Carrington's at Christmas

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes really.’ She nods and smiles.

  ‘So how will it work then?’ I ask, feeling flattered.

  ‘Well, my involvement was purely from a personnel perspective, but I’ve been told the show will be aired every Wednesday until Christmas. I think filming starts in a week or so and it will all be very spontaneous. You just turn up and get on with it, apparently.’

  ‘I see. And I heard something about a live wrap party?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, for KCTV and Carrington’s staff, if they want to attend.’

  ‘Even those that aren’t part of the show?’ I ask, figuring it’s only fair if they are.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And what about the actual filming of the shows?’

  ‘That will be on Sundays when the store is closed. Although Kelly has already suggested we revisit our opening times schedule. Sunday closing is archaic, she says.’ And I’m sure I spot a fleeting look of weariness on Amy’s face, making me wonder if Kelly has been giving her a hard time. But I guess it was inevitable – nowadays all of the big department stores are open on Sundays. ‘KCTV did investigate filming every day, but their lawyers advised against it – apparently it’s a legal minefield to film with so many members of the general public wandering around, and the board were worried about it putting our regular customers off from coming instore. You know how “traditional” some of them are.’ And I certainly do. We nearly had a boycott on our hands when we tried to introduce an Ann Summers concession last year. Mrs Godfrey wrote a stern letter to the local trading standards office stating that Rampant Rabbits had no place in Mulberry-On-Sea.

  ‘But how will it work if there aren’t any actual customers instore?’

  ‘Oh, well, not all of the scenes will involve customers. Other parts of the retail operation will be featured on the show too. This initiative isn’t just about KCTV helping us up our game, it’s about opening our doors to viewers, potential new customers, and letting them see what goes on behind the scenes, as it were. Rather like a “docu-soap”, I think was how one of the production team explained it to me.’

  ‘Oh I see.’ A reality show, in other words.

  ‘Apparently KCTV are well renowned for their documentary work and feel that our show could be an award contender,’ she says, sounding as if she’s been brainwashed.

  ‘Wow.’ I make big eyes.

  ‘Yes, Kelly says everyone, the world over, is fascinated with department stores, so she wants to show people how other things work, such as supplier contact, stock control, merchandising and what goes on in the cash office – that kind of thing.’ I think of Lauren, Doris and Suzanne who all work in the cash office, and wonder how they feel about being featured on Kelly Cooper Come Instore. ‘Besides, they’re not using real customers for the selling scenes,’ Amy adds.

  ‘Will they be pretend ones then?’ I resist the urge to laugh out loud as I wonder how this is all going to work.

  ‘That’s right. KCTV are going to use actors for the actual customer interaction sequences,’ she says, with a totally deadpan face. My smile quickly fades. ‘They’ve already done a couple of trial runs this morning, and they were very successful apparently.’

  ‘Trial runs?’ They seem to have it all figured out. And I’m instantly reminded that this must have taken months to plan. I think of Tom again, keeping it a secret, and my heart sinks.

  ‘That’s right. I met one of the actors earlier, with his son – a really cute little boy with a gorgeous head of dark curls. He brought the boy along to make the performance seem more authentic. ’

  Whaat? Nooo, it can’t be.

  ‘Was the little boy called Declan by any chance?’ I ask, mentally kicking myself for not having guessed that his dad was an actor.

  ‘Oh yes, I think so, how do you know? Have you met him too?’ Amy gives me a wide-eyed look.

  ‘Err, yes. This morning. He bought a Chloé bag.’ And there was me thinking reality TV shows were, in fact, real. I can’t believe I didn’t cotton on. I should have guessed, with their gorgeous accents and picture-perfect shopping scenario, like something straight out of a Hallmark film. And with Hannah practically breathing down my neck as I served the guy, and then pretending it was authentic with her ‘wish I had a husband like that’ comment. I make a mental note to scrutinise every customer more thoroughly in future. Just because I’m doing the show – under protest, for the record – doesn’t mean Kelly can make a fool of me a second time. Besides, I’m only doing Kelly Cooper Come Instore to avoid having to flog boring washing machines downstairs, and because my swirly signatured fifteen-year-old self didn’t know any better than to check for sneaky ‘filming for worldwide TV broadcasting’ clauses. I do a big, satisfying harrumph inside my head.

  ‘Well, there you go. Nothing to it, just like any other day in Women’s Accessories,’ Amy says, attempting a bright smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

  ‘I guess so.’ I shrug. ‘But it means losing a day off,’ I add, wondering if anyone has thought about that – and it’s not just me, all the staff have Sunday off. It might even be illegal to work six days per week. Ha! I don’t remember seeing that covered anywhere in the contract.

  ‘That’s why all staff who choose to take part will be paid extra for their time, their normal salary plus an additional payment, and also benefit from other perks. Guest appearances, interviews … Apparently it’s not uncommon for the people who appear in Kelly’s shows to go on and command considerable sums for doing all sorts of things – read bedtime stories to shoppers, I think was one suggestion, attend openings, magazine interviews; even appear on daytime TV, if they want to. And the board saw a whole stack of figures from KCTV showing how previous programmes boosted revenue for the businesses featured – by fifty per cent in some cases. So it really will be worth it, I’m sure, if Carrington’s is revived and we all get to keep our jobs.’

  ‘Wow. Fifty per cent! That’s pretty impressive. It’ll be like the boom days again.’ Thinking back to that time, I remembered our sales figures were fantastic – Annie and I were almost doubling our salaries some months, with the amount of commission we made. And Carrington’s could certainly do with a boost, the way sales had been flagging recently.

  ‘Exactly. But you’ll need to be here early, for make-up and stuff. They want to start shooting, as it were, at around 10 a.m. Is that OK for you?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, thinking it will be worth losing my lazy Sunday mornings in bed and catching up on my Sky+ recordings to see Carrington’s back on top. I couldn’t bear it if the store went into a terminal decline and we all lost our jobs. And before Tom took over, that was a very real possibility. I can’t even contemplate Carrington’s going to the wall and having to close down. What would we do? We’re like a big happy family that looks out for each other. Laughing and working together – with a bit of gossiping too, of course. Someone even did a tally once and worked out that there had been eleven Carrington’s weddings over the years, where employees had married after meeting on the shop floor. Years ago, the staff actually used to board in the maze of rooms up in the attic and, during the Second World War, the underground tunnels, one of which meanders as far as Lovelace Street, a good mile away, were used as shelters during the blitz. The whole town, practically, took cover down there. Mrs Grace told me all about it. She remembers it clearly and she was only a little girl at the time. So, if Carrington’s were to close, then it would be like ripping the heart out of Mulberry-On-Sea, and I don’t think I could bear that. I decide to suck it up and get on with the show. I have to. For Carrington’s.

  And then it dawns on me, I’ll need to add the Kelly Cooper Come Instore series to my recording schedule. The actual show that I’m going to be in – and, despite everything that’s happened, a little shiver of excitement swirls through me. And hair extensions! I’m sure Kelly said something about hair extensions. I was so wound up this morning that I didn’t really take it all in. I’m going to ha
ve big hair. I wonder if I’ll get to have my teeth whitened too? Bound to! All the reality stars have perfect gleaming teeth. It’s a basic. And maybe I’ll get to go to film premières and stuff. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.

  ‘Well, thanks for explaining it all. Just wish I’d known before – maybe then it wouldn’t have been such a massive shock, seeing myself on primetime TV like that, without any warning,’ I explain, realising that I actually feel OK about it now. It was the shock, that’s all. I panicked. If only Tom had told me, and sworn me to secrecy or something, not a single word would have passed my lips. And I could even have signed the NDA form too, and everything would still be perfect between us. I know how to keep a secret. I had plenty of practice when Dad was in prison – I hated people knowing and I even changed my surname to Mum’s maiden name as a way of burying my past, but I’m over that now and refuse to make Dad my guilty secret any more. But as Sam said, the surprise element for the viewers would have been ruined. Well, they wouldn’t have seen my jigging bottom, that’s for sure. I would have made damn sure of it. I vow never to shake my booty ever again. Just in case there’s a hidden camera lurking nearby.

  ‘You’re welcome to pop back any time if there’s anything else you want to chat about,’ she says, her voice softening now.

  ‘Thank you.’ I turn to leave.

  ‘And Georgie?’ she adds.

  ‘Yes?’ I stop and hold the door open with my foot. Amy hesitates and clears her throat.

  ‘I know it’s none of my business … ’ She pauses and fiddles with the sleeve of her jacket.

  ‘Go on.’ I smile encouragingly.

  ‘Well, I just wanted to say that I know you and Tom were, err … dating.’ A blotchy rash appears on her neck. She’s the first person up here on the executive floor to actually talk to me about our relationship … well, if you can call it that now. ‘Don’t be too hard on him … he really did want to tell you,’ she adds.

  ‘Oh?’ My forehead creases and I motion for her to carry on.

  ‘Yes, at first he was quite insistent on not signing the confidentiality agreement, and only caved in because the board were in danger of losing the show. He desperately wants Carrington’s to benefit from the publicity, to turn the store around and secure the future for all of us.’

  ‘I see.’ She nods and I smile back. ‘Thank you.’

  On leaving Amy’s office, I ponder on this insight as I make my way along the corridor. Maybe I was a little hasty in confronting Tom. I didn’t exactly give him much time to explain, and maybe he was reluctant to sign the agreement because he really did want to tell me, but just couldn’t, it was a business decision, nothing personal. Or maybe he genuinely did think it would be a wonderful surprise and that I’d love it, actually being in a reality TV show, instead of just lounging on the sofa necking wine and scoffing mince pies while watching one. I would probably have whooped for joy if I’d been shown in a positive light – after all, I love a good reality show as much as everyone else. And I guess we both just want the same thing at the end of the day: to make Carrington’s glorious again.

  I’ve got twenty minutes left of my lunch break so I decide to head to Tom’s office, figuring everyone deserves a second chance. It was just an argument that got out of hand. A misunderstanding. People say stuff they don’t really mean in the heat of the moment all the time. I know Sam ‘dumped’ Nathan at least three times in the run-up to their wedding. Bridezilla hormones, Sam called it, but, whatever it was, Nathan always forgave her, and Sam said that some of the best sex she ever had was after a bust-up. It got so passionate one time that she ended up with a row of little carpet burns all the way down her spine after they got carried away on the hall stairs.

  My heart lifts at the prospect of making up with Tom. He could even stay over tonight and we could pick up from where we left off after our hat trick. I could wear my new black lacy Lejaby underwear – I treated myself when the range was on special offer in Lingerie. A warm sensation radiates through me as I run through the sizzling scene in my head. I might even be able to leave work a bit earlier. I’m sure Annie will cover for me, seeing as I covered for her three times last week. Then I can get the flat nice, change the bed linen, maybe light some candles and have a bubble bath before I get ready. It’s going to be sensational. My heart soars and my cheeks pulse. I can not wait.

  6

  Eddie must be on his lunch break as his desk is empty when I arrive in the anteroom outside Tom’s office. I can hear voices inside, so I knock on the door. No answer. I knock again. No answer. The voices stop. Silence follows. I’ve got my ear pressed to the door when it suddenly flings wide open and I end up doing a slapstick stumble over the threshold, even stepping completely out of my left New Look heel. How embarrassing. I quickly retrieve my shoe and wither a little inside.

  ‘You just can’t keep away, can you?’ It’s Zara. And I don’t believe it. She’s only got the dusty pink Chloé bag swinging jauntily in the crook of her elbow! It must be the one I sold this morning. Has to be. Unless it’s a pure coincidence, which is highly unlikely as Carrington’s is the only place around here to stock Chloé bags. Perhaps she already had the exact same one, I think, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe she bombed up to London at lightning speed after seeing her shaman, whatever one of those is. I make a mental note to Google it later.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I say, wishing I could say more, but seeing as she’s the daughter of Tom’s mother’s friend, I quickly decide against antagonising her. If Tom and I are going to have a future together, then I’ll need to get on with his friends. And I certainly don’t want to upset his mother, Isabella Rossi, of the wealthy Italian Rossi dynasty, before I’ve even met her.

  ‘Only joking,’ she says, giving me a frosty smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. ‘What do you want?’ she adds, rudely.

  ‘Hello, I’ve come to see Tom.’ I grin brightly, figuring I might as well make an effort to be friendly, even if she can’t – kill them with kindness, that’s what Mum used to tell me. I push a lock of hair behind my ear, and quickly smooth down my top.

  ‘Well you’d better come in then.’ She takes a minuscule step sideways, but keeps her free arm high on the door just above my head, so I have to duck down to enter the room, like a servile minion.

  Inside, and Kelly is back on the sofa with her feet up and her eyes glued to a row of little TV monitors. There is stuff everywhere: clothes, shoes, and practically all of the cosmetic hall’s stock, by the looks of it. Plastic crates of make-up cover every surface, mingled in with several empty bottles of champagne and plates of half-eaten sandwiches and crisps.

  Kelly swings her feet down, making the now familiar jingle-jangly sound, and promptly steps on a giant can of Elnett super-hold hairspray, which she instantly boots out of the way. It rolls across the floor before clattering to a halt against the side of Tom’s antique desk.

  ‘Bloody junk. Is there no end to it all? Milllleeeee,’ she hollers, and a few seconds later, a very striking and androgynous-looking woman who, I guess, is Millie the hair and make-up artist, comes tearing out of the bathroom. Her short dark hair is swept back to show off perfect dewy skin and shiny conker eyes. Freckles sprinkle her nose and cheekbones. She’s dressed all in black apart from silver Converse trainers on her feet and a trio of primary-coloured Perspex bangles on her left wrist. Surprisingly, she doesn’t appear to be wearing any make-up.

  ‘Will you please quit yelling, Kel? I’ve got one hell of a hangover from all those Dirty Martinis you poured down my neck last night.’ Millie pauses to clutch the right side of her head. ‘So, what’s up?’ she adds, in a strong Geordie accent, before placing both hands on her hips, tilting her head to one side and grinning widely.

  ‘When are we getting a proper space? I can’t possibly be expected to work my magic in squalor like this.’ Snorting loudly, Kelly sweeps a hand through the air to emphasise the perceived ‘squalor’ of Tom’s office. I see she’s changed her tune. What hap
pened to the ‘funky, sweetness and light, we’ll be new besties forever’ attitude she had going on this morning? And I see now what Sam means about not being fooled by her wacky exterior. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her, that’s for sure. Especially when she could insist I be sacked, just like the staff from her last series were.

  ‘How should I know? I just do make-up. Last I heard, that guy on the executive floor … ’ Millie pauses to ponder. ‘The preppy-looking one, could do ads for Ralph Lauren if he tanned up a bit. Works in customer relations or something.’ Millie pauses again, momentarily deep in thought. ‘James, that’s it!’ She clicks her fingers in the air, looking pleased at remembering his name. ‘He knows someone who knows someone, so they’re getting us suites at the Mulberry Grand Hotel. Not far from here. I’ve asked for a sea view,’ she states in a blasé voice, before flinging a lid off a crate and rummaging through it.

  I smile inwardly at the mention of James. We had a one-night stand once, ages ago; it was just before Valentine’s Day – this was before Tom and I started going out together, obviously. It was very romantic, but James hadn’t long split from his wife, Rebecca, after she dumped him for someone else and, well, it got complicated. Turned out he wasn’t ready to have a new relationship – he was still in love with her. They’re divorced now, and word on the shop floor is that he went on a date with Vicky a few weeks ago. She works in the Carrington’s crèche and is very pretty and petite. Apparently, they were spotted in the Dog and Duck, the pub next to the cinema in the centre of town, and Vicky was all breezy and pretending to be uninterested, according to Emma, who works part-time in Stationery. But I’m pleased for him. We’re just good friends now. He deserves to find his happy-ever-after.

  ‘Well, if she’s having a sea view, then so am I,’ Zara says, before throwing a daggers look in Millie’s direction, which she doesn’t even notice. Millie is too busy reading the instructions on the back of an Illamasqua box of extra-length false eyelashes in intense blue. I can’t help wondering who they are for? Oh God, not me I hope. Nooo, surely not. I’ll look like a blow-up doll. And our regulars won’t like it, that’s for sure. I can just imagine Mrs Godfrey from the WI, all flaring and huffy, if I flutter long blue lashes while helping her to select a new rain bonnet. We tried to phase the bonnets out at one point, but the local WI had a word with Betty, our mumsy switchboard supervisor, who had a word with someone on the board, so the bonnets had to stay.