by Ali Harris
‘Steal your job?’ I repeat, feeling a flash of panic.
She nods grimly, her lips tightened into a thin line. ‘Yep. I’ve realized that I’m being sabotaged. Someone here wants my job and isn’t going to rest until they’ve got it. And I’ve got a theory that it’s this so-called Secret Santa.’ She stabs the front page of the newspaper with her finger. ‘So I’m going to find out who “Hardy’s Helper” is once and for all,’ she says grimly. ‘Then I’m going to expose them so that everyone can see their true colours. After all, it’s not some great act of kindness, is it? No one is that selfless. They must have some motive, it’s just a case of finding out what it is.’ Then she winks at me and whips round to face the door. ‘Just call me Sherlock Carly!’
I smile uncertainly and she opens the door.
‘See you, hon, and remember to keep your eyes peeled for me. At least I know you’re on my side.’
And she winks at me before sweeping out of the stockroom.
I walk out the stockroom for my break, desperate to find out what’s happening in Designers. But I don’t have time to get there. The store is abuzz with more people and noise and chatter than there’s ever been. Classic Christmas songs are being played on a loop and new, young customers are browsing through the store, women in chic camel winter coats, carrying designer handbags and chatting loudly about the ‘gorgeous old store’, men in sharp, trendy outfits desperately trying to escape their girlfriends and get down to Menswear.
‘I can’t believe I’ve never been here before!’ a girl wearing a beautifully cut cream peacoat, mohair hat and gorgeous vintage 1970s brown leather knee-length boots exclaims in disbelief.
‘It’s a real hidden gem, isn’t it?’ her friend says, picking up a gold 1930s powder compact and looking at the price. ‘My sister would love this,’ she says before waving it at Gwen and asking her to keep it at the till for her whilst she continues shopping. ‘It’s like finding your own secret grotto. I could spend hours in here just looking at everything. It’s such a bugger I’ve got to get back to work. Shall we come back tonight?’
The girl and her friend walk off arm in arm to the perfume counter, pointing and exclaiming loudly as they weave through the busy store. I continue through the ground-floor departments, listening to customers, spotting the old ones I recognize and savouring seeing so many new people here. Sam’s plan for getting us press has clearly worked. So much so that there actually seems to be more customers than staff. In fact, I can’t seem to see any of the staff. I glance around, confused by the absence of Hardy’s helpers. There’s a large queue waiting at a till point in handbags, but no one’s there. And the customers are clearly getting impatient. Sharon will go mad if she sees this queue.
‘SERVICE!’ shouts one particularly grumpy-looking man, wearing a well-cut suit and a dark scowl. I whip my head round to try to find Becky or Gwen, or anyone, actually, but I can’t see them so I instinctively dash to the till and smile warmly at the first customer in the queue who is slumped over the counter, chin in hands, only standing up when she sees me.
‘About bloody time,’ someone grumbles behind her.
‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,’ I say loudly so the whole queue can hear. My voice is quivering. I haven’t done this for two years; not since my training week when I was made to do an hour on the till in every department. I stare at the old-fashioned till and am relieved to see it’s exactly the same as I remember it. I silently thank Rupert for not bringing in any swanky new computer systems and start shakily ringing the customers items through, not stopping until I’ve served every last customer. Just as I’m packing the final lot of goods into a cream and gold Hardy’s bag I hear the sound of disconcerted chatting by the stairs. I dash through the departments, skidding to a halt when I see Gwen and the gang huddled together in a group, pointing and whispering at another group of people a few feet away.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask Carly, who emerges from the centre of the group.
‘It’s the guy from Rumors again,’ she says, two worry lines appearing in between her eyebrows. ‘He’s here. And this time I think he means business.’ She nods in the direction of a group of men who have their backs to us and I turn to look at them with panic bubbling in my belly. ‘They’ve all just come out of Rupert’s office on the first floor,’ she whispers. ‘Jane saw them. She says the guy from Rumors shook hands with Rupert’s father and then Rupert and the rest of the directors before coming down here. They’ve been looking around the store for the past fifteen minutes and we’ve been following them to see if we can work out what’s going on. It doesn’t look good,’ she adds gravely.
So that’s where everyone has been.
I creep round to peer over at the group of suits, who are all still in deep discussion. They are standing in a semicircle, with their backs to us but just then, Sebastian Hardy points in our direction and we all scatter as they turn round. I spend a minute carefully examining a perfume bottle before plucking up the courage to turn round again. There’s six of them in total. Rupert, Sebastian, three other men from Hardy’s board of directors and . . .
I strain to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me. Is that . . . Joel?
I squint at him and watch as he holds court with all the other men, feeling relief and lust flood through my body. Carly’s got it wrong, Joel isn’t from Rumors, he’s helping Rupert with our finances! I scuttle over to Carly, who is hovering near them, trying to eavesdrop. She has put on a scarf and a pair of dark glasses and frankly looks about as incognito as Victoria Beckham on the school run.
‘Don’t worry,’ I hiss, ‘that guy isn’t who you think it is . . .’
‘It isn’t?’ she says, and then adds in some relief, ‘Oh, no, you’re right.’ She peers over her dark glasses. ‘Hang on, but isn’t that . . . ? Oh my God, I don’t believe it! It’s Mr Eye Contact Guy!’ she squeals.
The group of men all look up and I clasp my hand over her mouth and drag her away before they see us. But Joel seems to look right at me before going back to his conversation.
‘Mr Eye Contact Guy!’ she mouths again and points at Joel, hopping up and down on the spot. ‘He’s the hottie I saw a couple of weeks ago, but it turns out he’s trying to take over Hardy’s!’ she whispers dramatically, gesturing wildly at the other staff.
‘Calm down,’ I say sternly. ‘He’s not trying to take us over, he’s helping us. He’s one of Rupert’s friends. I guess you could call him Hardy’s unofficial finance director.’
‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘Rupert has been doing all the accounts and he’s never mentioned any friend helping him.’
‘He hasn’t?’ I say, feeling a claw of fear grip me. ‘Not even to give him advice?’
‘Nope, definitely not. It’s his area of expertise. He’s been up most nights trying to number crunch as a way to stop the company who is trying to buy the site; trying to stop the hot Eye Contact Guy, as it turns out.’
‘But Joel and he are best friends from way back. Are you sure Rupert hasn’t asked him to help with Hardy’s finances?’
Carly narrows her eyes at me as everyone starts muttering. ‘I’m sure. Since I’ve been assistant manager I’ve been to several finance meetings and I would have remembered if he’d been there.’ She nods in Joel’s direction and then fans her face. ‘Anyway, how do you know his name?’
‘Um . . .’
‘They’re coming over!’ whispers Becky, which saves me from any explanation.
We all stand as still as statues as the men file past and head towards the stairs. Then Carly and I tiptoe a bit closer to see if we can hear any more of their conversation.
‘Well, Joel,’ Sebastian Hardy booms loudly, ‘it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, my man. I’m sure you’ll help Rumors make this place great again in a way that my son couldn’t quite manage, eh, Rupe? Joel always was more savvy than you, though, wasn’t he?’ And Sebastian slaps his red-faced son on his back and roars with laughter as all of the staff l
ook on, utterly aghast.
‘See?’ Carly hisses, but I have staggered backwards away from her, away from them and, most importantly, away from Joel, who is now laughing.
I look over again and see him for what feels like the first time: tall, proud, handsome but also smug and self-satisfied. His brash American accent disgusts me and his perfectly tailored suit and sleek looks are suddenly too good to be true.
He’s been trying to buy Hardy’s all along. He lied to me, he lied to Rupert and now Hardy’s is going to be turned into some fancy, high-end, soulless establishment and all because of him.
I watch with increasing anger as a self-satisfied Joel shakes hands with Sebastian and then poor Rupert, who smiles limply as his so-called old friend pumps his arm and grins widely back at him, totally insensitive to his feelings, the bastard. Acrid bile rises unexpectedly in my throat and I realize that I have to get away from Joel and away from all of his lies. I can’t believe I fell for them. I’m such an idiot.
I stumble backwards and in my haste to get away I knock over a display of beauty products, which makes everyone look at me. For a moment, Joel stares at me and then starts to make his way over. I have to get away. Tripping on my heels, I turn and break into a run. I dash over to the front doors, pushing past customers in my desperation to leave Hardy’s and my terrible mistake behind me. Carly calls my name but I ignore her. Then Joel calls Carly’s name and she turns round but I don’t even care. What the hell does it matter now anyway? I’m not Sarah and I’m certainly not Carly. In fact, I’m not exactly sure who I am any more, but then again I don’t know who Joel is either.
I cross the street and run past the newsagent’s opposite. Brian is putting out the Evening Standard sandwich board as usual, announcing the day’s headlines. He shouts over to me but I run past blindly, unable to say hello back or stop for a chat like I usually do. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m drowning. Hordes of people surround me and I think I might suffocate in the claustrophobia and loneliness that comes from living in this city. It’s not my home. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong. I never have and I never will. I’m just a silly country girl who thought she could have a big city life.
He was just using me all along, I think as I sprint down the street, the cold air biting at my cheeks and burning my eyes. He never wanted me, he just wanted Hardy’s. I was just a convenient spy for him, telling him all about the store and what the place needed to make it work. I feel a wave of nausea as I realize what I’ve done. In trying to help Hardy’s, I have ultimately helped to destroy it.
I trip on my heels again and, with tears streaming down my face, I pull off my stupid high shoes that made me feel taller, prettier, more confident – more like Carly – and I drop them behind me on the pavement, before running in my stockinged feet down the road. I won’t be needing those shoes any more.
And then it starts to snow.
The pub is busy. All around me my friends are chattering excitedly about our next makeover but I’m unable to join them. I am sinking in an alcoholic gloom, trying to find the words to tell them what I saw today and admit that their impending job losses are all my fault.
‘What’s wrong, Evie darling?’ Lily says, stretching her hand over the table to mine. Everyone stops talking and turns to look at me. ‘You’re not your usual self tonight. Is there something bothering you? I mean, it can’t be the store. The makeovers have been a wonderful success and the newspaper coverage, well, who would’ve ever believed it?’
‘It is VONDERVUL!’ Velna says, raising her glass and hiccuping slightly.
‘We should make a toast,’ says Felix, rising to his feet.
‘We must wait for Sam first,’ Lily says, looking around the pub for him. ‘Where is he anyway?’ she asks as she sips her Martini.
‘He’s not coming,’ I say dully. ‘He had a prior . . . engagement.’
‘Ohhh, noooo!’ Velna looks like she might cry and her pink hair has gone all limp. Even Justyna looks disappointed, or maybe angry. It’s hard to tell as all her expressions look the same. But then I notice Jan Baptysta take her hand and her monobrow seems miraculously to separate, her mouth lifts, and is that . . . ? No, it can’t be, hang on, I’m sure it’s a . . . smile? If I didn’t feel so shit about the world, it would actually make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
I’m glad that everyone else feels that our group isn’t complete without Sam. He gets on so well with everyone and is so darn positive all the time. I wish he was here now. He’d know what to say about what happened today.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ Lily says, patting my hand. ‘We’ll see him tomorrow morning for the next makeover. Is he taking more pictures? What do you want to do next? Felix has had some more brilliant ideas, you know.’ She glances fondly over at him. Felix waves his hand dismissively and blushes.
‘There aren’t going to be any more makeovers,’ I say dully, taking a large glug from my gin and tonic. Everyone starts talking at once.
‘What?’
‘Why?’
‘Has Hardy’s been saved?’
‘Get the champagne in!’
‘Shhhh! She’s trying to say something! We’ve done it, haven’t we, Evie! Haven’t we?’ Lily presses.
I put down my glass and look at all their hopeful, eager faces and feel like I could cry. I don’t know how to tell them that all their hard work has been for nothing.
‘Evie?’ Lily says, brushing away a stray tear from my cheek. ‘Darling, what’s wrong?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I sniff. ‘It’s just that you’re wrong.’ I look up at them all. ‘There aren’t going to be any more makeovers because there isn’t going to be any more Hardy’s. I found out today that Rumors have bought us out. All our efforts have been wasted. It’s over. I’m just sorry that I dragged you all into my stupid plan. I should have known it would never have worked. I’m so sorry.’
There is silence for a moment as we all sit staring at the table whilst the festive crowds in the pub chat and laugh. It feels like we’re stuck motionless on the ground whilst the rest of the world whips madly on a merry-go-round before us.
Felix speaks first. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Evie.’ He clears his throat and holds his fist up to his mouth, and I see that he is emotional himself. ‘I’ve had the happiest two weeks working with you all. Doing this has brought me to life again. I just wish that it could have done the same for the store. But no one else had the courage to try, and so you should be proud, Evie, not sorry. We may not have our jobs any more, but I for one feel I have made some wonderful lifelong friends. And that’s been worth any amount of hard work.’
‘Hear hear!’ claps Lily, dabbing her eyes with her Chanel-monogrammed scarf. ‘As some Frenchman once said: “There are some defeats more triumphant than victories.” We did our best for Hardy’s, and whilst we didn’t manage to save the old place, what we did was make a difference to a lot of people. You have to remember that, Evie darling.’
Just then the pub door swings open and a gush of cold air blasts in as a familiar figure appears, holding a bundle of newspapers.
‘Sam?’ I say, standing up as he approaches our table quickly. He’s clearly been running: his face is flushed and there are little beads of sweat on his forehead. He pulls off his hat and rubs his head.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he grins round the table at us all, and I’m sure I see Velna swoon.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask. ‘I thought you couldn’t make it tonight?’
‘I rearranged th . . . things, didn’t want to hah miss a me . . . meeting,’ he pants. ‘Besides, I couldn’t wait to show you guys this!’ He thumps down a pile of Evening Standards on the table and everyone grapples for a copy, their hands obscuring the front cover. I finally manage to grab one and have to steady myself by holding on to the table when I read the front page.
‘We made the front page?’ I gasp, looking up at Sam with utter disbelief.
‘We sure did!’ Sam says proudly, his brow
n eyes shining. ‘Our story is the spoiler on every newspaper sandwich board across the city!’ I put my hand to my mouth as I have a flashback to Brian yelling at me as he put out his sandwich board this afternoon. He didn’t just want a chat, he was obviously trying to tell me Hardy’s had made the news.
‘CAN SECRET SANTAS SAVE THIS DEPARTMENT STORE?’ yells the Standard’s headline, and there’s another of Sam’s photos underneath followed by an in-depth article about the gradual reinvention of Hardy’s. I can hardly believe it. But my surprise and delight is dulled by my knowledge of what went on today. If only this had happened a few days ago.
‘That’s great,’ I say, the initial excitement draining from my body as I think about how close we may have come. It makes it all the harder to accept that our fight is over.
Everyone else nods at Sam and then glumly puts their papers back on the table and picks up their drinks.
‘Hey? What’s up?’ Sam says, looking around at our faces. ‘Don’t you see what this sort of coverage means? Customers! More than Hardy’s can probably handle! And that’s not the only good news . . .’ He waits for our reaction. But there’s nothing. We sip our drinks uncomfortably. ‘Come on, guys!’ he rallies. ‘Can’t you look more excited? This is what we’ve been aiming for! In fact,’ he adds, his mouth twisting upwards into a smile, ‘it’s more than we’ve been aiming for . . .’
I can’t let him go on any more. He needs to know the truth.
‘It’s brilliant news, Sam, really, it is,’ I say. ‘But it’s too late. It’s all too late.’
Sam sinks down onto an empty seat and stares at me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I overheard Rupert and Sebastian and the other board members talking to the guy from Rumors. The sale was agreed this afternoon.’
