Carrington's at Christmas

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘Are you kidding? It looks like it’s about to pour down,’ I say, peering up at the thunderous black clouds.

  ‘No. Come on, it’ll be a laugh,’ he gestures with his head towards the ticket booth. I hesitate. ‘I love crazy golf,’ he grins again and my guard subsides.

  ‘Take one of the buggies love … if you’re worried about getting wet,’ the tattooed guy on the booth hollers out to us, pointing to a queue of miniature buggies. I frown, seriously wondering if we’ll both actually fit on the minuscule seat. It would be just my luck to get wedged in and end up making an idiot of myself in front of Tom again.

  ‘Go on! Live a little. My treat. I’ll sort out the clubs and balls,’ Tom adds, eagerly, already walking towards the ticket booth. I nod. So Nathan was right, he is the perfect gentleman. But then I remember how cosy he was with Maxine in the corridor that time. This is probably all part of their game. Well, they’re not going to catch me out. Oh no no no.

  *

  ‘So, have you played golf before?’ Tom asks. He locks his dark brown eyes onto mine as I turn to face him. My resolve from earlier floats away. He looks incredible. He smells incredible. Vanilla and chocolate. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to stop my body from tingling all over with desire for him.

  ‘Well, a little. My dad used to show me,’ I say, trying to sound normal in spite of my pounding heart. ‘He was a great player,’ I then add, biting my lip at the sudden bittersweet memory.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Has he passed away?’ he asks, gently.

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that.’ I shake my head. ‘We, err … just don’t see much of each other any more,’ I finish, wishing there was more room in the buggy. His thigh is pressed against mine, and the intensity of his touch feels like a furnace scalding through the fabric of my trousers.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking as though he genuinely cares as I remember the happy times with Dad. Once again I reflect that, with everything that’s happened recently, I’ve seen a glimpse of what it might have really been like for him all those years ago. I reiterate my promise to myself to call him when I get back.

  We arrive at the first tee, and Tom leaps out of the buggy and hands me a club.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m left-handed, so this won’t be any good. I’ll just watch.’ Ha! I feel pleased with myself for managing to call his bluff.

  ‘I know you are,’ Tom says smoothly. ‘But it’s a double-sided club. I checked with the guy on the ticket booth.’ Hmmm. He looks taken aback, and I instantly feel embarrassed by how curt I’m being with him, and secretly flattered that he noticed I was left-handed. He hands me the club, followed by a bag of balls, before heading off. I follow along behind him, studying how his perfectly cut jeans fit nicely around his impressively taut bottom. I remember Sam’s bum-cheek comment, and grin.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Tom asks as I arrive next to him.

  ‘Yes, yes I’m fine,’ I reply, trying to get my lust under control and keeping my head down as I pretend to be engrossed in the red, white and blue painted wooden windmill at the first hole.

  ‘After you,’ he says, placing the ball down at my feet. I take a few steps back and get myself into position, even indulging in a few practice swings. He’s standing right next to me now, distracting me with his delicious scent. I take a moment to try and garner some concentration before swinging the club, but I lose my grip and end up narrowly missing his groin when the club flies out of my hands.

  ‘Whoa! Easy tiger.’ Tom laughs.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry,’ I say, trying to keep a straight face as he cowers down pretending to be petrified. And for a moment I see the face of a much younger man. It’s as if his cool exterior has thawed to reveal a very sweet boy, and it’s so appealing. He picks up the club and, handing it to me, he says, ‘I could give you a quick lesson before we start.’ He looks so eager and enthusiastic.

  ‘Um,’ is all I can manage as he dashes around behind me and, with his arms either side of my body, he gently, but very firmly, positions my hands into place around the club.

  ‘OK. Now align your thumbs gently down the shaft,’ he instructs, completely oblivious to the effect he’s having on me. I can feel his warm body pressed against me and then he bends his knees into the back of mine and carefully thrusts them forward a few times to simulate a relaxed pose for the perfect swing. My heart is racing and an exquisite sensation between my thighs makes them tingle with longing. ‘There, that should work better … remember to keep your body relaxed.’ Oh sweet Jesus! I just about manage to nod my head. The silence lingers, apart from the sound of my pounding heart and his breath against the back of my neck. And then a buggy comes into view and the moment vanishes.

  ‘Thought I might find you here. Not interrupting anything, am I?’ It’s Eddie, and he has a wicked glint in his eye as his buggy performs a spectacular swerve before stopping alongside us. He flashes me a naughty look and Tom springs away from me. I quickly turn and glance at his face. He looks nervous, bashful even. Eddie lets out a stagey cough, winks and smiles at me before mouthing ‘lucky cow’ when Tom isn’t looking.

  ‘Catch you later. Just came to see if you were OK, but I can see you’re doing fine. The others are in the karaoke bar when you’re ready.’ And he whizzes away on his buggy. I smile at Tom and he smiles back, looking more assured now.

  ‘I’m ready when you are,’ he says, staring straight into my eyes as if he’s trying to tell me something more. Pondering on the innuendo, I open my mouth to respond, but an ear-splitting clap of thunder beats me to it and rain lashes down upon us. We fling ourselves inside the buggy and Tom speeds off, yanking the plastic weather shields down around us.

  ‘That was close – you’re not too wet, are you?’ he asks, turning his drenched face towards mine. Blimey, if only he knew. His shirt is clinging to his hard body, making him look even more spectacular. But before I can answer, the buggy hits a rock on the pathway and throws us sideways. Tom quickly leans into me, deftly manoeuvring the steering wheel to keep us from toppling over. ‘Oops, I’m so sorry, I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ I tell him, but I can feel something poking into my thigh. I look down. It’s a striped notebook.

  ‘Oh, it must have fallen out of my pocket,’ he says, tentatively. I hand it to him. ‘Thanks, it … helps me to relax,’ he explains.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask without thinking, and my cheeks blush. ‘I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to pry,’ I add, quickly.

  ‘Just a few sketches,’ he says, glancing away.

  ‘Sketches? As in drawing?’ I say, before mentally kicking myself for stating the obvious and sounding like an utter plum.

  ‘Yes,’ he laughs, looking more relaxed now, ‘as in drawing.’

  ‘Cool,’ I say, thinking what a sexy hobby, and what a dark horse he is. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’ I ask, holding the notebook up.

  ‘OK … but don’t tell anyone, it can be our secret,’ he jokes, and then grins at me. His shoulders are relaxed and he looks different somehow – younger, and less ‘work like’.

  ‘I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.’ I give him an exaggerated wink before pulling a very serious face. He shakes his head with laughter.

  ‘You’re so funny,’ he says. I frown. ‘In a lovely way,’ he quickly adds, making my tummy flip over and over. I flick through the pages. They’re filled with pencil line drawings of animals and various European city landmarks. I pause on a magnificent one of a Venice waterway.

  ‘Wow, these are really good.’ I turn to look at him. He looks uncertain, his eyes seeking out my approval almost, and seeing this side of him feels so nice, as though I’ve been let in on a secret. My tummy performs a big somersault. Our eyes lock, the rain beats against the buggy, making the moment feel really intimate. But then I remember James, and Maxine, and that I need to keep my wits about me. I quickly pull myself back to reality.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tom says
, and carries on driving.

  *

  We make it to the karaoke bar and Melissa comes dashing towards us.

  ‘Where have you two been?’ she shouts over the music, looking at me with a smirk on her face, and then at Tom.

  ‘Playing crazy golf,’ I yell defensively and far too quickly, as I scan the bar looking to see if Eddie is here.

  ‘Well, you’re just in time, get your laughing gear around these.’ She hands us each a shot glass full of fluorescent green liquid. ‘When Bonnie Tyler up there has finished banging on about needing a hero, there’s a treat for Ciaran.’ She rolls her eyes towards the little stage at the end of the room where Suzanne is revving up for the last chorus – she’s got a pink crystal-encrusted microphone in one hand and a large cocktail with about three paper umbrellas, a plastic giraffe and a bunch of cherries on the side of the massive glass in the other. She sniggers.

  ‘What are you up to?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, you’ll see, but it probably won’t be your thing. Although you never know, depends which way you sway,’ she winks, and a smutty leer spreads across her now drunken face. ‘Jesus, I can’t wait.’ I let out a groan. ‘Any minute now,’ she finishes just as one of the security blokes bombs over.

  The guys are all nudging each other, and Ciaran, having realised they’re up to something, is looking panicky. The music stops and the guys from Menswear and Home Electricals start clapping and cheering.

  ‘No waaay,’ Ciaran shouts, ‘you bastards. I said no dodgy stuff.’ He leaps up. But before he can protest further, stripper music is playing and two girls dressed in hot pink Burlesque basques, with choppy fringes and cherry-red lips, appear in a puff of marabou and ostrich feathers. They dance through the crowd, teasing the boys as they peel off their long gloves.

  After flinging off their basques, the girls start jigging up and down on the backs of their heels, making their matching hot pink nipple tassels whizz around in circles. I watch, fascinated at how they manage it, and secretly wondering whether with a bit of practice I could perform the same trick, when Eddie appears by my side.

  ‘Pour. It’s time to make mama look pretty,’ he gasps in a phoney hillbilly accent, clutching a hand to his chest while simultaneously shoving a glass down and gesturing to a nearby bottle. ‘On second thoughts, cut out the middle man.’ He rolls his eyes to accentuate his foul mood, grabs the bottle and, after jamming it into his mouth, he tips it up and takes an enormous glug. ‘Ahh, that’s better,’ he says, slamming the bottle back down on the table and grabbing the shot glass from my hand and necking that too.

  ‘Well, I think they’re fantastic. And I’d kill to have a body like that, and look at the power they have over all the slobbering blokes,’ I say, waving a hand around the room.

  The girls have finished their routine now and are weaving back through the guys who are waving notes in the air. One of the girls catches my eye and gives me a friendly wink before stuffing a tenner inside her garter.

  ‘Well, I’m bored,’ Eddie huffs. ‘I’ll make my own fun,’ he continues, before heading off to the door at the far end of the room. I chase after him, desperate to find out what has got into him.

  ‘Eddie, come on, tell me what’s wro—’ I stop mid-sentence and almost run into Eddie’s back as he halts in the doorway that leads out onto a little wooden balcony area overlooking the sea. Tom is sitting on a bench, with just the moonlight to see by as he taps into his iPhone. Eddie swiftly turns around.

  ‘Oops! Three’s a crowd,’ he snorts, before barging back past me, giving me a little shove out and slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Sorry about that, don’t know what his problem is,’ I say, feeling put on the spot.

  ‘Well, he has a point,’ Tom replies, his messy hair making him look all windswept and utterly gorgeous, and I’m sure I detect a hint of flirtatiousness in his voice – or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. ‘Why don’t you take a seat and keep me company for a bit?’ He gestures to the space next to him.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ I ask as the crisp night air hits my face. I perch alongside him.

  ‘Hiding,’ he replies, furtively. He turns to face me and his eyes shoot from side to side and I can’t help gawping openly at him. He manages to look both petrified and damn sexy all at the same time. My guard falls away as I listen to the waves below us and glance at the twinkling shoreline in the distance. The tingle intensifies and I wonder what might happen if he actually touched me, or kissed me even. I allow myself to daydream for a flash of a moment, but then rapidly shake the thought from my mind.

  ‘This isn’t really my scene,’ he whispers, leaning closer, and treating me to a quick burst of his intoxicating scent.

  ‘Oh, it’s just a surprise for Ciaran and it was bound to be sexual with Melissa in charge,’ I say, and like a pubescent teenager I feel my cheeks blush at saying the word ‘sexual’ in front of him. I immediately feel foolish. He must think I’m ridiculously immature, especially after what he must be used to with the prom queen and supermodel … Maxine.

  ‘Was it?’ He stares into my eyes. The innuendo hangs in the air like a neon sign outside a cheap motel offering rooms by the hour. Blood rushes to my cheeks again. Neither of us speaks, and then he playfully nudges me with his shoulder and whispers, ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’ I lean into him. His face is almost touching mine. He grins, and right now I want him to ask the question. I nod, and grin back.

  ‘Are you really a cheeky cow?’

  My mouth opens.

  It closes.

  I swallow and then open my mouth to reply, but his lips are on mine. It’s as if a bumper pack of fireworks have all ignited, one after the other, deep inside me. And right now I don’t care if games are being played. I don’t care if I’m being used to sell more handbags, purses or whatever before Maxine shafts me. I don’t care if James hates me. I don’t care if Malikov wants to shoot me. All I care about is having Tom. It’s primal, and I’ve never felt like this before. Not ever. I feel his hand link with mine, and in the glow of the moonlight and over the gentle sway of the sea he moves his mouth to my ear.

  ‘I take it you like pink roses then?’ For a moment I’m not sure what he means, and then I remember. The gorgeous flowers delivered to the switchboard room. So they weren’t from James after all. They were a bona-fide secret-admirer bouquet. My heart skips a beat.

  I lift my eyes to meet Tom’s, but his face changes. He looks really worried.

  ‘Georgie, I’m so sorry. I err …’ he starts, lifting his hands out slightly, and away from me. He looks terrified now. ‘I’ll go. Please forgive me.’ He’s standing now, his hand reaching out for the door. But before I can reassure him, he pulls the door open and, after hesitating momentarily to glance back at me, he’s gone.

  26

  The low, quiet muffle of Tom’s voice stirs me, and I open my eyes. I stretch my arms and legs out like a starfish. Tom is in his room, but the adjoining door to the side of my bed is slightly ajar. He disappeared after leaving the karaoke bar last night, and I must have forgotten to close the door properly.

  I pull myself up and peer through the crack. He’s sitting sideways on the chair at the desk wearing a grey T-shirt and jeans. He’s talking softly into a black retro-style desk phone.

  ‘Yes. Just as we said it would.’ I strain to hear, wondering who he’s talking to. ‘We’re nearly there now.’ Then he clicks the handset down and I hear footsteps moving towards the hallway, followed by his door slamming shut.

  I jump out of bed with a vigorous burst of energy that I’m not used to, and promptly trip over the left Gina sandal. I bend down to retrieve it, smiling at the memory of the kiss from last night but wondering why he rushed off like that. As I hunt around for the other sandal, I spot my clothes dumped in a heap by my bed. I scoop them up and my stomach rumbles. I’m starving. I ponder on room service, but ‘who was he talking to’ pops into my head. An unnerving thread of doubt worms its way into my thoughts, an
d I move towards the adjoining door. It’s still ajar, and a horrible sense of mistrust festers in the pit of my stomach as I tiptoe through it.

  He only left a few minutes ago. My brain races, quickly calculating a feasible time span before he might return, then telling myself he’s gone downstairs to have breakfast before heading straight to the conference room. My heart pounds as I rush over to the desk. But what if he forgot something and comes back? I have to be quick.

  I lift the handset, and my hand trembles as I press the redial button. After the longest few seconds ever, the number he called appears on the display. It’s a London number. It starts ringing. The feeling of hunger is replaced with a rush of nausea. I wish I hadn’t done this now. I pull the handset away from my ear, desperate to ignore the knot of doubt, and I’m just about to disconnect the call when a voice breathes into the charged air.

  ‘Yes?’

  I drop the handset down as if it’s a scalding hot iron singeing the palm of my hand and fly from the room, slamming the adjoining door behind me.

  Maxine’s voice.

  It was Maxine.

  I’d know her breathy voice anywhere. I hate her a million times over, but not as much as I hate myself. What the hell was I thinking? I feel like a complete sucker. The flowers, his gentlemanly charm, showing me his etchings … I mean, come on, how clichéd is that? And I still fell for it. It was all a ruse after all. And what about James? I feel like a slapper. A horrible, guilty slapper. I barely know Tom, and it was only a kiss – admittedly a very long delicious smoochy one – but who knows what could have happened if he hadn’t left so abruptly. I’m not sure I could have resisted him if we’d come back here to carry on. Tears stab my eyes.

  After a quick, punishingly hot shower, I decide to go and find the others. I couldn’t bear to still be here in the adjoining bedroom when Tom returns. I pull open the door and instantly grind to a standstill.

  ‘Oh my God. What happened to you?’ I ask, quickly taking in the scene. Ciaran is standing right in front of me with his fist in mid-air, as if he was just about to knock. And he’s totally naked and soaking wet.