‘Don’t remind me,’ I say, shuddering at the memory. ‘And yes. Her costume jewellery is hideous. So garish that Mrs Godfrey from the WI complained of a headache when she caught a glimpse of it under the spotlights.’ But what’s she doing in Corsica? And with Tom! I can’t help wondering if this is the reason he was so quick to suggest we call it a day. Maybe he had already set his sights on her, knew they’d be meeting up as part of the show and wanted to be single so he could get it on with her. The thought lingers.
‘Oh Georgie, please don’t get upset,’ Sam says. ‘We don’t know who she is, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’ And I know she’s just trying to soften the blow. The man of my dreams, or so I thought, is cavorting with probably the most beautiful woman in the world. If it was Nathan up there on the screen with Valentina, then I guarantee Sam would devastated too.
‘That’s right. Anyway, we don’t even know that he’s sleeping with this bird who makes trashy jewellery for nobody to buy.’ Sam nudges Eddie hard and flashes a ‘shut up’ look. ‘This footage of them together could just be scripted reality.’ Eddie sniffs and crosses his arms, as if he knows all about it. Since when did he become an expert?
‘What do you mean?’
‘A showmance!’ Eddie says, and my forehead creases. ‘Set up purely to entertain the viewers. KCTV could have staged the scenes to imply something else entirely, just like they did with you and your Beyoncé moment in the pilot.’ I give him a blank face. ‘The bottom wriggle, the Anya bag?’ he says, as a reminder. ‘All fabricated, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. I do remember – I just had been trying to block it out of my mind. So you think that’s what’s going on?’
‘It’s entirely possible,’ Sam joins in, ‘and I really didn’t think Tom was like that. He didn’t strike me as a player at all. Nathan has always said that he’s a true gentleman. Admittedly, he doesn’t know him that well – only from the squash club, but still … ’
‘Then why hasn’t he bothered to take any of my calls? And who was that woman who answered? I bet it was her, the one on the horse.’
‘You don’t know that. Try not to jump to conclusions,’ she says.
‘I’m trying. I’m trying really hard here, but it doesn’t look very good, does it?’ My heart sinks all over again.
‘Well I guess not,’ Eddie says. ‘But don’t be down. Look at your options. What about James? He’s here and you know he still holds a candle for you. I’m sure of it, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,’ he adds.
‘Don’t be daft. James is a good friend, nothing more. Besides, I can’t just flit from one man to the next,’ I snap angrily, quickly followed by, ‘Look, I’m sorry. This has really got to me, I didn’t mean to—’
‘We know, honey.’ Sam rubs my arm and gives Eddie a look. ‘But seriously, maybe Eddie has a point. Why shouldn’t you date someone else? If Tom is off gallivanting with the jewellery designer, then that means you’re a free agent too, surely. If it’s good enough for him … ’ Her voice trails off, and I ponder on what she’s saying. Maybe she has a point, why should I moon over him when he’s clearly having such a fabulous time without me?
‘Why don’t we press on and watch the ending? Only five minutes left,’ Eddie says to change the subject. ‘No need for hasty decisions.’
I finish the last of my buck’s fizz and wiggle further down into the beanbag. My head feels as though it might explode with all these developments. I try to focus on the TV screen. The voiceover guy is talking again now. The three of us watch in silence as snippets of what’s coming up in next week’s show appear. And, oh God, I thought it was too good to be true – there’s a clip of me hurling the crocodile skin bag into the Christmas tree next to the Lulu Guinness display. And they’ve done something to the film – speeded it up, and now keep showing the bag spinning into the tree, over and over, with comic-book-style bubbles flashing onto the screen with words like ‘pow’ and ‘thwack’ inside. And I knew I wasn’t mistaken – you can actually hear someone sniggering loudly in the background. Great.
Now they’re showing a clip of Tom in the boardroom at Hermès, where the table is swathed in a selection of exquisite silk scarfs. The voiceover guy is talking again. ‘Will Mr Carrington find love on the sensual sandy shores of Corsica?’ Cue another clip of him and Valentina on the horse. My stomach tightens again. ‘Or will Tom rekindle his romance with an old flame? Don’t miss next week’s episode to find out …’
Whaaaat?
Old flame …
It’s Zara! I knew it. And she’s snuggled up in a chocolate-brown fur coat looking stunning in a horse-drawn carriage in a twinkling, snowy Central Park. New York. Guess that’s Tom’s next stop then; unless he’s there already. Eddie did say they were filming all his scenes upfront. And then it’s confirmed. My heart sinks. Tom is back on the screen, with his boyish smile in place. He looks relaxed and laidback, just like he did on our last date, and I so wish he was here, tickling and teasing me. Messing around together just like we used to. He shares a joke with a couple of fit-looking American guys who look as if they’ve just stepped out of an episode of Revenge. They’re watching a giant Norwegian spruce Christmas tree being hoisted up into position at the Rockefeller Center. The film cuts to another scene, where the tree is decorated now, and it’s breathtaking. With a beautiful sparkly Swarovski star at the top and row upon row of gorgeous rainbow lights glittering in the dark evening sky, it’s magical. The Americans sure know how to celebrate the holidays. And I’ve always wanted to go to New York.
Sam grabs the remote control and quickly presses a button to make the screen go black, before she’s off the sofa and giving me a hug.
‘I think we’ve seen enough,’ she says, squeezing me tight.
‘Well, that settles it then. If Mr Carrington can go on dream dates and hook up with exes, then why shouldn’t you?’ Eddie huffs indignantly, before putting his arms around me as well to make a group hug. He pulls back to look me in the eye and Sam does too. ‘Let him see you whooping it up for a change.’
Sam nods in agreement.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, find yourself another man and flaunt him honey. F-L-A-U-N-T! It’s the only way.’ Eddie states.
‘Like I said before Eddie, that’s not my style – I’m not just going to flit between Tom and James. Besides, James is seeing someone.’
‘No he isn’t, that’s old news – Vicky is back with her ex. Flashing an engagement ring around too, she was, in the staff canteen just the other day.’
‘That’s nice,’ I murmur, feeling like a sad old sack all of a sudden. Vicky is years younger than I am. And Sam’s married, Eddie is settled down, and now even Dad seems to have found himself someone new. What’s wrong with me that I can’t even find a decent steady boyfriend and keep hold of him?
‘Anyway, it doesn’t have to be James if you don’t want to go there again. It can be anyone. Think of the end-of-show wrap party – you really don’t want to turn up all on your Bridget Jones, not when Tom might have the Brazilian goddess in tow, or worse still, that man-stealer, Zara!’ Eddie purses his lips. ‘I knew she was up to no good.’
I down the last of my drink and press my fingernails into the palm of my hand to stem the tears that are threatening, knowing that Zara isn’t really a ‘man–stealer’ as Eddie says. Tom has a mind of his own; he must have at least wanted to be ‘stolen,’ to be with someone else, I can’t imagine she forced him to be with her against his will. So, it really looks like we’re over, then. Properly over. I don’t believe it. I had been holding out for it to be just a horrible misunderstanding, heat of the moment brought about circumstance, and giving him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t take my calls – telling myself he was just busy working and travelling. No time to himself. But I guess, deep down, I knew it was a fabrication. He wanted to call it a day, and now he’s moved on – or, more accurately, backwards … to his childhood sweetheart, with a beautiful Brazilian godd
ess on the side.
12
It’s Thursday and Annie is at the laser clinic, so I’m here behind the counter on my own and I can’t stop thinking about last night’s show. After Sam and Eddie left, I watched it again. And again. And again. I’m obsessed! I searched for clues to the seriousness of their relationship – scanning Tom’s face; I even freeze-framed a couple of shots of them on the horse just to see the look in Tom’s eyes – but I really can’t be sure if he’s into her or not. It’s driving me insane. And if he is, then why is Zara in New York? Tom must have invited her, or at least know she’s there; he could have put a stop to it, but he hasn’t, so he’s obviously fine with it. Happy about it, most likely. They could have been planning it for weeks – no wonder she was offish with me in his office … She already had her sights on him and didn’t want me hanging around, getting in her way. And then it dawns on me! I can’t believe I didn’t see it – of course, it all makes sense now, that’s why he was so quick to call it a day, to make way for Zara! I just made it easier for him by being so cross about my embarrassing debut on TV. I take a deep breath in a desperate attempt to stop my mind from spinning out of control with all the horrible possibilities.
And I feel like I’m in a goldfish bowl, with everyone watching me. There was a group of girls huddled by the staff entrance this morning when I arrived at work, one of them asked for my autograph and wanted to know a) where my new boots were from. She didn’t look impressed when I said River Island, and that they were a bargain in last winter’s sale, and b) is it true that Eddie is my GBF? And if so, then I’m the luckiest girl alive, apparently, and can I tell him that she’s set up a fan page for him on Facebook, and it already has four hundred and ninety-three ‘Likes’.
When I eventually made it to the staff room and changed the fleece-lined boots for my usual New Look heels, I overheard someone behind the lockers giggling about the bookmaker’s over the road from Carrington’s. Apparently, they’re taking bets on who Mr Carrington, aka Tom, will turn up with at the end-of-show wrap party – Valentina or Zara. No mention of me! Of course, they stopped talking when they realised I was there. I feel like such a fool, with people whispering and skulking around me.
I’m rearranging the Michael Kors display when Eddie appears; poking his head through the back of the open shelf unit, in between an oversized clutch and a signature monogrammed tote.
‘Cheer up, dollface. I have news,’ he says, quickly repositioning the bags back into place before darting around to stand opposite me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re going on a date! It’s all organised.’ Eddie looks charged.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I head back to my counter and start shoving cocktail rings into their rightful slots in the tray – ‘I wish the customers wouldn’t mess around with them,’ I mutter angrily to myself, then suddenly feel paranoid that KCTV might have a lip reader watching me. You never know. I remember the row of little TV monitors in Tom’s office. It’s like being in a giant bubble, or a series of Big Brother without the audition or psychiatric evaluation first.
‘Oh don’t be like that, there’s nothing wrong with diving straight back into the dating pool to get you over a messy split.’
‘Do you have to sound like a trashy tabloid? Besides, I might not want to get “over a messy split”, as you so dramatically put it.’ I stop sorting the rings to look him in the eye.
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because … well, just because,’ I say, feeling confused and unsure. I don’t really know what to think any more. I’ve got so many things whizzing around inside my head. ‘Anyway, I can’t talk now, customers to serve.’ I nod towards a loved-up couple, holding hands and sharing a joke, as they browse through the purses. A dart of longing shoots through me; they look so cosy and happy in love, and looking forward to a romantic Christmas together. And I still can’t believe that that was me, too, not so very long ago.
‘OK. But you must come and see me later. It’s vital.’ Eddie gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and heads towards the staff lift.
‘Maybe,’ I call out, as I walk towards the couple.
Later, on my lunch break, I push open the door to the anteroom outside Tom’s office. Eddie isn’t at his desk, but he can’t be far away, as Pussy is lying on her bed under the desk, dressed up in a Little Bo-Peep outfit. I decide to wait. She stretches majestically and then nuzzles my leg before spinning in a circle on seeing me. I scoop her up and snuggle in, grateful for a cuddle.
I’m hovering by the Christmas tree when I hear voices in Tom’s office. The door is ajar. I sidle closer and peep through the gap. Kelly is sitting at Tom’s desk, as if she owns the place – she even has her jingle-jangly feet up next to a laptop in front of her. I think she must be on a Skype call as there’s a female voice coming from the laptop, saying something about a hotel with underground parking. I wonder if Kelly is lining up her next series. Perhaps when she’s done with Carrington’s, she plans on filming in a hotel. But just as I lean in closer, the door slams shut. I instinctively clutch Pussy to me and jump back before ducking behind the tree out of sight, wishing my cheeks would stop burning. How embarrassing if Kelly actually caught me snooping. I wonder if she would insist on me being sacked, just like those people from the cruise ship in her last series.
‘Oh there you are.’ Eddie comes into the anteroom, bottom first, pushing the door open, and carrying a plate with two enormous cream horns on. ‘Hope you’re hungry. I’ve been all over looking for you. That girl from Lingerie, the one who’s covering your section, said you were in Sam’s café, but then Sam said she hadn’t even seen you today,’ he puffs excessively, as if he’s just run a half-marathon. ‘Here, pull up a chair and tuck in, this will cheer you up. Everyone loves a horn.’ He sniggers and gestures to the cakes. After placing Pussy back in her bed, I take one of the cakes and lick the gooey cream before sitting down opposite his desk.
‘Mmm, thanks,’ I say, biting off the bottom of the cake, savouring the sweet sensation on my tongue. ‘Sooo, why do you want to see me? And before you start, I’m not going on a blind date.’
‘But you must, it’s all arranged, and besides, it won’t be a “blind date” as such.’ He scoops some cream onto his fingertip for Pussy, who laps it up and then works off the sugar rush by hurtling around his office, the hem of her Little Bo-Peep dress flapping wildly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Weell.’ His eyes dart from side to side. ‘It will be with me!’ he says triumphantly.
‘Don’t be silly.’ I crease my forehead.
‘That’s right. And … ’ He looks shifty now.
‘Who?’ I give him a nudge with my foot.
‘An actor.’
‘Nooo!’ I cross my legs and lean back in the chair. I know where this is leading – straight to YouTube.
‘But it’s all part of the show. Hannah was chatting about it and, well, Kelly is insistent. And we don’t want to upset her now, do we? She’s going to make us stars, plus you’d be doing me a massive favour.’
‘How come?’
‘I’m going to propose to Ciaran … on camera!’
‘Wow! Really? How romantic. But will Ciaran like that?’ I ask, knowing how he hates the limelight, in complete contrast to Eddie.
‘Absolutely. And he’s definitely going to say yes,’ Eddie states, swinging one leg over the other and looking very pleased with himself.
‘He is? But how do you know?’ I frown.
‘We’ve talked it all through – planned it out, if you like,’ he says, nonchalantly.
‘Doesn’t sound as romantic now.’ I polish off the last of my cream horn. ‘And isn’t Ciaran already married?’ I ask, remembering his disastrous wedding day to Tina. She used to work here in the cash office, and was after Ciaran’s money. He married her because he wanted to ‘fit in’ and, well, it’s a long story, but anyway, he’s come out now and is definitely gay and definitely committed to Eddie, even if
the majority of his devout Irish Roman Catholic family refuse to talk to him any more.
‘Oh, but it totally is. We’ve been thinking about it ever since Ciaran’s annulment came through, and I guess when you meet your one, you just know … ’ I glance away and fiddle with my big hair. ‘Oops, so sorry, lover. Didn’t mean to rub salt in the wound.’ Eddie darts out from behind his desk to give me a hug.
‘Don’t be, I’m made up for you, really.’ I manage a wry smile.
‘Fabulous. And the most amazing bit of all – KCTV are going to film the wedding and pay for it all, natch. They’re talking Vegas babeeee. I can just imagine it all now, the Bellagio Hotel fountain and fireworks as a backdrop with a rodeo of topless cowboys, ooh … it’s going to be such a treat; maybe Liza Minnelli will swing by and belt out a show tune for us.’ He claps his hands together. ‘You’ll be my best girl, won’t you darling?’
‘Err, yes. Guess so,’ I say, quickly followed by, ‘Sorry, I’d be honoured to.’ I don’t want to spoil his moment. It’s not his fault I’m a dating disaster.
‘So why the long face then?’
‘Ed, are you sure about this?’ I ask, wondering what KCTV will want in return, and what if they fiddle with the filming? Who knows what they might do?
‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Well, it just doesn’t seem … very special. It’s almost as if you’re only doing it for the show. You know, to be on telly. It won’t be private, and think of all the viewers watching.’ I’d much rather have a romantic, intimate ceremony with just close friends and Dad there to give me away. But then I guess everyone’s different. I allow myself a moment to fantasise before snapping back to reality, because with my relationship track record, I’m far more likely to end up a wizened old woman, all on my own.
Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s Page 44