‘Fair enough. For what it’s worth, I think you have a point, but you don’t want to miss out on a date with Dan Kilby. Tom will keep, especially if you two are meant to be together. Remember that old adage … if you love someone, let them go, they’ll come back, and all that. Plus, it will do him good to have a bit of competition.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, I told Dan I’d think about it.’
‘Whaat?’ Sam is outraged. ‘Georgie, please tell me you’re joking and that you didn’t really tell Dan Kilby – the man of many girls’ dreams, that you would think about going on a date with him.’
‘Well, I didn’t want too look keen. Besides, I’m in demand now … didn’t you know?’ I laugh.
‘True, but just don’t think for too long. There’s the wrap party, remember, and a trillion women that wouldn’t mind going with Dan on their arm. Have you seen the number of “Likes” on his Facebook fan page?’
‘We’ll see,’ I say, wondering if I am actually ready to go on a proper date with another man. I’m not sure. I just hate the way things were left with Tom. If only I could talk to him for a few minutes to find out if it really is over – I need closure, if nothing else.
‘OK. Hun, I’m going to have to love you and leave you as Nathan’s just walked in.’
‘OK, chat tomorrow. Oh, really quickly, before you go. Did you know Melissa was back working at Carrington’s?’ Sam always hears what’s going on, from the café.
‘Yes, apparently she didn’t like it at the prison – too many psychopaths for her liking, said she found it very hard not to want to fight them. You know how she’s into all that ninja warrior stuff … ’ We both laugh. Typical Mel.
We end the call and I make my way into the bathroom, smiling to myself at Sam’s comments. She’s such a queen of hearts, always trying to pair me up, ever the romantic. I turn on the bath taps and plop in my favourite vanilla-scented Lush bath bomb and take off my clothes, carefully hanging the dress and jacket on the back of the door, which I’ve left ajar, so the steam doesn’t ruin them.
I’ve submerged my body into the blissfully warm water and relaxed for a few minutes, when my mobile vibrates across the vanity unit next to the bath. After drying a hand on a towel, I reach for the phone and turn it over to see the screen.
And I don’t believe it.
It’s a text message.
From Tom! Just like that.
Seems Sam was right – let him go and he’ll come back …
I hurl myself up into a sitting position. Water splashes everywhere. My heart soars as I press to see the message. At last! Maybe he has been missing me. Maybe Eddie was right and KCTV engineered the horse-riding scene. Tom isn’t interested in Valentina at all. It was just for show. Of course it was. And he’s not interested in Zara, why would he be when he has me? I’ve been an absolute fool. Maybe he genuinely thought I’d love doing the show, a nice surprise, and to be honest … I’m not exactly hating it. I should never have doubted him. Or what we have together. He just needed a bit of time to get his head straight and now he wants to sort things out. All that rubbish about calling it a day – it was said in the heat of the argument, nothing more.
I’m so excited. Everything’s going to be wonderful after all. We’ll spend Christmas together and it’s going to be amazing. It will be all of the gorgeous romantic things we talked about. Hot chocolate. Tartan rugs by the fire. Bing singing in the background. There’s still time to find a log cabin. I could get on Lastminute.com. I can not wait. I read the message.
Yes I have moved on! I’m with somebody else now so stop stalking me, or you’ll lose your job too.
Stunned! I sit motionless in the water staring at the screen. Saliva drains from my mouth. Silent tears trickle down my cheeks. Is that what he thinks of me? A stalker! Oh God. How hideous. I feel like utter rubbish – humiliated too. Nauseous even. I’ve never been called a stalker before. And I’ve never seen this side of him. It’s horrible. I don’t believe it. And I don’t know what to do. And he has somebody else. A sob catches in my throat. Who is she? Valentina or Zara? And how can he be so callous? He knows how much my job at Carrington’s means to me. I stare again at the message. I type out a reply. I delete it. I type another reply. I delete it. And I type another. I delete it too. A hideous cold trickle of realisation seeps through me. This is it! Over. Really over. So he meant it after all. I can’t contact him again. Not now. Not ever. Because if I do, then his words will be true – a stalker! A bunny boiler. Whatever spin you want to put on it. And nobody wants to be likened to a looper who shoves a rabbit in a saucepan and freaks everyone out.
After what feels like an eternity, I place the phone back on the vanity unit and pull my knees up under my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs, I hug them into me. I’m shaking all over. I guess I really did get him completely wrong. I feel like such a fool. And then it occurs to me – this is like Brett all over again. I‘ve been dumped for another woman. For all I know, Tom could have already had his sights on Valentina – he did say he had a Skype meeting with a foreign supplier the morning after our hat trick; maybe it was with her. My mind races, mentally scouring our time together, searching for clues of his infidelity. Cold, miserable tears trickle down my face, slowly at first, but fast now, and they won’t stop. My chest heaves, in and out, until I’m sobbing uncontrollably.
Eventually, I manage to calm down. The water is cold, I feel trembly and weak with emotional exhaustion – euphoric elation, quickly followed by crashing devastation, does that, I guess. I manage to haul myself out of the bath and scrub myself dry before pulling on my oldest pair of Disney-themed fleecy pyjamas. They’re practically threadbare, with a hole at the knee and a button missing – but what does it matter, it’s not like I have an actual boyfriend to impress any more … just a fake date, and a list of Facebook strangers who are probably only interested because I’m on the telly.
Feeling numb now, and very sorry for myself, I grab my phone and quickly delete Tom’s message. I can’t bear to read it ever again. Then I delete every single one of his other messages – even the ones from the start, where we joked together, where he flirted, where he asked if I fancied having lunch with him, where he thanked me for a lovely evening, right through to his actual numbers – home and mobile. Until it’s as if he never existed in my phone, or my life at all. And then the penny drops – no wonder he wanted me to have Mr Cheeks, he bloody knew he was going away, he must have been talking and planning with KCTV for months. Well, I get the message, Tom! I hear you. Loud and clear.
I head into my bedroom and slump down on the bed, wondering what to do next. I try to think straight. The shock is subsiding into anger now. If I look at this rationally, then I haven’t done anything wrong, not really. All I did was ask him why he didn’t tell me about the filming. And he can’t blame me for retaliating when he said he wanted to call it a day. OK, I’ve tried to contact him a few times since, and yes, I did send a drunken text – well, seven times, to be precise! But then who hasn’t done that when they’ve had a few too many buck’s fizzes while trying to heal a broken heart? It’s not a crime. It’s not illegal. Because if it was, then the prisons would all be high-rise tower blocks, or makeshift cells would have to be set up all over the place, in sports halls, aircraft hangers and suchlike. They’d have to utilise those empty retail units down in the pedestrianised part of town, stack bunk beds in and install communal showers. And that would be totally ridiculous.
I turn my phone over and over in my hands, until I come to the realisation that I’m stronger now than I was after the split with Brett. I’m not going to sit around moping and worrying about what might have been with Tom. And I’m sure as hell not going to the wrap party on my own like some saddo, not while Tom’s there whooping it up with his new ‘somebody’. Eddie was right, I need to dive straight back into the dating pool. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I take a deep breath before letting out a big long puff, and scroll through my contacts lis
t until I find the number. It rings twice before he answers.
‘Georgie. Hi, how are you?’
‘Not bad thanks. How are you?’ I say, doing my best to sound assured and breezy, even though I still feel wobbly inside.
‘Good, much better for hearing from you.’
I brush away the last of the tears and swallow hard, remembering Sam’s words from our conversation earlier, which seems like an eternity ago now.
‘I was wondering about us getting together. And if the offer still stands, then I’d love to, Dan.’
15
It turns out that the council have had to scrap their plans for an ice rink in the centre of town. Sam found out from Mandy, who works in the town hall. She came in for her weekly chocolate orange cupcake with banoffee coffee and told Sam all about it – not enough funds left after their budget was slashed, apparently. But Mandy also said that KCTV had stepped in and offered to stump up the money instead, on one condition, that it’s built on the roof of Carrington’s, and that customers access it via the store after buying a ticket for a fiver, or merch costing at least the equivalent amount. So that’s why Kelly insisted I mention it on camera; she wanted to make sure Carrington’s and KCTV garnered as much kudos as possible. She’s certainly shrewd when it comes to business and publicity. And someone from Footwear said they heard her plugging it on the local radio station too, so now the whole of Mulberry-On-Sea is delighted with Kelly and KCTV, especially as she has agreed to let the first fifty shoppers have a twirl on the ice for free.
So, due to health and safety regulations, the store is closed this afternoon, with Friday being our quietest time. KCTV are covering the estimated loss of takings. It was the only way the board would agree to Kelly’s plan to have scaffolding erected up the back of the store, so the builders don’t have to come inside to reach the roof.
Sam and I have decided to make the most of the bonus time off, and are heading into town for a late lunch followed by a pamper session in the Mulberry Grand Hotel spa. Sam’s booked herself in for the special Mum To Be package, and I’m having the Ultimate Night Out package, ahead of flicking the switch with the rest of the Carrington’s staff, for the Mulberry Christmas lights on Saturday. The rumour was true and I’m so excited. Dad said he might come down to watch – if it’s not too cold.
‘What do you reckon on these?’ We’re in the changing room of a little boutique called Bumpalicious, just off the market square in the centre of town, and Sam is trying on a pair of maternity jeans. ‘Plenty of room for Cupcake to grow into them,’ she adds, holding out the enormous elasticated waistband like a super slimmer in one of those ‘post-weight-loss’ pictures.
‘They look nice on the legs, are they comfortable?’ I say, diplomatically.
‘I suppose so, but I’m not sure they’re me. I don’t really do “nice”.’ Sam wrinkles her nose and I giggle.
‘Weell, I was wondering why you were buying jeans when you never wear denim.’ I smile.
‘I know. But I really want some maternity wear. You know, to feel properly pregnant,’ she says, stepping out of the jeans.
‘How are you getting on?’ It’s the sales assistant, calling out from behind the curtain.
‘Have you got anything else, please? Something with a bit of a sparkle would be good,’ Sam says, grinning as she pops her head around the curtain. ‘Jeans aren’t really my thing.’
A few minutes later the assistant returns with a beautiful bright red maxi dress, a black shift dress with sequin trim, a purple silk blouse and a grey woollen poncho with silver flecks in – Sam buys the lot.
We’re just leaving when the shop’s owner stops us.
‘Oooh, I’ve just realised. I thought I’d seen your faces before. Aren’t you the two from that programme? Ohmigod! How exciting. Slebs inside my shop,’ she gushes. ‘And you are sooo funny, but I don’t know how you put up with those customers, and I think I would have thrown that sleazy guy out – it was totes obvious that Chloé bag had been used,’ she says, glancing at me sympathetically. ‘I have those types in here all the time; use the merch and then bring it back looking for a refund. Must think we’re daft – I even saw one customer on Facebook wearing the top I sold her just the day before she brought it back in, saying it didn’t fit. Good for you, standing your ground.’ She shakes her head and I don’t have the heart to tell her he’s an actor, plus I can’t remember if we’re allowed to say or not. Before we started filming, KCTV handed out contracts to everyone taking part, with a big list of confidentiality clauses. I’m sure I saw something about not ‘spoiling the magic’ for the viewers. ‘Can I take a photo?’
I hesitate.
‘Sure,’ beams Sam, before I have a chance to answer. ‘Come on Georgie.’ She loops her arm through mine and stands next to me. I smile politely.
‘Can you sign something? What about this?’ She hands us a magazine, and we both oblige before saying goodbye.
‘What was that all about?’ Sam whispers as we head out onto the pavement.
‘I don’t know, I just feel like a bit of a fraud, I suppose. We’re not really proper famous people. We haven’t actually done anything as such … you know, like talented actresses or Olympic athletes.’ I pull up my hood, and grip my oversized tote in closer before taking Sam’s carrier bags – she’s laden down. In addition to the clothes, she bought a really cute cot set with matching mobile, various other bits of baby paraphernalia and an enormous pile of zebra-print washable nappies. The assistant said they were the latest baby must-have, and that all the eco-mummies are stocking up on them and signing up to a scheme, where they collect the used ones and bring them back freshly laundered. Sam was keen to be a part of it.
‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’ Sam gives me a concerned look.
‘Um, well, I still feel a bit down after Tom’s text, but I don’t want to talk about it and spoil our afternoon together. Especially as you look so happy, glowy and radiant, and just like a pregnant woman should be.’ I grin. ‘This is what you’ve always wanted and I’m not spoiling it for a single second by moping over a man.’
‘Aw. Well, I still can’t believe Tom was so heartless. It just goes to show, and I feel partly to blame.’
‘Oh please don’t. It’s not your fault. Let’s change the subject.’ I smile.
‘Well, if I’d have known what he was really like, then there’s no way I would have invited him out to the wedding to surprise you. I just wouldn’t have encouraged you to get together with him at all,’ she says, ignoring my plea.
‘I know.’ I touch her arm and smile. ‘You’re a wonderful friend.’
‘Thanks, hun, and so are you. And it sounds to me as if you’ve had a lucky escape, if he can be that mean. I can’t believe he was so harsh in the text message – talk about using a hammer to crack a nut. But look on the bright side – you have a date with Dan Kilby. There are women all over the country that fantasise about sleeping with him.’ She gives me a cheeky wink and I smile, but know inside that won’t happen. Not so soon after Tom. ‘Come on, let’s go to that new restaurant in the marina for lunch. We could ask the maître d’ to seat us somewhere quiet, away from the crowds, daaahling – seeing as we’re slebs now!’ Sam laughs to lighten the mood and change the subject. She pulls out her Gucci shades and puts them on before shaking her curls back to complete a proper celebrity look, even though it’s a cold, dark wintery day. And I laugh too, which is something I haven’t felt like doing for far too long now.
‘That’s better. Georgie, I really hate seeing you down, especially in the run-up to Christmas. Talking of which, I’d love you to come to mine for lunch on Christmas Day. Gloria is coming, Nathan’s dad too. We were planning on going to Italy, but Gloria was having none of it. “What if you go into labour on the aeroplane?” she said. Nathan told her it’s highly unlikely at this early stage … but anything for a quiet life.’
We join the queue for a taxi, and the atmosphere is really friendly and Christmassy, with the Salv
ation Army choir singing carols beside a twinkling tree. A guy is roasting chestnuts on an outdoor barbecue and shoppers are milling around, all smiley and happy with their festive goodies, giant rolls of snowman-print wrapping paper tucked under their arms alongside Argos bags crammed full of boxes. One man even has an oversized felt reindeer hat with flashing antlers on, entwined in tinsel. Sam huddles in closer to me. It’s freezing and the sky is swirly white – maybe it will snow for Christmas, after all. I place the bags on the pavement and put my arm around her shoulders to keep her warm.
‘Thanks for the invite, but I was hoping to spend it with Dad – with it being our first one together in years,’ I say, through chattering teeth, then immediately feel like kicking myself on forgetting that Alfie won’t be with us this year. And it feels so sad. He was the ultimate life and soul of the party, always turning up laden with gifts for everyone, and he was the perfect host, the perfect dad, making sure our glasses were full and that we all felt happy and carefree, laughing as we listened to tales of his international travels. And he had a knack of making every female he met feel like the only woman in the world. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t think … ’ I quickly add.
‘It’s fine, honestly. You must spend it with your dad.’ Sam blows on her hands, attempting to warm them up. ‘It’s important,’ she says, wistfully.
‘You really don’t mind? I’m sure Dad would understand … ’
‘Of course not. Don’t be silly.’
Our taxi swerves up to the kerb and we bundle into the back seat, wedged either side of all the shopping bags. Sam turns to face me.
‘I know … ’ she starts, her eyes all sparkly. ‘Why don’t you bring him with you? I’d love to see him, and he kind of reminds me a bit of Dad. With him giving me away at the wedding and all.’
‘Aw, that’s really nice. He’ll be thrilled, I’m sure. Although, I think he has a girlfriend,’ I say, slowly. It feels weird saying it out loud.
Christmas at Carrington’s Page 16