by Ali Harris
But now I’m seeing Joel, and I’m passionate about my job and actually think I’m finally getting somewhere with my life, it feels like I’m losing my sister as a result. Is that the price I have to pay? Does our relationship only work when we play the role of sorted older sister and scatty, searching younger sibling? I used to resent her for not helping me in the same way as I helped her, but now I’m realizing that she did help me. I just didn’t appreciate it. She gave me a home and helped rebuild my confidence after Jamie dumped me. I would never have moved to London, taken my job or even accepted a date with Joel without her. Even if the latter wasn’t exactly done in the most straightforward of ways. By inviting me to live with her she put her own family’s happiness on the line. I’m sure Will would prefer it if I wasn’t there. Maybe I’m part of the reason that their marriage is under pressure. Has he had affairs so that he could spend less time at home with us? Why didn’t I ever notice the impact that could have on her marriage before?
I open the front door, usher Lola and Raffy inside and am about to take off their coats when I hear someone slamming round the house. A suitcase gets thrown from the second floor down to the top of the stairs in front of us, and I hastily grab Lola and Raffy by the shoulders and turn them round.
‘Hey, guys!’ I shout. ‘Hands up who wants to go get cupcakes from the Primrose Hill Bakery!’ I’m speaking unnecessarily loudly, to ensure that whoever is upstairs – I’m presuming it’s Delilah – can hear me.
‘YAY!’ squeals Lola, hopping around in a circle.
‘Yayyayayayayayayayay,’ echoes Raffy, to infinity, it seems.
‘OK, LET’S GO!’ I shout, more to Delilah than to them, and open the door and walk back out into the bleak winter’s afternoon, thankful for the kid’s favourite cosy café just round the corner that is always full of delicious cakes and a friendly welcome. Seconds later my phone bleeps.
‘Thanks. I love you lil sis. D x’
That night, I lie in bed with a pillow over my head as I listen to Will and Delilah shouting at each other, hoping that because it’s so late, the kids will be in too much of a deep sleep to hear. They may live in a gorgeous house, in a picture-perfect area of London, but the words and accusations coming out of their mouths are as ugly as anything you’d hear on EastEnders. I press the pillow down further, trying to drown out the sound of Delilah’s screaming and Will’s bewildered, defensive arguments.
He tells her he’s not always out because he’s having an affair, he just has to work late. Then he adds that she’s mad to think he would ever cheat on her and I feel my stomach churn at his blatant lies.
You’re never here, she says.
Nor are you, he counters.
You’re obsessed with work, she screams.
Only because you’re obsessed with this ridiculously lavish lifestyle, he yells.
You never see the kids
The kids never see you . . .
Back and forth, round and round, going nowhere other than down. This family is sinking, I think. And it’s all my fault. I know because I hear Will say it: ‘She’s always here,’ he says despairingly. And I know he means me. And he’s right.
My phone, which I am clutching to my chest, buzzes and glows under the covers. I press the Call Accept button and smile despite myself as I hear Joel’s voice.
‘I’M GOING OUT,’ Will shouts at the same time as Joel says hello.
The door slams and I shiver as I hear the sound of Delilah’s sobs echo despairingly around the house. But I don’t get up and go to her, like I should. I can’t. Joel’s here and he’s making me feel better and I need that right now. And besides, I can’t face her. It’s all my fault that this is happening. I should just stay up here, tucked away in my turret, make myself invisible beneath my covers, lose myself in the sound of Joel’s gentle chat. I’ll be there to comfort her and pick up the pieces later. Once I’ve finished this phone call.
When Joel says goodnight I put the phone on my bedside table and get out of bed. I quietly climb down the stairs, shivering as the cold grips my skin, and gently push open the door. Delilah is curled in a tight heap on the bed, the duvet a dishevelled ball thrown on to the floor, her sad, staring eyes wet with tears. Next to her lies a framed picture of her and Will on their wedding day. I move it out of the way, turning it face down on her bedside table. Then I shake the duvet out and pull it over her, tucking it in around her neck. She mutters something and I stroke her hair to soothe her. Then I climb into bed beside her and lie there with my hand on top of hers, hoping that my presence will bring her some comfort. She grasps it tightly and I realize that she needs me more than she’s ever let on. A heavy silence pervades the house and soon Delilah’s breathing becomes deeper and slower and her hand goes limp next to mine. I try to drift off into sleep myself but find I can’t. I’m unbearably uncomfortable, despite the warmth of my pyjamas and the softness of the duvet, and I realize as I toss and turn for the first time in my life, I’m feeling what it’s like to be in Delilah’s skin. I lie awake for a long time.
Thursday 15 December
10 Shopping Days Until Christmas
I jump as I hear a loud banging at the delivery door and put down the old Hardy’s Christmas decorations I’ve been sorting through, cleaning the dust and dirt off them and putting the best ones in piles according to which department I can imagine them in. There are only nine days left till Christmas Eve and our festive makeover is long overdue. It’s my secret weapon, the thing I am hoping will bring customers streaming back through the doors. I’m just waiting for the right moment to do it.
I pick my way through the boxes and head over to the back of the stockroom, yawning loudly. I came to work at my normal time this morning as there was no department makeover due. I want to see what the customer reaction to the new-look designers department is before starting on another. I’m still not 100 per cent sure we got it right. The staff all seemed to love it yesterday – apart from Carly, who seemed a little disgruntled – but she soon cheered up when everyone started telling her how great it looked. Even Elaine managed to look happy. I left work just as the lunchtime rush was starting and so have no idea whether they sold anything.
I bend down and empty another box of vintage decorations. Hundreds of miniature painted wooden shoe decorations fall out. I line them up, according size and colour. They are perfectly crafted as if they have been made by the Shoemaker’s Elves in the famous Brothers Grimm story. I smile as I think about how those tiny artisans secretly made the carpenter’s shoes each night, working hard to turn the single pieces of leather into beautiful footwear and saving the poor, old Shoemaker’s business in the process. It was one of my favourite stories when I was little. Now I know why.
I crouch down on the floor and study the beautiful handmade decorations and think about how much we’ve achieved over the last couple of weeks.
I know my life has changed as much as Hardy’s appearance, and sometimes I wonder if it has always been for the best. There have been times recently when I really haven’t recognized, or really liked, myself very much. And actually it’s nice just to feel like me again this morning.
The old me, that is, the one who got up and helped Delilah with the kids, threw on some clothes and meandered into work, not caring what she looked like and not feeling responsible for the fate of a store and all its workers. Today has been a day to be normal. I’ve felt invisible again and actually, I’m enjoying it.
I resolved when I woke up this morning that I’d go back to helping with the kids. Delilah was already up with them when I came down. Will hadn’t come back last night – or if he had, he’d slept on the couch – so we worked together to give the kids breakfast and get them ready for nursery. I gave her a hug as I left, but her response was limp and she felt weak in my arms, like she’d been drained of everything. For the first time Delilah seems broken, and I don’t know how to put her back together again. I wish I could do for her what I’ve done to some of my co-workers, who seem to be
coming to work with renewed energy and excitement every day. Jane is a changed woman, Gwen is a brilliant saleswoman (her commission levels are second to none, which must be doing wonders for her debts), even Sharon has become softer. But suddenly those small successes don’t feel so good because I’ve neglected my sister in the process; and maybe, just maybe, she’s the one who needed my help the most.
I feel a wave of guilt and try to bat that idea away by thinking about Felix: the person who’s surprised me the most throughout all of this. We sat and talked in his office for half an hour this morning, just like the old days. I’ve realized that this is the real Felix: a sparky, creative, get-up-and-go guy with lots of energy and a positive outlook. For the two years that I’ve known him I’ve seen him as an old man, defeated by the world. Every morning he’d be slumped in his chair doing Sudoku puzzles, passing the long hours until he went home to an empty house. I knew our chats were once the highlight of his day, but now he has so much more.
Today he was talking about where Evie’s Elves should go for our next makeover meeting tonight. And Jan Baptysta has promised to go round to his house at the weekend and help him with lots of odd jobs; things that Felix hasn’t felt able to do since Maisie died. They’ve even planning to get a curry and watch a film together. Felix says he hasn’t had the confidence to socialize much since Maisie died; he worried he’d end up being maudlin and would bring people down. But now, he’s like a new man.
There’s another loud banging and I realize that I’ve totally forgotten there was someone there. I smooth down my hair and flick it off my shoulders before I open the doors, gasping as a blast of cold air hits me and trying not to look at Sam as I usher him in.
‘I was beginning to think you’d slept in,’ he mumbles. ‘But I, er, I’ve got something I really want to show you.’ He stamps his feet on the mat and throws his coat on the sofa as I close the doors behind him, covertly glancing over at him while his back is turned. His presence immediately brightens the stockroom, partly because he’s wearing a garish orange, blue and red checked shirt, which makes him look a bit like he should be felling trees.
He doesn’t wait to sit down or for me to offer him a cup of tea; he doesn’t even bring in the stack of boxes that he’s transferred from his van to outside the delivery doors, instead he just pulls a couple of papers out from his bag and thrusts them at me. ‘Look at page three of the Ham and High!’ he says, stabbing his finger at the paper and jiggling on the spot as I try to turn the pages. ‘And look – we’ve got half a page in the Islington Gazette too!’
Unable to wait for me, he opens the papers and spreads them on the floor. I squeal and drop to my knees as I look at the headlines, pictures and copy.
‘HARDY’S REINVENTED!’ shouts the Islington Gazette, and Sam’s photograph of the madeover beauty department sits proudly underneath.
‘CAN SECRET SANTAS SAVE THIS STORE?’ queries the Ham and High with three reportage-style pictures of Evie’s Elves in silhouette as we transform the handbag department.
‘And that’s not all,’ Sam says proudly, sitting back on his knees as he pulls more newspapers out of his bag. ‘Most of the locals have covered it, some in more prominent places than the others. And . . .’ he pauses and pulls out a paper from the bottom of the pile, grinning widely as he thrusts it into my hands, ‘. . . it must have been a quiet day in Fulham – we made the front page!’
I clasp my hand over my mouth to stop myself screaming as I take the copy of the Fulham and Hammersmith Chronicle.
‘CAN HARDY’S HELPERS TURN STORE FROM GROTTY TO GROTTO?’ the headline yells.
‘Oh my God, Sam, you did it!’ I gasp, shaking my head in disbelief.
Sam flicks his hand dismissively but his eyes shine with pleasure. ‘We did it. This has been teamwork. I don’t know if it’s enough, Evie, but it’s a start. Who knows how many new customers you’ll get today!’
I throw my arms around Sam and squeeze him tightly. I feel like I could hug him forever. He smells fresh and Alpiney, and for a moment I close my eyes and imagine being locked away in a snowy log cabin with him. I feel his breath on my neck grow heavy and I pull away, conscious suddenly of our closeness.
‘I can’t wait to show the others, Sam. They’re going to be thrilled. You can bring all the papers to our meeting tonight.’
‘Ah,’ Sam says, pulling himself to his feet and looking awkward all of a sudden. ‘I wanted to talk to you about that. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make it this time.’
‘What?’ I say, dismayed. ‘Why? We only have two more before Christmas and we need everyone’s ideas and input. Plus the gang will want you there . . . you need to show them all your hard work.’
Sam shrugs and thrusts his hands in his jeans but doesn’t answer.
‘Is it a date you really can’t change?’ I ask finally.
Sam looks embarrassed. ‘I guess you could say that,’ he replies quietly. ‘It’s Ella. She’s got this thing on – a work Christmas party – so I have to—’
‘Go.’ I finish his sentence for him. ‘Of course you do.’ I swallow the lump that has inexplicably appeared in my throat and nod silently before turning away. ‘Well, that’s fair enough,’ I say, clearing my throat. ‘But I, I mean, we’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll call you if any more papers run the story,’ Sam says softly, and I nod, busying myself once more with untangling faded paper chains and brightly coloured Chinese lanterns.
The stockroom door swings open just as Sam is about to leave and Carly walks in.
‘Well, hello,’ she says coquettishly as she spots Sam. ‘What, I mean, who do we have here?’ She sashays over confidently, looking more like herself than she has for days. Her hair is bouncy and lustrous and fans over her short, black wool polo-neck dress, which is perfectly moulded to her body and falls just below her bottom. She is wearing thick, black opaque tights and perilously high heels.
She’s back. And, I have a feeling that so is Designers. So why don’t I feel happy?
‘Carly, this is Sam; Sam, this is Carly,’ I say evenly, unable to look at Sam.
She holds out her hand and flutters her eyelashes, biting her bottom lip seductively before saying, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Sam.’
Sam smiles and shakes her hand gently, looking, I’m pleased to note, ever so slightly disconcerted by her obvious flirting. She is still holding his hand and I feel the need to intervene for some reason.
‘Sam was just going, weren’t you, Sam?’ And he looks at me gratefully before dropping Carly’s hand, bobbing his head at us both, picking up his bag and then hurrying out the back door.
‘So who was that, you dark horse!’ she exclaims, still looking at the door that Sam has disappeared out of. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been keeping him to yourself!’
‘Oh, he’s just a friend,’ I say evenly.
‘Really?’ she says. ‘Well, that is interesting. I mean, if he’s just your friend then maybe I—’
‘He’s the delivery guy,’ I add quickly.
Her interest visibly wanes, as I knew it would. ‘He’s a white van man? What a waste! Oh, well, never mind . . .’
She settles herself down on the sofa and I set about making her tea.
‘You’re in early this morning,’ I remark, glancing at the clock. It’s just before eight. I have never seen Carly walk through Hardy’s doors before nine o’clock.
‘Oh, it’s part of the New Me,’ she grins. ‘After the amazing day Designers had yesterday I’ve decided to do everything I can to make the department work. I mean, the place looks amazing! Have you seen it? Customers were clamouring to get into the VIP Closet and the dresses were flying off the rails. The till didn’t stop ringing all day! Even Lady Fontescue came in and bought herself a—’
‘Vintage Ossie Clark dress,’ I say, thinking of the gorgeous black evening dress I’d chosen just for her and which I knew would make a welcome change from her usual taffeta.
‘How do you know?
’ she asks, looking confused.
‘Oh, I, er, bumped into her when I was leaving the shop yesterday. She was full of praise for you, actually,’ I say, hoping the compliment will distract Carly from my slip-up. And it does.
She smiles knowingly and examines her nails. ‘Well, yes, I was on rather good form yesterday. And so was Elaine, to be fair. The customers seem to like her and she knows the stock well. And I told her that, too.’
‘You did?’
She nods and smiles. ‘I figured I’d take you up on your suggestion of a new management tact. It worked, I think. She was civil to me all day.’
‘That’s great!’
‘Hey,’ Carly says, glancing down at the newspapers, which are still lying on the floor, ‘what are these?’ She crouches down daintily, revealing the full length of her model legs and making me feel rather short and stumpy in what I thought was a flattering but practical vintage slate-grey shift dress, black tights and patent high-heeled pumps.
‘Oh, Sam brought them in. He saw them on the local news-stands this morning when he was doing his deliveries and thought someone here might be interested in them. Don’t know who, though,’ I finish dismissively, turning away from Carly so she doesn’t see my face burn bright red.
She reads out the Fulham and Hammersmith Chronicle’s story, which has run the Hardy’s story on the front cover. ‘Wow, this is good!’ she exclaims. ‘Can I take it and show Rupert? It might help to put me back in his good books.’ She scoops all the papers up before I have a chance to answer and staggers to her feet, smiling at me. ‘You know, your pep talk really helped me yesterday, hon, and because of you I’ve resolved to be a new person from now on. I’m going to work hard, be nice to everyone and prove that I’m worthy of my promotion . . .’ She trails off and then continues with a harder, more determined tone, ‘. . . so that whoever it is who is trying to steal my job knows that they’ve got a battle on their hands.’
