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

by Alexandra Brown

  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 Salvation 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.

  ‘Wow! Good for him, sly old fox.’ Sam claps her hands together, seemingly thrilled to hear of another new romance, quickly followed by, ‘What’s up? Don’t you like her?’

  ‘No, no, it’s not that, Nancy’s really nice, lovely and warm, and I want to be supportive, but it’s … well, I don’t know. He’s my dad, I suppose.’ I shrug.

  ‘And he’ll always be your dad,’ Sam says, softly. ‘But he’s a man too. You want him to be happy, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘But what about Mum?’

  ‘Georgie, she died a very long time ago. And it doesn’t mean he loved her any less. He’s still here and very much alive, and you being happy for him doesn’t diminish your mum’s memory.’

  ‘But sometimes it seems like only yesterday to me,’ I say, immediately feeling feeble. Sam’s dad died less than a year ago and she seems to be coping far better than I ever did.

  ‘And you were a child, you cared for her before she went, then you had to live with strangers who didn’t know her or miss her like you did. No wonder it’s still so raw, your whole world shattered and you had to deal with that pretty much on your own … ’ Sam says, as if reading my mind.

  ‘Some days I just miss her so very much.’

  ‘Of course you do, and I bet your dad does too. Nancy won’t ever replace your mum – and I bet she’s worried you might be thinking like this. Why don’t you talk to her?’

  ‘Oh no, I’ve only met her once, I couldn’t.’ I shake my head.

  ‘Well, talk to your dad then. I bet he’ll put your mind at rest.’

  ‘But what do you think I should say? I can’t just blurt out, “What about Mum?” I’ll sound like a silly little girl. I’m a grown woman – surely I shouldn’t feel this way, and it’s not just Nancy. It’s almost like I’m jealous that he has someone else in his life. After so many years apart, I want to be the important one. I want all his attention for myself. Do I sound ridiculously immature?’ I bite my bottom lip.

  ‘Don’t be silly. I was just the same. I always felt put out for a bit whenever Dad had a new girlfriend, but he was a ladies’ man; women flocked to him like moths to a lamp. I got used to it as I got older; in fact, I got quite close to a few of them, as you know.’

  ‘Yes, Ava. I remember her. Wasn’t she at your wedding?’

  ‘That’s right. And I truly believe she loved Dad. She adored him, made him happy and that made me feel happy.’ Silence follows. ‘Georgie, talk to him. It’ll make all the difference. I bet he’d be upset if he knew you felt this way.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, feeling a bit brighter about it.

  ‘Tell you what – next time you see him, a
sk if he wants to bring Nancy along too, for Christmas lunch. That can be your lead-in … ’

  We’ve just polished off a delicious crispy duck stir-fry followed by crème brûlée, and I’m enjoying a large glass of mulled wine, when Sam reaches across the table to clutch my hand.

  ‘Don’t look now. But guess who I’ve just spotted at a window table in the far corner?’

  ‘Who?’ I ask, immediately desperate to know.

  ‘Only Zara!’ she makes big eyes.

  ‘But that’s impossible. She’s in New York. With Tom,’ I add, not wanting to be reminded of the fact.

  ‘Well, I’m telling you, it’s definitely her. She’s sitting with a group of Arabic-looking men, and that woman from the last episode, Princess something or another.’

  ‘Ameerah.’

  ‘That’s the one! Oooh, it looks very formal, they’re going through a pile of paperwork.’

  ‘Really?’ My mind is racing. What’s going on? My heart starts pounding, what if Tom is here too?

  ‘No idea, and now she’s pointing to something.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘The princess. Hang on.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say, keeping my voice low as Sam pushes her chair back and flings her napkin on the table.

  ‘Finding out what they’re up to, of course.’

  ‘Nooo, you can’t. What if they see you, they’ll think we’re spying,’ I whisper quickly, but it’s too late. Sam is off.

  I sit for a few seconds, trying to take it in, before I risk swivelling round in my seat, to see what’s going on. And Sam was right – it’s definitely Zara! Right here. In Mulberry-On-Sea, and sitting mere metres away from me. My mind races, what’s going on? Why is she here? And what does this mean for me? And Tom? Sam is loitering by their table now, with her back to Zara. She ducks behind a giant shoji screen, presumably within listening distance – it’s right behind Princess Ameerah’s chair. I circle the bottom of my wine glass with an index finger; silently praying that Sam doesn’t get caught. What if Zara spots her and tells Kelly? She might sack her – well, not sack her as such, but she could make the board give Sam notice on the lease of the café or something, I suppose. And I wouldn’t put it past Sam to have a word with Zara, ask her what she’s playing at with Tom. She’s always been a loyal friend.

  A few minutes later, and Sam is back. She has her shades on and her hair pulled around the sides of her face, attempting to look inconspicuous. She hunches down in her chair before leaning into me.

  ‘Sooo?’ I breathe, as she draws out the moment of revelation. She peers at me over the top of her shades, swivelling her eyes around like an undercover secret agent.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Sam pants, eventually.

  ‘Tell me. What’s going on?’ I ask, absolutely desperate to know.

  ‘The papers are floor plans for a hotel. They were talking about bedroom numbers, concierge services … stuff like that.’ Sam flaps her hand dismissively.

  ‘Ahh, that makes sense. They’re lining up the next show. Probably going to call it Kelly Cooper Room Service. I told you, didn’t I, that I overheard her talking about a hotel with underground parking?’

  ‘Yes, I remember. But that’s not all.’ And Sam’s face suddenly pales.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. But Eddie was right – Zara is up to something.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Georgie. I’m so sorry.’ Sam takes a gulp of air and glances downward to avoid eye contact.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, the look on her face making me nervous now, scared even.

  ‘Are you sure you want to know?’ Her forehead creases with concern.

  ‘Yes. Please, what is it?’ I inhale sharply through my nostrils, desperate to quell the creeping sense of unease.

  ‘I need some of your wine first?’ she says, her voice tinged with panic.

  ‘Now you’re really scaring me,’ I say, placing my hand over the top of the glass.

  ‘One sip won’t hurt the baby, give it to me,’ she says, pushing my hand away and taking the glass. She takes a mouthful before wiping her lips on the napkin. ‘OK. It’s not good, hun. But better you hear it from me, right?’ She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. I nod, and hold my breath.

  Sam closes her eyes and tells me really quickly without even pausing for air.

  ‘Zarawastalkingaboutheirengagement.’ She gasps. ‘To Tom!’

  Sam flings her eyes open and rubs the back of my hand.

  ‘It’s going to be fine, Georgie. You’re going to be fine. I promise you. Who needs Tom? Let him get engaged to Zara. It’s his loss, he’s just … ’ But I can’t hear her voice any more, only a buzzing sensation all around me.

  Tears sting in my eyes. I gasp and then swallow hard. It’s as if time has stood still. My instinct is to run away as fast as I can. But instead, it’s as if somebody has flicked on an autopilot switch. Slow motion. I down the rest of the wine in one huge gulp. I pull out my purse, place some notes on the table, push my chair back and apologise to Sam. She grabs her bags and follows me out of the restaurant.

  16

  Five shopping weeks until Christmas

  I’m standing on the balcony of the town hall overlooking the market square, with a gloved hand poised over the big red plastic button, and a massive smile stuck firmly in place. I feel far from happy inside, but this is proper celebrity stuff. It’s meant to be exciting. Fun. Plus, it helps take my mind off wondering how Tom managed to move on so quickly. It still hasn’t sunk in. I have to deliberately force myself to stop analysing – in fact, I’ve given myself a rule: I can have five minutes per hour max, to work out when and how he could have got engaged so soon after we split up. It’s the only way. I’m in danger of driving myself crazy otherwise. But it explains why he wouldn’t take my calls, or reply to my Facebook messages.

  Everyone’s here from Carrington’s including Annie, Mrs Grace, Doris, Suzanne, Lauren and Melissa. Kelly is telling Eddie how wonderful he is, just inside the door behind me. Three KCTV cameras are positioned, ready to capture it all for Kelly Cooper Come Instore, and the mayor of Mulberry-On-Sea is making her way towards the front of the balcony. As the mayor starts the countdown, I scan the crowd below – groups of teenagers, families with young children, pensioners, Carrington’s customers, Mr and Mrs Peabody, I give them a quick wave and they both wave back enthusiastically. Everyone’s happy and smiley and getting in the mood for Christmas; even Mrs Godfrey from the WI is here, wearing her rain bonnet.

  Around the square are several Christmas trees covered in sparkly baubles. On my right is a Santa’s grotto, with real reindeers in a straw-lined pen next to a sleigh swathed in tartan blankets and crimson sacks stuffed full of presents. Students from the local college are dressed up as elves, helping to supervise the lengthy queue of children, handing out balloons and offering photo opportunities. An assortment of delicious aromas waft up from the many wooden food cabins dotted around – selling roasted chestnuts, hot chocolate with swirly peaks of whipped cream, roast turkey and cranberry rolls and mulled wine. It’s all here. I spot Sam’s cabin decked out in garlands of twinkling fairy lights with boxed panettone and slabs of Christmas cake piled up high on the counter. The whole place is like a picture-perfect Christmas card, or a scene from a Hollywood movie. The music stops. The crowd cheers before counting down the numbers being displayed on a massive electronic billboard.

  ‘Five. Four. Three. Two. One … ’

  The mayor starts clapping and I press the button. And, as if by magic, Mulberry-On-Sea is illuminated from one side of the town to the other in a rainbow of colour linking each streetlight to the next. It’s incredible. It’s amazing. And it literally takes my breath away. The crowd goes wild – whooping, cheering and clapping. Kelly is standing next to me now. She swings my left hand up in the air before grabbing the microphone and bellowing out to the crowd.

  ‘Happy Christmas everyone, from Carriiiiiingtons.’ K
elly leans in to me, and whispers, ‘Tits and teeth, darling. Tits and teeth. Hair shake. Look at them all down there while you’re up here. They adore you. Told you I’d make you a star. You too,’ she says through a fixed smile, all the while posing for the crowd as she turns to face Eddie, who’s standing the other side of her now. ‘Didn’t I tell you? Stars. Huge. The pair of you. Wonderful!’ We all clap some more and blow kisses as the opening notes of Slade’s ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’ starts belting out from four giant speakers erected on scaffolding.

  ‘Right. That’s their lot. Come on inside. The media pack are waiting for you.’ Kelly ushers me, Eddie and Mrs Grace away from the balcony and into a lounge area, closing the doors behind us. We take off our hats and coats, and Hannah piles them up into a mountain on a couple of wing chairs. I scan the room. It’s crammed with press people wearing plastic ID badges on chains around their necks. Some are holding pads and pens, others have Dictaphones primed to record.

  ‘Ooooh, this is the best night of my life.’ Mrs Grace helps herself to a flute of champagne. ‘Did you see the Peabodys? Turn up to an envelope opening, those two. And that snooty one from the WI? She won’t be looking down her nose at me again,’ she sniffs, before pushing her granny handbag into the crook of her elbow and turning towards a waiting journalist. ‘Yes dear, that’s G-R-A-C-E.’ I smile as Mrs Grace peers over the journalist’s shoulder, making sure she gets all the details correct. ‘Did they tell you that I’m “in talks” …?’ she pauses to do quote signs with the fingers of her free hand and the journalist smiles patiently. ‘That’s right, with Good Housekeeping magazine regarding a regular column, which is a huge honour as it’s a marvellous publication and everyone holds it in such high regard. You know, I heard the queen reads it and there’s no higher endorsement than that!’ Mrs Grace purses her lips and makes big eyes. ‘And I served her once. Such a charming girl she was.’