Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s

by Alexandra Brown

‘How is it? It still all boils down to money. No, I’m no better than Tina, or Maxine and Tom come to think of it. God, I’ve even fallen for him knowing he was using me as part of his stupid game. So what does that make me?’

  ‘Normal? He’s drop-dead gorgeous. Your “crime”, if you must label it as such, was one of passion.’ Sam giggles. ‘So it doesn’t count anyway,’ she snorts.

  ‘Trust you to see it like that.’

  ‘Sorry hun, I have to go, a couple of guys in suits have just turned up. Probably reps from a coffee company, they’re always on at me to change brands. Let me get rid of them and we’ll chat later.’ Sam blows a squelchy mwah kiss down the phone before hanging up.

  Plumping up a DKNY tote, I ponder on our conversation, wishing I could be as bubbly and positive about life and everything as Sam is. But I just can’t seem to shift this constant feeling of dread. If I could just get some sleep.

  I wander back to my counter, click on the Carrington’s staff website and find what I’m looking for – a new initiative suggested by you-know-who – Tina of course! She’s started posting our sales sheets up for everyone to see. I scroll down and notice I’m still in the lead, but feel uneasy, as the difference between James and me, he’s next on the list, is the exact worth of the extra stuff Malikov bought. I console myself with knowing we at least seem to be friends again. But his angry outburst, comparing me to Dad, continues to niggle away inside. I think of Dad and it makes me feel ashamed that I’ve been so quick to judge him, not ever stopping to wonder what made him do what he did.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts, daydreamer.’ Ciaran appears at my counter and he looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders are hunched. ‘You OK? How was the hen do?’

  ‘Oh, err … it was great,’ I say, vaguely. ‘How are you? You look really tired,’ I add, changing the subject and hoping Sam and I haven’t scuppered his chances of getting married, but then wondering whether we might in fact have done him a favour anyway. He leans against my counter.

  ‘Not too bad,’ he replies, his head bent down and eyes peering up at me. He looks as though he has the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

  ‘Before you say anything, I’m really sorry if we landed you in it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he says, frowning. So Tina hasn’t said anything then. Maybe she didn’t hear after all.

  ‘Oh, nothing. I just got my wires crossed, that’s all.’ No point in worrying him. ‘So how are the wedding plans coming along?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. Tina is in charge of it all.’ His shoulders droop and he looks sad. My heart goes out to him. Surely he could just call it off, if it’s this bad, I’ve never seen him look so miserable.

  ‘Ciaran,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I know.’ He picks at an imaginary loose thread on his trousers, his head hanging down again. ‘But you’ll be pleased to know that Tina has upgraded your invite to the whole do. Her way of burying the hatchet – she says you guys are getting quite friendly these days.’

  ‘Fab,’ I say, attempting to sound cheery, but remembering the handbag scam, I’m sure she fixed the numbers on purpose. I wonder what game is being played out now.

  A sad smile threatens on his face. It’s as if he’s given up completely. My heart drops. I was hoping I’d be let off the hook or, better still, Ciaran would come to his senses and call the whole thing off. But no such luck. He looks at me as if he wants to say something else.

  ‘What is it, Ciaran?’ I say, gently touching his arm and wondering what I can do to make it better for him.

  ‘Not here,’ he says, casting a look around. He looks nervous now. ‘But I do need to talk to you. Can we get together tonight after work?’ He glances up at me with a strange look on his face.

  ‘Err, sure.’ I raise an eyebrow and wonder what’s up, but he shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders off. I click to open the sales chart again and see I’m no longer in the lead, James is. Surprisingly, I don’t feel panicky at all. Instead there’s a weird feeling, sort of detached, and one I’m not used to.

  The wall phone rings and, seeing it’s Sam’s café, I grab the phone to my ear and duck into the vestibule.

  ‘Managed to get rid of the suits then,’ I laugh. There’s a silence. ‘Sam, are you there, hello? Hello hello helloooo?’ I sing, jovially. But there’s still silence. I look at the handset and, just as I’m about to hang up, a male voice comes onto the line.

  ‘Georgie, can you come up to the café please?’ A cold shiver trickles up my spine.

  ‘Who is this?’ I ask, nervously.

  ‘If you could just come up here please.’

  I try to mask a surging feeling of unease.

  ‘Sam has just received some devastating news,’ he tries again, before adding, ‘Look, it might be better if you just come here.’

  ‘Please. Just tell me,’ I plead. Fear filling every part of me now.

  And then he tells me.

  ‘Her father died suddenly this afternoon.’

  Tears pierce my eyes. Oh no, please God don’t let this happen to Sam. My mind races to Mum and a hollow gasp squeezes from my throat. Oh Alfie. Lovely, happy, caring, kind Alfie. The perfect dad, who always made everything better.

  ‘I’m coming now.’ I slam the phone down and pull out my mobile. As if on autopilot I hastily type out a Twitter DM to Ciaran, cancelling tonight.

  After telling Annie, I run to the staff lift, fling the cage door shut and jam my hand on the button. Tears pour down my face. Nathan. I have to call Nathan for her. I can’t wait for the lift to galvanise into action, so I head to the stairs instead. Grabbing the handrail, I haul myself two steps at a time all the way up to the café that has a ‘closed’ sign on the window.

  I fling open the door and see Sam crouched in a sobbing huddle on the kitchen floor. Two men in suits are standing over her. One of them bends down and attempts to touch her arm, but she shrinks away. I run to her. Both men stand aside. I throw my arms around her trembling body. She subsides into me and the noise that escapes from her tiny body is primal, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I rock her in my arms until another pair of arms appears around us. I look up and see Nathan kneeling around us.

  ‘I’ve got her. It’s OK. I’ve got her.’ His voice is trembling. I drag myself up and stand motionless, staring at my best friend. Knowing the agony she is feeling and wishing I could snatch it away for her. Spare her the pain. It’s as if time has stood still.

  ‘Does she have any other family that we could contact for her?’ one of the men asks me. I shake my head. Tears slide down my face.

  ‘No. He was her only family,’ I say, my voice small and wobbly. The man hands me his card, and through the tears I manage to make out the Mulberry-On-Sea Police logo. I shudder, remembering the last time I saw one of these. They leave quietly and I stare at my best friend, rocking, as her world falls apart.

  30

  Alfie just collapsed in his office – a heart attack – and he was gone, just like that. His PA worked on him and then the ambulance crew took over, but it was no use. Sam is beside herself with grief and hates herself for not having been there with him. She didn’t even get to say goodbye. It’s as if her whole existence has been shattered and I can’t stop thinking back to when Mum went, the feeling of sheer helplessness … but at least I got to say goodbye.

  And it really does put things in perspective. Worrying about being on my own for Valentine’s Day and not having a date to take to the wedding just seems so trivial now. When people are dying, what does it really matter if I don’t have a man in tow? I’ve decided to flout Tina’s ‘no singletons’ rule and go to the wedding on my own. What’s the worst she can do? She probably won’t even notice me anyway and it’s better than having to put up with Maxine all day long.

  Of course, Sam and Nathan’s trip to Italy has been cancelled for now, and I’ve managed to take a few days off to lo
ok after Sam. We’re staying in Alfie’s villa on the private beach estate just along the coast from Mulberry-On-Sea. He bought the villa a few years ago to be nearer to Sam when he wasn’t travelling. His apartment overlooking Regent’s Park in London, and rarely used, is being looked after by Yana, Alfie’s housekeeper, until Sam can bear to go there and organise things.

  We’ve spent the last few days just sitting, with Sam crying and me fielding telephone calls, taking delivery of flowers and condolence cards, but listening mainly. One minute she’s sobbing in my arms, the next she’s screaming, consumed with anger and mentally searching for something or someone to blame.

  ‘I’ll make some more tea,’ I say, not really knowing what else to do. Nathan nods and Sam looks up from the cashmere jumper she has entwined in her fingers. It belonged to Alfie, and the faint smell of his Aramis aftershave still lingers.

  ‘Do you think we should call the doctor?’ Nathan says, following me into the kitchen. ‘I can’t bear seeing her like this – she’s not even eating and I have no idea when she last had a shower.’ His shoulders sag and I reach a hand out to rub his arm before flicking the kettle on.

  ‘She’s grieving; there isn’t anything the doctor can do to take away the pain,’ I say quietly. ‘It won’t ever go away, but she’ll learn to live with it.’ I chew the inside of my mouth in an attempt to stem my own feelings of grief. I’m trying really hard not to think of Mum and how I felt when she first died – the loneliness, the fear. I need to be strong for Sam. And I’m also trying not to let her see my sorrow at losing Alfie. I know he wasn’t my dad, but that never stopped me from wishing he was.

  ‘Oh God, I hope so. For her sake, and mine.’ He looks away. ‘Does that make me a bad person?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I just want her back. The bubbly, generous, kind, outspoken Sam that I fell for. I’m scared Georgie. Really scared,’ he says, pushing a hand through his dishevelled hair.

  ‘I know. Me too,’ I say, gently.

  ‘But you seem so calm. And you’ve been such an amazing support for her, whereas me … well, I crumble when I see her in this amount of pain. I just wish I could do something to make it better.’

  ‘Being here is exactly what she needs right now,’ I say, pouring milk into the mugs. ‘She’ll come back to us. She may change a little, but she’ll definitely be back. I promise.’ I smile and pick up the mugs.

  ‘Thanks Georgie. I …’ He pauses. ‘… We both couldn’t get through this without you.’

  ‘She’s my friend. You too. It’s what we do.’

  After handing Sam her tea, and giving her shoulder a little squeeze, I sit down opposite her. She’s staring at the cashmere jumper.

  ‘Sam, can I do anything? Do you want to talk?’

  ‘No. Just sit with me,’ she says, not even looking up.

  I take a sip of my tea and think about work, wondering if it’s still all worth it. There must be more to life than scrapping over sales in a desperate bid to keep my job and stay one step ahead of the game. And it’s only going to get worse if I manage to stay on and end up slaving for Maxine. I wish I didn’t have the flat, the car and my debt problem to support. Then I could just sod off on one of those volunteer charity working breaks that I’ve read about in magazines. The girls come back looking all refreshed and wholesome, not haggard before their time like I am.

  I’ve not slept at all for the last few nights, tossing and turning, thinking about Alfie, worrying about Sam and everything else that’s going on at work. I just wish the game could be over, but I suppose it never will be, not really. Even if I get to stay at Carrington’s and spend the next forty years working my arse off, I’ll never be free. There’ll always be a Maxine, a revamp, or someone like Tina I have to watch my back with just to stay one step ahead.

  I’ve reached the point now where I just want to know what’s happening, what has Maxine got planned? Am I going to get to sell Prada and Hermès bags or be unemployed? The wait is excruciating. We’ve been told we’ll know one day next week, which might as well be an eternity away. And when I was last at work, Tom was avoiding me, not even bothering to hold the lift like the rest of us do when we see somebody running to catch it. Maybe Maxine has already told him his job is safe so he figures he doesn’t even need to bother trying to distract me any more.

  31

  It’s 14 February and the big day has finally arrived. I’ve managed to shove myself into a big puffy gold vintage gown that I hired from a dress agency to keep costs down. It didn’t seem too bad in the shop, but now I just look like a giant Ferrero Rocher. The dress code is ‘movie star glamour’, but I can’t afford anything new and I must have put on a few pounds, as everything in my wardrobe is either catching under the arms or the bulge of my stomach is slightly more prominent than it ever was before. But then the stress is like a tonne weight permanently shackled to my body, so it’s been goodbye No Carbs Before Marbs and hello to my loyal friend … Red Velvet.

  I spritz another generous shower of perfume onto the insides of my wrists – well, it’s aftershave really. It’s Tom Ford for men, another tester from Scarlett, and it’s so delicious and sexy and about as close as I’m getting to having an actual man of my own these days. But at least I’m not going to be home alone for a change, small mercies and all that. And I have a Valentine’s card! Found it pushed under my front door this morning in a crimson envelope:

  Georgie, Thinking of you xxx

  I know it’s from Dad, he’s been sending me one every year since I was a little girl, and even though he disguises his handwriting and tries to make it sound as if it’s from somebody else, I still know it’s from him.

  I slip my feet into the Gina sandals before glancing in the hall mirror. The face looking back at me looks different somehow and I don’t think it’s just the make-up, which is more glamorous than my usual style. No, it’s as if it belongs to somebody else, someone I don’t recognise any more. My mobile rings and, seeing that it’s Sam, I flip it open.

  ‘Hi honey, how are you today?’ I ask, tentatively, hoping she’ll be able to talk to me. When I called her last night there was only silence punctuated by the odd snuffle and sniff until she managed to utter ‘OK’ when I said I’d call again in an hour. I had a long chat with Nathan instead and he said she’d been lying on her bed all day listening to Frank Sinatra songs and staring at the ceiling. Alfie was a big fan.

  ‘OK. It’s the wedding today, isn’t it?’ Her voice is flat and lacking in any emotion.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I don’t have to go though. I can spend the day with you instead.’

  ‘Yes you do. Ciaran will feel let down if you don’t turn up. And I shouldn’t have declined his invitation. He works for me but that didn’t even matter when Nathan invited me to Italy … what was I thinking?’ she says, sounding like a robot.

  ‘Oh, please don’t be hard on yourself. Look, I don’t have to go, I’d much sooner be taking care of you.’ I pause, letting the thought sit with her for a moment. ‘You’re my best friend,’ I add, softly, unsure of what else to say to her.

  ‘I know. But I’m going to see the funeral people today.’ Her voice wobbles on the word ‘funeral’ and I’m instantly transported back to Mum’s one.

  ‘Well then, let me come with you. Please. You don’t want to go on your own.’ I’m conscious of sounding as if I’m telling her what to do. And then instantly feel guilty that the chance of forgoing the wedding springs into my mind so temptingly.

  ‘No. I’m going on my own. Nathan wanted to come too but I want to do this for Dad. He did everything for me, so it’s the least I can do.’ Her voice trails off. ‘But there is something you can do for me.’

  ‘Anything,’ I say, quickly.

  ‘Go to the wedding and, if you get the chance, then please apologise to Ciaran on my behalf. Say I’m sorry I let him down.’

  ‘Oh Sam, I will, but you haven’t let anyone down.’

  ‘Yes I have. I let Dad down …
I should have been there with him,’ she says, matter-of-factly, and a short silence follows.

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Please. Just go to the wedding.’

  ‘OK, if you’re sure. But if you change your mind, at any time, then just call me or text, and I’ll come.’

  ‘I will.’ There’s a pause. ‘And thank you,’ she adds, her voice sounding a little softer now. ‘Georgie, you will come to the funeral with me, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes of course, I’ll be right there next to you, for the funeral and for always.’ I say goodbye and take another peek in the hall mirror before leaving.

  *

  At the entrance to the manor house, a throng of guests are milling around. There’s a long, ruby-red carpet weaving all the way up and along the gravel driveway to create the Oscar-themed wedding that Tina chose. Faux paparazzi are busy flashing their cameras at the arriving guests.

  ‘Over here, smile. Yes, wooork iiit,’ a pap bellows at me the minute I step out of the cab. I manage a weak smile as I remember to lift the ankle-length dress up just enough to make sure that I don’t catch the toe of my sandal in it. I couldn’t bear to fall flat on my face in front of all the people who are milling around up ahead of me. I feel self-conscious with them all gazing in my direction. Everywhere I look there are beautiful people I don’t recognise. Couples. The women in sparkly cocktail dresses and the men in black tuxedos.

  ‘Ignore them. They’re just for show, they’re not real guests. From some wannabe agency or other. “Permanently resting” actors, most likely.’ Eddie appears at my side, his razor tongue sharpened to perfection as usual.

  ‘Thank God you’re here,’ I say, relieved to see a familiar face. He looks me up and down and then lets out a whistle of approval.

  ‘Baby doll, you look fierce,’ he says, clicking his fingers in a Z shape around me. I laugh and hook my arm through his and we make our way up the red carpet and into the foyer that’s crammed with a trillion rose-pink heart-shaped metallic balloons. Just inside the huge glass doors is a huddle of pretend fans, and they’re all waving autograph books and screaming to get our attention. Eddie grabs one of the books, and milking the moment to the max he scrawls his signature before tossing the book back into the crowd. I cringe inside and bat a balloon away from my face, half wishing that I was home alone scoffing a chocolate bar, after all.