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

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘But it’s not as easy as that,’ I say.

  ‘Yes it is. Unless you don’t want to … or perhaps you’ve moved on. Things are different now, I understand that. You’re a celebrity, you’re in demand. I saw the magazines. The PR things. The stunning picture of you in that ‘girls we’d most like to date’ chart in some blokes’ magazine.’ He smiles wryly. Wow! I didn’t know about that. Momentarily, I allow myself to feel really chuffed and ponder on how things have turned around. When I first met Tom, I felt ordinary, and that he was out of my league. Now it seems that’s not the case at all.

  ‘But what about Valentina?’ I ask, as my mind rakes through all of the emotions I’ve encountered while he was away. I can’t just ignore them and fall back into his arms and ultimately his bed, no matter how much I want him.

  ‘Valentina? What’s she got to do with this?’ His forehead creases.

  ‘Err, aren’t you two … well, I know she isn’t here tonight, but then it is Christmas, so maybe she wanted to stay in Brazil with her family, or maybe she couldn’t get a visa or something, I don’t know, I just … ’ I shrug awkwardly.

  ‘Georgie. Please stop talking for a moment.’ And I do. I stand motionless listening to Dean Martin singing ‘Let It Snow’ as I wait for the moment of truth.

  ‘Valentina is spending Christmas in Rio.’

  ‘OK.’ I swallow hard and focus on the lyrics – ‘corn for popping … and the fire slowly dying’. Oh God.

  ‘With her girlfriend!’ He shakes his head and gives me a look of sheer exasperation.

  ‘Her … Oh, I see,’ I mutter, feeling like a complete and utter idiot, but as the realisation of what he’s saying sinks in, my pulse quickens and my heart soars.

  ‘So it was just a showmance after all,’ I say, relief flooding through me.

  ‘That’s right, Valentina was only in the show because she happened to be in Corsica at a jewellery convention, and when I took the opportunity of meeting up with her to explain that we wouldn’t be stocking her pieces any more, unfortunately they just don’t sell well in Carrington’s, anyway, KCTV suggested the beach scene – Valentina is a keen horse rider. I thought you knew, I did ask Kelly to mention it, I was conscious of how it might come across, especially after the way things were left between us.’

  ‘Maybe she forgot,’ I suggest magnanimously. More likely she deliberately wanted me to think Tom had moved on so she could film me out on dates because it’s like Hannah said – ‘viewers love all that’. It was all staged, purely to entertain the viewers. And after tonight’s performance, it’s pretty obvious that Kelly will do anything for the show.

  ‘Maybe. But you really must stop putting two and two together, it’s not good for you.’ Hmmm. Ain’t that the truth?

  ‘Well, you can talk. What about ignoring me for weeks, and then not even saying hello when you got here tonight,’ I say, sticking my index finger in the air and instantly regretting it when my right leg slip-slides around for a bit and I end up headbutting his chest before flipping backwards with a speed that could induce whiplash.

  ‘Whoa. Don’t think you’re ready for the Boléro just yet.’ He helps me to steady myself. ‘You OK?’ I nod. ‘Good. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but like I explained earlier, it was difficult. I was crazy busy all day, and then when I got my phone back and saw that you hadn’t called—’

  ‘But I had called.’

  ‘Yes, we know that now. But I didn’t at the time. I assumed that you weren’t interested any more. I always planned on trying to make things right when I got back home. Anyway, you ignored me too.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Yes you did. When I get back to Mulberry-On-Sea, I couldn’t bear it any longer and called you, but you didn’t pick up. And then I saw you with another guy, and well … it made sense. I had let you down and you’d moved on … ’ He called! Oh my God. After all that angst, he actually called! But hang on. ‘What call?’ I quickly ask, racking my brains. If he did call, then why didn’t I know? I definitely would have answered it. Most definitely.

  ‘I can’t remember the exact time, but it was the same night I saw you in the street kissing the other guy.’ He looks away. There’s a short silence. And then I remember. Oh my God. In the bar. The number I didn’t recognise … because I’d erased him from my phone. From my life. It was Tom. And to think that I’d longed for him to call me. Yearned even. And then when he did, I ignored him. I mentally kick myself and make a pact to never ever delete his numbers again.

  ‘So I assumed you had moved on? I knew you’d been on dates with a famous singer. You looked really happy together on the bandstand. Zara showed me the magazine pictures of you two together.’ Hmmm, I bet she did.

  ‘Well, I thought you had moved on too, with Zara. The voiceover guy even said that you might rekindle love with an old flame.’

  ‘Did he really?’ Tom says, sounding surprised. ‘I didn’t bother watching any of the film footage; just felt a bit weird seeing myself on TV.’ He shrugs. ‘And she was never an old flame. A friend, more like … or so I thought. We’ve known each other since childhood.’

  ‘Oh, but I thought you used to be an item,’ I say, remembering the Google picture of them kissing.

  ‘No, never. Yes, Zara would often be in the same nightclub as me when I did that whole Chelsea scene as a student – not really my thing, and well … I guess she can be a bit enthusiastic at times when it comes to public displays of affection, she was forever catching me off guard,’ he explains modestly. ‘Especially if there’s a pap hanging around. Zara loves featuring in the society pages of Hello! magazine and would often lunge in for a kiss on camera. She’s a player, always has been. Everyone in Chelsea knows it.’

  ‘I see,’ I say diplomatically.

  ‘Anyway, that’s all irrelevant. It’s you that I’m interested in … unless you really have moved on?’ he asks, looking straight into my eyes. I shake my head.

  ‘It was nothing. Dan’s a nice guy, but not for me. The spark wasn’t there – how could it be, when it’s only ever been you that I want?’ Tom pulls me in tighter.

  ‘Georgie, I’m so sorry. I messed up and let pride take over. I could see that day in my office I’d got it wrong, and you were so annoyed and upset and … well, I knew I was going to Paris and that would most likely have been the last straw. For some ridiculous reason, I thought you’d be better off without me, that you didn’t need the stress, and you know my life can be hectic, and I should never have said what I did. But then when you agreed that you wanted to call it a day too … ’

  ‘Shuuushh.’ I place my finger on his lips. ‘None of that matters any more.’

  ‘Sooooo,’ he starts slowly.

  ‘Go on,’ I coax.

  ‘I have two questions…’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘How is Mr Cheeks? I’ve missed him too.’

  ‘He’s fine. And the second?’

  ‘Does this means we can have mind-blowingly incredible make-up sex then?’ he grins cheekily, and goes to tickle me, but I’m too quick for him and manage to pull away just in time.

  ‘Well, that depends,’ I tease.

  ‘On what?’ he says, giving me a quizzical look.

  ‘Your appetite! I don’t suppose you fancy having Christmas lunch at my place?’ I ask, thinking of the salmon, the supersize turkey that’s been thawing in my kitchen sink since Thursday, not to mention the trillion bottles of prosecco, assorted cheese board with cracker selection, two jars of silverskin pickled onions, a honey roast ham joint, four tins of Quality Street (they were ‘buy one get one free’), a tub of cheese footballs (they smell gross, but Dad loves them), Twiglets, sprouts, peas, parsnips, carrot batons, red cabbage, bread sauce, cranberry sauce, goose fat roast potatoes, gravy, stuffing, pigs in blankets, Christmas pudding, brandy butter, champagne cream, panettone, Christmas cake, Eat Me dates, After Eights … I’ve got the lot and I’m exhausted just thinking about it all. With the best will in the world, there’s no
way Sam, Nathan, Dad, Nancy and I will get through it all.

  Tom laughs and moves in closer. I can’t resist him any longer so I slip an arm around his waist and press the palm of my hand up under his jacket. He brings his left hand around the back of my head, drawing my face in to his. His lips feel like fire against my cold cheek as he trails a path to my mouth and it’s as if a bumper pack of fireworks have exploded one after the other deep inside me. We kiss for what feels like an eternity until I feel myself falling, sliding down his body. His lips still hot on mine as my hand touches the ice. Tom is lying next to me now, pulling me in closer to his warm embrace.

  ‘I’d love to,’ he says, nuzzling his mouth against the side of my neck as we pause for air.

  ‘Phew. That’s a relief,’ I murmur.

  ‘Pardon?’ he says, tilting his head back to look into my eyes.

  ‘Oh nothing. I was just thinking how wonderful it is that we’ll be spending Christmas Day together.’

  ‘And I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be,’ he says softly, tracing a finger slowly and seductively across my lips.

  We turn together to look up at the twinkling, starry night sky, and as if by magic, fluttery soft snowflakes float silently down upon us. And, right on cue, Bing Crosby is singing ‘White Christmas’ and I instantly know in my heart that this is going to be the best Christmas ever. Just as we planned. Just as I always dreamed and hoped it would be. With Tom. My one. My happy-ever-after.

  Epilogue

  Viva Las Vegas babeeee! Nine Months Later …

  A glorious evening breeze cools my sun-baked skin as I fan myself with a copy of the wedding service. Lady Gaga is singing, for real, right in front of us on a little podium as we wait for Eddie and Ciaran to arrive. We’re seated in the grounds of the Bellagio Hotel under a white lace canopy that stretches all the way back to the main strip – for privacy, apparently. Claire insisted, having done an exclusive deal with OK! magazine for picture rights.

  Straight after Christmas Day, having spoken to Claire and deciding that being in the full spotlight really wasn’t for me, I gave Eddie her number, so he called Claire, and it turned out that she had left several messages with Zara for him to get in touch after seeing his fabulous presenting skills in the Carrington’s pet spa. He really is a natural. Eddie was beside himself with elation, of course, and promptly signed her to be his manager. I also spoke to Claire about Eddie’s misgivings over the wedding, ‘the fluff’, as he called it, and together we managed to scale everything back and make it really heartfelt and much more of a personal event for him and Ciaran. Although they were both ecstatic when their favourite singer agreed to be here … weell, I just couldn’t resist organising one little indulgence for him.

  Since signing with Claire, Eddie has landed his own reality TV show called, rather aptly, Eddie: I Do It My Way, and a chat show that airs on Saturday evening during primetime viewing. He’s already become a household name at home, and is rapidly gaining fans here in America too. And he told me in strictest confidence that he’s been approached to start talks about being a judge on the next series of X Factor. Seems Eddie’s dream came true too. We still see each other, despite his declaring Mulberry-On-Sea ‘boring’; Eddie still lives there when he’s back home. Says it keeps things real. Although he now has a penthouse apartment overlooking the marina with a housekeeper to ensure his walk-in wardrobe is kept pristine at all times.

  Annie’s life totally changed too – Ryan, the guy she met at the wrap party, wasn’t Will’s bodyguard at all, no: he owns a string of nightclubs around the world, so Annie spends her time travelling and partying with him in proper VIP style. They got engaged last month and are now planning an extravagant ‘Big Fat Gypsy’ type wedding that KCTV are going to broadcast as a four-part miniseries. Mrs Grace is now practically running Good Housekeeping magazine, or so she would have you think, from the way she talks about it all – she writes a monthly column covering a whole range of topics, and has just been offered a book deal from a major publisher to write her autobiography. She said was particularly made up on hearing that Radio 4 are going to serialise an audio version too, seeing as it’s the Queen’s channel of choice, or so she’s heard.

  Whereas, I’m enjoying anonymity again – my YouTube hits eventually petered out, thank God. Although, I did bump into Madison from the bus a while back, and she was excited and asked for my autograph this time, saying she loves reading my weekly fashion and beauty column. I’ve written about all sorts – international fashion shows, designer dresses at film premieres; I’ve even interviewed celebrities for my special ‘what’s in your wardrobe?’ feature. I go to their house, flick through their walk-in dressing rooms selecting outfits, and then explain how readers can source the same look by shopping on the high street, preferably in Carrington’s. I still work there, just a couple of days per week, though, as the column takes up most of my time and I’m also overseeing the new VIP shopping experience, which went crazy-busy through the summer when all the international customers berthed at Mulberry marina in their super-yachts.

  Kelly’s kept in touch. I do feel sorry for her, though, as Tom told me that his mother, Isabella, is refusing to have anything to do with her until she enrols on some residential progressive parenting course she’s heard about. It’s held on a reservation in Arizona and is specifically for parents who’ve ruined their children by spoiling them to excess. Last I heard of Zara, she was rumoured to be going into the next series of Celebrity Big Brother, with Lawrence in tow. Apparently they got married in a secret ceremony onboard Princess Ameerah’s super-yacht, but she’s now suing them for seventy-three thousand pounds after Lawrence’s sons wrecked three staterooms and ‘accidentally’ embedded a hammer in the side of the Baccarat crystal champagne bar.

  Lady Gaga finishes singing, and is whisked away by her people as Eddie and Ciaran make their way down the little aisle. They’re both wearing exquisitely cut white Tom Ford suits with neon blue paisley open-neck shirts. Pussy is bouncing along in front of them in a miniature version of the same outfit, and around her neck is a little satin pouch containing the wedding rings. There’s a hushed ‘aw, isn’t she cute, so adorable’ from the crowd. We kept it intimate with just Eddie’s parents, beaming with pride in the front row, three of Ciaran’s sisters who’ve flown in from Ireland (his parents gave their blessing eventually, but declined to appear on the show) and forty close friends and other family members.

  Tom squeezes my hand.

  ‘Sam would have loved this,’ he whispers in my ear, making my neck tingle with desire. I still melt whenever he’s close to me. We manage to keep a respectable distance at work; in fact we rarely see each other inside Carrington’s, as I’m not always there and Tom still has to travel occasionally, or go up to London for meetings. The board is thinking about opening another store, which Tom says I’ll be fully involved in right from the start if I want to be.

  But Tom never travels without me knowing and, to be honest, the Skype calls and late-night text conversations make our relationship utterly thrilling. That old adage of absence making the heart grow fonder is really true – the minute he arrives back in Mulberry-On-Sea we can’t get enough of each other. My kitchen table has probably seen more use in the last nine months than in the entire time I’ve had it, which must be ten years at least.

  I smile and nod at Tom, knowing how Sam really wanted to be here. Ever the romantic, she loves a good wedding, but then the twins are due any day, so flying is really out of the question. I spoke to her this morning and she was sorting through a mountain of baby stuff that Jenny from Greggs had passed on to her. Of course Nathan is beyond ecstatic and can’t wait to become a dad; he’s even considering Sam’s suggestion of Holly and Ivy as suitable baby names, which is a relief as at one point, before we knew that the babies were definitely girls, Sam had been pondering Santa and Claus! The babies were conceived over the Christmas period and, from the minute Sam found out, she went straight to the clinic to book her pay-per-v
iew sessions. The clinic manager was so impressed with her daily attendance record that she gave Sam a free belly-casting kit, so now Sam’s ‘bump’ is immortalised in gold spray paint and hangs on the kitchen wall in the Cupcakes At Carrington’s café, next to a picture of Alfie.

  Eddie and Ciaran look so happy together as they make their commitment to each other, and I think this must be the first time ever that I and both of my best friends, Sam and Eddie, are all blissfully happy and loved-up at the same time. Dad too. I smile at the memory of New Year’s Eve, when he asked if I’d mind very much if he proposed to Nancy, I gave him a hug and told him to go for it. I’ve stopped feeling disloyal to Mum. Sam was right, Mum died a long time ago, I can cherish her memory and still celebrate Dad’s new life. One doesn’t diminish the other, I know that now.

  I run an index finger over the silver locket that Nancy gave me as a Christmas present. It’s on a chain around my neck, which I never take off. Inside is a picture of Mum (Nancy got it from Dad) when she was young and vibrant; hair fanned around her smiling face and cornflower-blue bright eyes. In the other side is a picture of me, with a brunette bob and the same blue eyes, taken long before the hair and lash extensions, and a similar image to the one Mum would have seen of me just before she died. I love that Nancy did this; it’s as if Mum’s memory of me is crystallised forever and ever. Nancy wrapped the locket in tissue paper and put it in a beautiful keepsake box alongside a new bottle of Mum’s perfume, YSL Opium (the glorious original one) with a silver embossed card with these words on:

  Keep her close to your heart always xxx

  Just thinking about it makes me well up. Nancy is such a kind and thoughtful woman, and I’m thrilled that Dad has her in his life. Me too. And I think Mum would have liked her; they might even have been friends had they known each other under different circumstances. Nancy later told me that the necklace she wears with the N on the end had belonged to her daughter, Natalie. She always keeps her close to her heart too. I know Nancy will never replace Mum, and I’ll never replace Natalie, but I guess sometimes there are other ways to build a family, and Dad and Nancy are my family now.