by Ali Harris
‘Well, well, well,’ he says, and then looks around the tearoom until he spots a spare table to sit at and stares at it pointedly. I make an apologetic face at Lily as she hastily ushers us over, and she squeezes my hand before I sit down.
‘What can I get you?’ she asks politely, and Dad gives her his order without even asking her how she’s been. Lily scribbles down our order and then glides silently off, sylphlike as ever.
‘That was a bit rude, Dad,’ I say, and he looks at me blankly.
‘What?’ he asks innocently, and I roll my eyes. ‘Well,’ he smiles, and sits back in his chair, stretching out his long legs, so anyone wanting to get past would have to step over them. ‘It’s nice to see you here in your . . . little job,’ he says with a smile. ‘Although,’ he leans forward, ‘I’m amazed you still have one. I mean, this place is just so past it now, isn’t it? A bit like the staff,’ he whispers, and then smiles at Lily, who has just arrived with our pot of tea.
‘I can’t believe you’ve just said that,’ I shoot back after she’s gone.
‘Well, Evie, it’s sad but true,’ Dad replies with a smile. ‘It just doesn’t make good business sense to keep this place as it is. Sebastian Hardy must know it.’
‘Well, Sebastian Hardy isn’t in charge any more; his son Rupert is. And unlike his father, he has some family loyalty and sense of history . . .’
‘Aaah, but loyalty doesn’t make money, darling!’ he laughs.
I grasp my tea cup for support and to stop me tearing my hair out with frustration. I don’t know why I bother, but I feel the need to defend Hardy’s to my father.
‘Hardy’s can’t close and it won’t,’ I say firmly, putting my tea cup back on its saucer. ‘It’s a store with history and a heart. Londoners love it and so do the staff. We all think that, with a proper chance, this place can be great again. We’re already busier than we’ve been for years, the departments have been updated and we’re taking way more money than before . . .’
‘More of nothing isn’t a lot, though, is it, darling?’ Dad responds smoothly. That comment hurt, mostly because he’s right. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he continues more softly. ‘You can try and convince me all you like but you’re a romantic, just like your mother. And romance doesn’t get you anywhere in this life.’
‘But surely you must have some emotional connection to this place?’ I say. ‘It’s part of the reason I love it here so much. I mean, you and Mum fell in love under this roof!’ I hope that by reminding him of what Hardy’s has brought him – a loving wife, a wonderful family – it’ll help Dad see how important this place is to so many other people, too.
He leans over and squeezes my hand. ‘Of course it’s important, darling. But life moves on. You can’t live with memories forever and history can’t buy you a retirement plan. So if you’re still working here out of some misguided sense of romance about my and your mother’s relationship, well, then I . . .’ He is distracted by his bleeping phone and doesn’t finish his sentence.
‘Well then what?’ I ask impatiently and he looks up at me blankly as if he’s already forgotten our conversation, already ensconced in sending a text, a small smile hovering over his face.
‘Well, then what?’ I repeat impatiently, and Dad looks up.
‘Er? What were we talking about? Oh, yes, your misplaced sense of romance when it comes to business. What I was going to say was if that’s the case then maybe the stockroom is the best place for you.’ Dad smiles at me widely, clearly unaware he has just mortally offended me. ‘Not everything in life can be some big ideal, Eve darling, and you’d do well to remember that. And so would your mother.’ He drains his cup and puts it back down on the saucer with a loud clatter, so that everyone in the tearoom turns to look at us, including Lily. Then he stands up and throws on his coat.
‘Right, gotta go,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead as he wraps his cashmere scarf around his neck and puts his leather gloves on. ‘We must do this again sometime.’
I turn my head, fold my arms and stare sullenly into the distance as he strides off.
Seconds later, I feel a warm hand rest delicately on my shoulder and I look up to see Lily gazing sympathetically down at me. She pulls a chair up and perches on it.
‘I’m so sorry about him, Lily,’ I say, my eyes filling with tears suddenly.
She waves her hand. ‘Shush now, you don’t have to apologize. Parents are always a bit embarrassing.’
‘A bit?’ I shake my head.
‘Well, dear, if it’s any consolation, you’re nothing like him.’
I smile tearfully. ‘I’m just so fed up of his views. Just because I don’t have a fancy house like Delilah, a rich husband or work in some high-powered job, he looks down on my job, my relationships, everything. And he’s not the only one . . .’
‘What do you mean?’ Lily says.
I sigh as I think about Carly and all the other staff who pour out their troubles to me. ‘Half the people here still don’t know me, or know what I can do. Carly even took the glory for the makeovers. No one would ever suspect me. They think I’m worthless except as a sounding board to their problems.’
‘So maybe it’s time you told them,’ Lily says simply.
‘What do you mean?’ I twist the rim of my tea cup so that the brown liquid left at the bottom swooshes around like a whirlpool.
‘Who you are, what you do.’ She stands up. ‘Unless, that is, you actually prefer being invisible? Maybe you think that’s all you deserve? Perhaps you’d rather slink through life without anyone bothering you. After all, it’s much easier, isn’t it?’ Lily tilts her head and strokes my arm. ‘Hmm?’
I shrug and stare at the leaves of tea.
‘Or is it?’ she adds and with a final squeeze of my arm, she walks off.
Wednesday 14 December
11 Shopping Days Until Christmas
‘Hi, Felix,’ I say glumly as I walk through the staff entrance. I am feeling distinctly Wednesday-ish and uncharacteristically unChristmassy, despite the glorious spectacle of lights and decorations that greeted me as I cycled into town this morning. Even the prospect of transforming Carly’s department is not making me feel better. Everything feels like such an effort and I’m not sure I have the energy any more. Designers is way out of my league. I know nothing about designer clothes, and if Carly can’t make it work then how the hell can I? But without it I know Hardy’s cannot compete. One designer outfit sale could match the entire takings of some of the smaller departments.
‘Evie!’ Felix bounds up to me and thrusts a latte into my hands as I smile weakly at him. ‘I took the liberty of getting you a coffee first. I’ve been thinking up ideas for Designers all night and wanted to show some things to you,’ he says excitedly, his sharp blue eyes glittering like icicles.
I trudge after Felix reluctantly. It’s so sweet of him to get excited but I’m really not in the mood today. I just want to get on with it. I can’t fake enthusiasm for some ideas that I’ll never use from an old man who hasn’t worked on the shop floor in thirty-odd years and who considers pattern clashing bow-ties to be fashionable. I feel mean and dispirited, and I don’t want my mood to rub off on Felix, but right now I wish I could go back to doing this all on my own.
‘Now,’ he says, spreading out a large, rolled-up piece of paper over his desk and tugging on my arm to draw me in closer. ‘I’ve sketched out my ideas. I haven’t done this for a while so I may be a little rusty . . .’
‘What do you mean, you haven’t done this for a while?’
‘Oh, myself and Walter junior did a rather successful store makeover back in 1974, which I had a great deal of creative input in,’ Felix says proudly. ‘Of course, things were different back then but you inspired me to revisit some of my own ideas all those years ago. After all, if they worked then, they could still work now. With a special Evie twist, of course!’ he adds with a wink. ‘I don’t pretend to understand modern fashion, oh, no, or know how to marry old and new togeth
er to make something fresh and, er, funky? Is that right?’ I laugh at Felix’s expression and he joins in. ‘Hey, I can be down with the kids too, you know, love. I know all the street talk.’
‘That’s more than I do, Felix,’ I say, feeling brighter. I suddenly find myself compelled to look closer at the drawings. ‘These are really good, Felix!’ I’m unable to hide the surprise in my voice. ‘I love what you’ve done with the till area. It looks really glamorous and, oh – what are those, over where the changing rooms are?’
‘They’re vintage screens,’ Felix says. ‘I know we’ve got some in the store somewhere and I thought we could do something like this with them.’ He pulls out a new issue of Living etc magazine and shows me a reader’s glamorous bedroom. I raise my eyebrow at him.
‘What?’ he says defensively. ‘I like a bit of home decoration, you know. Maisie always said I was a DIY mastermind. I just thought instead of covering the screens with fabric, which would be expensive and time-consuming, we could just quickly wallpaper them and then put them in different spots in the department. We could drape nice clothes over them as if customers have been getting changed behind them. But – and this is my pièce de résistance – we could turn the changing rooms into a sort of VIP closet, where the most elegant designer dresses and shoes are displayed. I reckon it’d bring a real sense of luxury to the department. It could be like that walk-in closet in that programme you women always bang on about, you know, the one with the women who all like shoes and sex and talk about them all the time – especially that blonde one who looks like a drag queen.’
‘You mean Sex and the City?’ I say, mouth agape.
‘My Maisie used to love that show. Not that I ever watched it, of course,’ he adds gruffly, clearing his throat. ‘The clothes that Carrie Bagshott woman wore were way too crazy, and the way that Mr Huge messed her around? No sensible woman would ever stand for that. My Maisie never would, that’s for sure . . .’
I gape in wonder at Felix as I look from him to his sketches and then back again. Will my friends never cease to amaze me? These ideas are wonderful, way better than anything I came up with last night. I was too busy thinking about Joel, then Carly, then worrying about Delilah, who I could hear crying in her room again because Will wasn’t home. Then I drifted off to sleep with just my dad’s comment reverberating in my head. I ended up throwing away most of my drawings when I woke up, vowing to wing it when I came in. But now Felix has reignited my imagination and I know that, with his help, this makeover could be amazing.
I throw my arms around him. ‘Felix, these are brilliant ideas! But do you think we can really get all this done this morning?’
‘’Course we can, darling. I’ve already got Jan Baptysta started on knocking the changing rooms through into a single walk-in room. I hope you don’t mind?’ he adds bashfully. ‘But I knew you’d like that idea. Every store and girl should have one!’ he adds in a faux camp voice.
I laugh again and drag him out of his office. ‘Come on then, we’d better work fast so you’re not missed in security!’
‘Aah, sod security,’ Felix chuckles. ‘Most of the time I just nap, anyway. In three years I’ve never seen anyone come here when the store is shut. To be honest, before you started all this, they barely came when the bloody place was open!’
We walk into the store laughing companionably, suddenly able to find humour at Hardy’s sad situation. Maybe it’s because we finally have a glimmer of hope.
We’re just greeting the rest of gang, who are all hard at work, when Sam bursts in.
‘Evie!’ he gasps. ‘I was hoping you’d already be here. I had to come by so I could show you these!’ He is holding armfuls of prints, which he now thrusts at me. ‘I’ve cancelled my other deliveries this morning so I can take these to the local newspapers. What do you think?’
I flick through the scenes that Sam captured from our makeover the other morning, until I feel a crowd of people around me. Felix, Lily, Jan Baptysta and the rest of the gang are all ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over my shoulder.
‘What do you think?’ Sam repeats more urgently. ‘I hope I’ve captured the spirit of the makeover sessions without revealing who anyone is. ‘I thought these –’ he points at a series of six shots of us transforming the handbag department, ‘would make a great reportage sequence – and this – ’ he pulls out a photo that shows me with my back to the camera and in complete darkness against the brightness of the store, with blurry figures rushing around me – ‘is a great central action shot.’
‘They’re—’ I begin.
‘VONDERVUL!’ yells Velna.
‘Beautifully shot, Sam,’ says Lily, leaning over to have a look.
‘Bloody brilliant,’ Felix adds proudly.
‘I second all of those things,’ I smile at Sam, feeling the excitement and hope building. ‘Do you really think the papers will run them, though?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Sam shrugs, running his fingers through his already ruffled hair. ‘I mean, local papers love inspiring community stories like this, and it’s got the right balance of drama, what with the threat of Hardy’s closure. And then there’s the Christmas angle, with you lot acting like the store’s little Secret Elves. But we’ll see. Wish me luck, guys!’ he says, taking back the pictures and holding up his crossed figures.
‘Good luck!’ I spontaneously embrace Sam and I feel unwelcome shivers of longing as his hands rest gently on the base of my back.
Everyone cheers and Jan Baptysta wolf whistles and I pull away, suddenly embarrassed and confused. Sam is just my friend, he always has been. There’s never been anything more between us. My mind races back through our relationship and pictures like mental flashcards appear before me: Sam and I talking about our lifelong dreams over our early morning breakfasts; the funny texts he sends whilst doing his other deliveries, which help to get me through another lonely day in the stockroom; the way my heart always lifts when I see his smiling face as I open the delivery doors. The searing image of him walking down the road with another girl; that same stab of jealousy when I met Ella. Him leaning in to kiss me in the pub in Primrose Hill . . .
Oh God. I gulp and take another step back from him, suddenly unable to look him in the eye for fear he will see exactly what’s going through my head.
‘I’ll be off then,’ Sam smiles bashfully to the still-cheering crowd. And I nod quickly, turn away and lose myself in the makeover, trying not to look at him as he disappears out of the store.
Later that afternoon, I wheel my bike across Primrose Hill as Lola and Raffy scramble alongside me, squealing and jumping and stopping to examine sticks and stones and anything they can to make the journey go at their pace. I let them because I’m in no hurry to get home myself. I can’t stop thinking about Sam and Joel, and feel like I need this walk to clear my head. I don’t understand why I’ve started having these feelings for Sam when someone as wonderful and gorgeous and exciting as Joel has come along. He’s everything I never dared to dream about in a man. The sort of guy I always thought wouldn’t look twice at a girl like me. But he has, he is, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t just see this as a holiday romance. So why am I risking happiness by thinking about someone else? Someone who has been nothing more than a friend for the past two years. Could my feelings for Sam have lain dormant for so long just because I was too scared to get close to anyone after Jamie? Has being with Joel given me the confidence to admit it to myself? Or is it just that I haven’t seen enough of Joel because I’ve been throwing myself wholeheartedly into the makeovers? Am I scared that Joel, who I really like, will hurt me and so I suddenly find myself attracted to someone safe, someone I know, who is my friend?
Oh God, I am so confused.
Lola slips her mittened hand into mine and smiles up at me.
‘Whass wrong, Teevee?’ she says as she trudges alongside me. ‘You look sad.’
I haul her up into my arms and kiss her cold red cheeks. ‘Not sad, Lola. I’m just
thinking.’
‘Hmm,’ she says, tapping her lips with her finger. ‘I can do that too.’
I laugh and squeeze her tightly, suddenly feeling thankful that I could get away early enough today to pick them up from nursery. I’ve really missed them this past week and I’m hoping that today will in some way make up for my absence. Lola starts wriggling and I slide her back down to the ground and watch as she runs off with her brother. They’re so close in age I hope they’ll be best friends as they grow up. They’ll need each other more than they know.
I had such a wonderful morning, working on the makeover with everyone, chatting and laughing and then working in companionable silence when we realized just what we had to do and in how little time, that it made me think about how much I miss my sister’s company. For the past week we’ve barely seen each other. It’s like we’re slowly drifting apart. I’m still carrying the weight of Will’s infidelity around with me and wondering what the hell to do about it, and even though in the past couple of weeks I’ve been happier than I’ve ever been, at the same time I can’t help but feel bad that the people I’m closest to seem to be falling apart. So I’m simply pretending it isn’t happening, wrapping myself up in my own world, which, for once, feels magical and inspiring, yet deep down I can’t help feeling that something – or someone – is missing.
Once upon a time I would have known every single thought that my sister was having, I’d be at home to listen to her talk about her worries at work, her fears that she doesn’t spend enough time with the kids, that Will is too stressed, that the mortgage is too big, that Mum and Dad are too far away, that they’re too tired to have any fun, that she doesn’t spend enough time with me. She’d talk and I’d listen. That was the deal.
But I haven’t listened for a long time and I realize that whilst sometimes I felt frustrated that it always seemed to be a one-way conversation, I liked feeling useful. I enjoyed listening to her problems and that I was always able to make her feel better in a way that no one else could – not even her husband. My sister, my idol, needed me. I could always rationalize her worries until they became barely a blip on her life’s landscape, and then I’d make her laugh. Our relationship worked like that.
