drop our hands and step away from her.
I’m shocked. Even though she threatened to take the credit for the makeovers I didn’t think she actually would. Part of me admires her for being so fearless. She knows that no one knows just who is making all the changes, and she also knows that Rupert really believes in her so it won’t be beyond the realms of possibility that she’d be the one doing it; it’s why he promoted her, after all. But with one glance around the room I can see that none of the staff believes her. They are all looking at Carly with disgust and outrage, including Sharon. But Carly keeps a brave face, her chin lifted proudly, her arms folded defiantly. I should be upset that she has stolen my thunder, but the truth is, what she’s just done is no worse than what I’ve done to her over the past two weeks. Just like me, Carly is now pretending to be something she’s not. Clearly, we have more in common that I ever thought.
‘Ladies, I think that’s enough, don’t you?’ Sharon says coldly. ‘This is not the way to behave in a staff meeting.’ She claps her hands and everyone visibly stands to attention. ‘Now, everyone, there’s work to do. This is an important week for Hardy’s and, as Rupert says, we all need to be working together as a team.’ She shoots a frosty glance at Carly. ‘Off you go.’
As everyone files out, Carly sinks back down on the sofa and sits staring at her shoes. I don’t know what to say to her so I busy myself tidying the stockroom, which looks like a disaster zone after such a hectic day yesterday. I get so involved in my tidying process, revelling in the feeling of bringing order and calm back to the chaos with every single item that I put back on a shelf, that I forget she’s even there.
‘Sarah,’ she says quietly, and I peer around the shelves to see her looking disconsolately at me. ‘Can I talk to you?’
I try not to sigh. I really want to tidy the stockroom before the store opens as it’s so important that we have a good day. I can’t help but wish she’d just go and sort her own department out. After all, didn’t she hear what Sharon and Rupert just said?
I look at my watch. ‘OK, Carly, but I don’t have long. There’s a lot to do.’
‘Thanks, you’re a real pal. I just don’t know what to do any more, you know?’ she says, swiping a long, bronze-coloured strand of hair out of her eyes, which I’m surprised to see are glistening with tears. ‘I mean, two weeks ago I was on top of the world, I had this promotion and another great job offer on the table from Rumors, I was out having fun all the time, and so what if I didn’t have a boyfriend? I was dating all the time, which was good, as it meant I didn’t have to spend much time at home with my horrible flatmate—’
‘I thought you were best friends?’ I interrupt.
Carly shakes her head and shrinks a little. ‘I had to find a new flatmate after my best friend moved out,’ she says quietly.
‘Why did she do that?’
‘Because she got this boyfriend and all of a sudden she wanted to do the whole “playing house” thing. I mean, we used to have so much fun and it didn’t matter to me that I was always single. We’d just hang out together. But now she’s always staying in with her boyfriend, or saving up for things for their flat, and this new girl I’m living with treats me like I’m invisible. I thought we’d hang out loads but she’s either working late, or she stays in her room and only communicates with me through shitty Post-it note messages. Now I have no one to go out with. Blokes never seem to want to do anything more than date me until we have sex, then they dump me. And now everyone at work hates me too. And Rumors haven’t called me back since my second interview.’
She starts to cry and I sit next to her and put my arm around her somewhat awkwardly. ‘You’re my only friend, Sarah. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m so sorry for being like this, I don’t recognize myself any more. It’s like someone came and stole my former life and left me with this crappy one where everyone ignores me and I spend most of my time on my own. I just wish things could be back to normal. I never really wanted this bloody promotion. I liked being a personal shopper – I was good at that. I knew what looked good on people and how to make them feel better about themselves. I just wish someone would make me feel better.’
As she puts her head on my shoulder and sobs, I do my best to comfort her, simultaneously feeling like the worst person in the whole wide world because the truth is I’m the one who has stolen her life.
I don’t feel any better when Rupert and Sharon come into the stockroom about an hour after she’s gone. Once again, I’m squirrelled away at the back and they don’t see me. Sharon doesn’t even think to call out my name and I know Rupert wouldn’t as I’m not sure he even knows I exist. Instead they start discussing the events of the morning meeting.
‘I don’t know, Rupe,’ Sharon says softly, sounding more gentle and feminine than I’ve ever heard her. ‘I’m just not sure that Carly has really got what it takes to be a manager.’
Rupert sighs. ‘I know, and I had such high hopes for her, too. But she’s clearly alienating the staff and I can’t afford for that to happen, no matter how talented she may be at visually merchandising the store.’
‘If she is that talented,’ Sharon says barbedly.
‘Do you have anything to tell me, Sharon?’ Rupert says. ‘I mean, I totally understand why you don’t want to admit that it’s you who has been doing these wonderful makeovers. I know that you want me to think it could be any one of the staff, but honestly, you can tell me. I promise it won’t affect anyone’s jobs; we’re past that now. Well, perhaps with one exception.’
‘Oh, Rupert,’ Sharon gushes, ‘I’m so flattered you think it might be me, but don’t you think I would have told you what I was doing? I tell you everything, after all. No,’ she sighs, ‘I may be a good manager but I can’t take credit for the secret makeovers. And I don’t think Carly can either,’ she adds.
‘Really? But why would she lie?’ Rupert asks. ‘Isn’t that a dangerous game to play?’
‘More like a desperate one,’ Sharon points out. ‘The poor girl has had a terrible couple of weeks. It’s clear she’s out of her depth and isn’t right for the role. I agree she was a wonderful personal shopper, but her talents just don’t seem to translate into management.’
‘So what do I do?’ Rupert asks. ‘I can’t demote her back into personal shopping. That department was overstaffed anyway, and even with the new customers, there still isn’t enough demand for it. The service my great-grandfather wanted for Hardy’s was that every customer would feel like they had an assistant’s undivided attention for as long as they want, helping them with every single part of the Hardy’s shopping experience. As far as I’m concerned that is personal shopping. It isn’t a department, it’s the raison d’être of the whole store.’ He gazes wistfully into the distance. ‘My dream, if Hardy’s survives, is to have a higher staff-per-customer ratio than any other store. We’ll incorporate American retail standards but maintain the British reserve of not being too, you know, “in your face”.’
I stifle a snigger as Rupert uses that uncharacteristically ‘street’ phrase, but I find myself becoming serious when I hear him speak again.
‘I don’t know, Sharon, Carly is causing such discontent in the store, if she doesn’t dramatically turn around her department – or at the very least her attitude – I’m going to have to look at demoting her immediately, with a view to letting he
r go. After all, maybe she’s better suited to a more modern store than this anyway? I mean, Elaine had a point when she was talking about the type of designers we should be stocking here at Hardy’s. She may not be as glamorous as Carly, and she can be a bit lazy, but she knows her stuff, that girl, and she’s been really helping out in other departments. She’s actually turned out to be a good team player.’
‘Well, you should do what you think best for the store: you’re the boss, after all,’ Sharon replies before adding shyly, ‘and a wonderful one you are, too.’
‘Why, thank you, Sharon.’ I don’t need to see Rupert to know he has turned a deep shade of red. ‘There is something else I wanted to talk to you about, Sharon, something more um, personal.’ He coughs nervously. ‘Would you . . . you know . . . by any chance be free to, well, actually, I mean to go for dinner at some point with me? More specifically I mean tonight, er . . . maybe?’
‘Rupert, I’d be delighted,’ breathes Sharon. And they walk out of the stockroom, the door slamming shut behind them.
I sink down against the shelves and put my head in my hands, rubbing my forehead with exhaustion and concern. Poor Carly, she has no idea she’s about to lose her job and I honestly don’t know how she’ll cope. The poor girl is at her lowest ebb and I understand just how that feels. In fact, right now Carly seems to have inherited my bad luck and I feel like it’s all my fault. I mean, the universe has to send it somewhere, right? And ever since I wished for my life to change, it has – but at the same time Carly’s has changed too, for the worse.
Just then my mobile rings and I feel a complicated flash of lust and panic as I see Joel’s name appear on my screen. I haven’t spoken to him other than to text to apologize for running off on Sunday. He said he’d call, but part of me didn’t expect him to. And his call is reminding me that this should be for Carly. She should be dating some gorgeous American man right now who would lift her confidence and make her feel wonderful, which would make her better at her job and happier at work. I know the power that the attention of a man like Joel can wield. It’s why it’s proving so hard to let him go.
I stare at the phone and watch as it switches to voicemail, vowing to phone him back later. The only way I can deal with the guilt of what I’ve done is to save Carly’s job and to make people think that Carly is the one doing all the makeovers. Even though Carly has already had a go at making over Designers, I know I have to redo it in a way that will really impress Rupert and Sharon, as well as regain Carly’s respect from the rest of the staff. And it will also stop me from feeling so guilty about Joel. Because I have to see him again. I just have to.
‘Hello, it’s me,’ I murmur from where I’m crouched in a far corner of the stockroom, surrounded by a forest of beautiful garments encased in shimmering plastic. I’ve spent the afternoon cherry-picking Carly’s best stock purchases in preparation for her department’s makeover. No one can deny the girl knows her fashion, I think, as I run my fingers over a beautiful, nude silk-chiffon draped column dress – then I glance at a tiny black leather chain-embellished minidress that’s on top of my discarded pile and make a face – she just doesn’t know Hardy’s customers. I prop my phone against my ear and luxuriate in the low hum of Joel’s voice as he murmurs softly down the line.
‘Well, hey there, stranger,’ he says softly. ‘I’ve been wondering if you might call me back. I wasn’t sure you would after you ran out on me on Sunday.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I mutter, ashamed.
‘So what was the deal with that?’ Joel asks, the tension now apparent in his voice.
‘I-I just freaked out a little,’ I reply in what could be the Understatement of the Century. ‘I was having such a good time and I just thought about the fact you’d be going home soon, and I just felt that things were moving too fast . . .’
‘But I’ve said you could always come with me,’ he interjects, snowballing me slightly. ‘So why don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Come home and meet my family. They’d adore you. You’d love the holidays in the States. And even though we’d miss Christmas Day, all the decorations would still be up . . .’
A flood of glorious images rushes into my mind: popcorn and cranberries on string, snowy sidewalks, pumpkin pie oozing with spices, eggnog laced with rum, red-and-white-striped candy canes, big department stores draped with sumptuous decorations and gorgeously gift-wrapped presents.
‘I-I couldn’t,’ I stammer.
‘Why not?’
But I’m barely listening. He wants me to MEET HIS FAMILY? At CHRISTMAS? And, oh God, I want to, so badly. Each year since Jamie and I split up I’ve sat around the dinner table with my parents, Delilah and Will, and Jonah and Noah’s ever-changing carousel of girlfriends, and had to deal with the ribbing from them that there I was, single, again, dealing with hilarious gifts like a book called How to Find Career Success from my dad, Nigella’s How to Be a Domestic Goddess from my mum, truly hilarious blow-up boyfriend dolls from my brothers (no, really), and a beautiful piece of designer clothing from my sister that is always so small I could never squeeze into it in a million years. I’d give anything to spend this year with Joel. To run away from everything and everyone. I suddenly find myself caught up in a fantasy where I move to Pennsylvania so we can run his family store together and live happily ever after. I visualize our farewell party, complete with bunting and cupcakes and ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ playing in the background. I can even imagine Raffy and Lola’s wails as they cling to my legs and yell, ‘Don’t leave us, Teevee, we love you, take us with you!’ whilst I cover their heads with kisses. But that would mean him knowing who I really am. He’s attracted to a version of me that doesn’t really exist. He would drop me like a shot if he knew the truth.
Or would he?
The more I get to know Joel, the more I think maybe, just maybe, he might have come to love me. Evie. I mean, like me, he loves his family, he wants to settle down and, judging by how hung up he was on his ex, he’s a one-woman kind of guy. And he’s loyal to his friends – just look how he’s helping out Rupert with Hardy’s finances. If I’d just told him the truth in the first place then I wouldn’t be in this predicament. Perhaps now I would be using my savings to book a plane ticket and would be preparing for the Christmas of my dreams. If only I’d had the confidence just to be myself.
I realize that Joel is waiting for an explanation.
‘I-I couldn’t . . . leave my family,’ I reply. ‘My sister, well, she’s having marriage problems and she needs me.’
‘You don’t talk about her much,’ he says. ‘Are you close?’
‘Yes,’ I reply without thinking. And then I think about how long it’s been since we had a proper conversation that didn’t involve frostiness and recriminations. ‘Well, we were,’ I say sadly before adding: ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Sounds it,’ Joel laughs, and I can’t help wishing that he’d ask me more. But he doesn’t. ‘So listen, it’s funny you called. Guess where I am?’ He pauses for a nanosecond. ‘Hardy’s!’ he announces jubilantly.
‘W-where?’ I manage to stutter.
‘Actually I’m in the designers department!’ he says proudly. ‘I decided if Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain . . .’
My stomach lurches. Oh God. Not again. Why does he keep doing this to me?
‘Right!’ I say brightly. ‘Great! I’ll be right there.’ I glance at the dresses around me and grab an armful. ‘I’m, er, just picking up some stuff from, er . . . Personal Shopping. See you in a minute!’
I chuck my phone on the floor and stagger down the central aisle of the stockroom towards the door, carrying the beautiful, expensive gowns. I have to get up there and find Carly. Then I have to distract Joel and . . . then . . . then, well, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do then. I’ll have to think on my feet.
I run up the stairs, panting heavily as I weave my way between bewildered-looking customers, trying to stop the dresses from getting tang
led between my legs whilst simultaneously wishing that I was wearing my trusty loafers and not the stacked 1970s wedges I picked up from Spitalfields last week.
‘Argh!’ I cry as I stumble over the last step and topple to the floor, one hand held aloft like the Statue of Liberty. A pair of well-shined shoes appears in my eye-line and I glance up to see an amused-looking Joel standing over me. My eyes are immediately drawn to a certain part of his anatomy.
‘. . . knows no bounds,’ Joel chuckles as he helps me to my feet.
‘What?’ I say, dragging my eyes away from his groin as I glance at the crumpled dresses I’m lying on in dismay. I’ll have to get the steamer on them later.
‘I said,’ he repeats, ‘your enthusiasm to see me knows no bounds.’
‘Oh, yes, right, ha ha, very funny. Ow.’
‘Bruised ego?’ Joel says, slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me gently to my feet.
‘No, bruised knees,’ I reply, rubbing them whilst furtively scanning the department to see where Carly is. I spot her mooching around by the till. She appears to be pouncing desperately on passing customers, who are waving her away like an annoying fly. I can see she is trying too hard.
‘Er, shall we go downstairs?’ I hiss, trying to lead Joel round in a circle and over to the stairs that I’ve just run up.
‘Why don’t you show me this department instead?’ Joel says, turning me back around. ‘I guess this is where you do all the styling for your high-end customers.’
Carly is now ensconced in a magazine at the till. I have to get her out of here.
‘Of course!’ I say enthusiastically. ‘Er, I just need to chat to my, um, staff first. Work before pleasure, you know! You wait here.’
I drag Joel to a far corner of the department and stand him directly behind a long grey slashed dress splattered with red. Carly has hung it from the ceiling, making it look like a prop from some sort of macabre murder scene. I dash over to her, glancing back to see Joel’s feet peeking out from underneath the dress and stifling a nervous laugh.
