by Ali Harris
He nudges me and nods his head in Lily’s direction. She is now behind the bar expertly mixing Vodka Martinis to cheers from the waiting crowd of punters. The bartender carries them over to us on a tray, followed by Sam, who is making ‘I am not worthy’ bows as he leads Lily through the crowd.
‘You are really something, Lily!’ I laugh, as the bartender hands round our drinks.
‘Thank you, my dear.’ She curtsies gracefully and then grabs a glass off the tray and thrusts it at me. ‘And so are you. A toast,’ she says, taking the final glass for herself and holding it out over the table. The six of us hold up our glasses to hers and Lily smiles round at us all. ‘To Evie, Hardy’s very own Secret Elf. Long may her good work continue.’ I blush as everyone clinks their glasses together.
‘To Evie!’ they echo.
‘Evie?’ Velna pipes up and I turn to face her. ‘Why do all the other staff at Hardy’s call you Sarah? It is not your name, no?’
‘No, it’s not,’ I smile, and she purses her lips and pulls them to one side of her face.
‘So why do they say Sarah the stockroom girl?’ she asks, scratching her head, clearly quite confused.
‘Do you know, Velna, I really don’t know,’ I reply, and I look around the table at Sam, Felix, Lily, and realize that these are my real friends; the ones who matter. The ones who have always known me – and like me for who I am.
‘And to us!’ says Felix, continuing the toast by holding his glass aloft again, ‘Evie’s specially chosen helpers.’ He pauses as a wide grin spreads over his face. ‘To Evie’s Christmas Elves!’ he exclaims.
‘Evie’s Elves!’ echoes everyone. I feel my eyes fill with happy tears as they all cheer. It may be a cold December night outside but I’m flooded with the warmth of the comradeship that has flowed throughout this evening.
Friday 9 December
16 Shopping Days Until Christmas
It’s a busy morning in the stockroom. I’m not sure if it is the legacy of Lily’s lethal cocktails but I’m struggling to keep up. The printer is spewing out tickets like they’re going out of fashion, and my well-practised regime of collecting several required items and sending them up in groups to the necessary floors in the dumb waiter lift I have in the stockroom, and that I’m meant to use in busy situations like this, is somehow failing me. So far I have sent some talcum powders up to Designers, a handbag to Haberdashery and a couple of corsets down to Menswear. I only realized when Guy flounced in, sporting one of the corsets over his three-piece suit and asking me if I was trying to hint that he’d put on weight.
I shake my head and exhale slowly as I fight another wave of nausea. For someone in their twenties I am pathetically unpractised in the art of drinking on an empty stomach or staying out late. I staggered through the front door last night just before midnight. The house was in complete darkness and, after making myself some toast, I was about to tiptoe upstairs and collapse into bed when my phone beeped. I pulled it out of my bag and saw with a jolt of pleasure and then of guilt that I had three new texts, all from Joel. I’d been so caught up in my night with the gang that I hadn’t even thought about him, let alone checked my phone. I also had a missed call and a message from Delilah but I ignored them and opened the texts from Joel instead.
‘Hey there beautiful ice-skating queen, when can I see u again? Jx’
The next one had been sent fifteen minutes later.
‘I miss you.’
Then the last one, which he’d just sent.
‘I’m in my big hotel bed and it feels very empty without you. Want to come and join me? Jxxx’
I looked at the toast in my hand, my handbag, which was on the floor, and my front door keys, which were lying on top of the island unit, and made a quick assessment. If I got a cab on Regent’s Park Road I could be with Joel in ten minutes.
In a flash I ran upstairs, grabbed a dress, some fresh underwear and tights, a toothbrush and make-up (I wasn’t about to do the walk of shame again), chucked it all in my bag, scribbled a note for Delilah and dashed back out of the front door.
I was being spontaneous and it felt amazing.
To be honest, what happened when I got to Joel’s hotel had felt pretty amazing too. And after that. And again in the morning when we woke up and lazily reached for each other under the covers, our gentle, tentative morning kisses quickly turning into something deliciously passionate. This time I managed to extricate myself from his glorious hotel bed at the same time as Joel, we showered together, got dressed and then wandered into town with our arms wrapped around each other for warmth, chatting animatedly as we walked through the gloriously quiet streets, trying not to slip on the icy pavements and delighting at the sight of an almost completely empty Regent Street.
Joel was due at a breakfast meeting at the Sanderson Hotel and I made an excuse and said that I had a big order of clothes to pull together for a customer. He took me in his arms and kissed me outside the store as the clock struck 7 a.m., we said goodbye and I floated in through the staff entrance. Luckily Felix had the morning off so he wasn’t there to grill me. Dave, the day security guard, just nodded as I walked past and I actually felt relieved to be ignored. I didn’t want anyone seeing me with Joel in case it somehow got back to Carly. She still talks about ‘Mr Eye Contact Guy’ like he’s going to walk into the store any minute and sweep her off her feet.
And it’s not like I can tell her he sort of already has.
I put down the armful of silk scarves that I’m sorting into colour, size and style on the accessories shelf as I feel a fresh wave of nausea overcome me. I glance at my watch. Noon. I’ve somehow missed my tea break and now it’s time for lunch. I stand up, groaning a little as my head spins, holding on to the shelves for support for a second as another flurry of orders comes through on the printer. I grab the items and put them in the dumbwaiter, this time double- and then triple-checking that they’re all correct. Then I reach for the phone, punch in the office number and wait for Sharon to answer.
‘Hello,’ she sings gaily, and I can’t help but immediately wonder if Rupert is in the office with her. An image of the two of them together, like Joel and I were last night, fills my head and then I feel another wave of nausea that isn’t related to my big night out.
‘Hi, Sharon,’ I say. ‘It’s Evie here.’
‘Who?’ she replies quickly. I mentally kick myself at my mistake.
‘I mean, Sarah.’ There’s a long pause as she tries to work out who it is. ‘From the stockroom,’ I add wearily.
‘Oh, yes. I know,’ she says defensively. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve missed my break but the shop is really busy and there’s lots of orders coming through on the printer,’ I explain brightly. ‘Could you send someone in to cover me so I can get some lunch?’
‘But you’ve never had anyone cover you on your breaks before,’ Sharon says sharply. ‘What makes you think I have the spare staff now?’
‘I-I just didn’t want to leave the stockroom whilst there are so many orders coming through,’ I explain.
‘That’s very sensible,’ Sharon says pointedly.
‘B-but I really do need a break.’
‘Don’t we all, dear,’ she laughs.
I feel uncharacteristic anger rising through my body. I’ve worked so hard for so long, and for what? Not even a little bit of respect. Well, I’ve had enough, I’m not being treated like this any more.
‘Sharon,’ I say evenly, ‘I have been here since seven this morning. In my contract I am entitled to a half an hour break every four hours. Not only that, I have been doing unpaid overtime for the past week.’ And the rest, I feel like adding. ‘The shop-floor staff all have people to cover them when they go for a break and I think I deserve to be treated the same.’ I pause and take a deep breath. ‘I am happy to put a call through to Mr Hardy to explain the situation if I have to. Unless he’s there with you now?’
I hear Sharon’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Fine. I’ll sen
d someone down who’s not busy immediately.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, and put the phone down, feeling a small swell of triumph as I do so.
Ten minutes later the stockroom door creaks open and Carly storms in, her face clouded with annoyance.
‘Oh, Carly!’ I say brightly, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. ‘Have you come for a chat? Now’s not a great time, I’m afraid. I’m about to go for a break and I’m just waiting for someone to come in to cover me. Sharon agreed we needed someone to oversee things here while I’m gone. It’s great it’s so busy this morning, isn’t it?’
I smile warmly but Carly doesn’t answer. She just folds her arms and stares miserably around the stockroom.
‘They should be here any minute. I’m dying for some fresh air and a cup of Lily’s tea.’
‘Just go then,’ she mutters moodily.
I’m confused. ‘But I have to wait for—’
‘They’re here, all right?’ she says testily. ‘I’m here. Sharon sent me to cover you. She said that even people in management positions have to get their hands dirty sometimes,’ she looks around the stockroom and grimaces, ‘and she said I may as well start now. God, I’m so depressed! How dare she stick me in this hellhole, away from the action!’
I feel myself bristle. Hellhole? I am as offended as if she’d dissed my own home. It’s obviously good enough for her when she wants to come down and talk about herself for hours, but it’s not good enough for her to work in?
‘I’m sorry you feel like that,’ I say evenly. ‘I like it. Although I guess I have to, working here for eight hours every single day.’
‘I suppose some people are more cut out for this kind of work than others,’ Carly says, inspecting her fingernails.
I clench my jaw. ‘Well, I’ll only be half an hour. Do you need me to explain anything about how everything works?’
‘It’s hardly rocket science, is it?’ she scoffs. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Go have your break. Ooh, and can you bring me a cup of tea on the way back?’
I open my mouth to point out that she could just make one herself, and then close it again. She has already settled herself down on the sofa, pulled out a magazine from her handbag and is flicking through it as if she has already forgotten I am there. I turn and walk swiftly out of the stockroom, trying not to let my annoyance show.
I stride purposefully through the beauty department towards the grand central staircase, feeling my mood lighten as I go. Gwen and Jenny are proffering perfumes, taking Iris’s soaps from the display and handing them to smiling customers.
Suddenly I spot a familiar figure sashaying towards me. It’s Jane, working her new look like she’s a supermodel. She’s even wearing the little black netted hat I gave her as an added extra accessory and which she’d said she’d never wear as she didn’t want people staring at her. Now, both staff and customers (men and women) all turn and stare admiringly as she glides past them. It’s like looking at a different woman. I wave but she doesn’t see me.
‘If Sharon asks, I’m just off to get a quick sandwich,’ she says to Becky, who is helping out in the beauty department again. ‘It’s so busy up there I don’t have time to take a lunch break so I’ve just left Elaine covering while I’m gone. I’ll only be ten minutes,’ she calls over her shoulder. I grin to myself as I walk down the stairs. Who’d have thought that there was such a siren hidden underneath all those tent-like clothes Jane used to wear?
As I reach the bottom of the stairs I see that Rupert is in Menswear doing his daily rounds. He is chatting to Guy, his rotund, weather-beaten face even brighter than usual as he throws his arms around animatedly. I walk a little closer to see if I can hear what he’s saying.
‘What you’ve done in this department is remarkable, Guy, just remarkable!’ Rupert is exclaiming. I feel a glow of pleasure at the deflected compliment. Even if I do say so myself, it looks like an entirely different place from how it was a week ago. It’s buzzing with customers; the displays are bright and interesting and stylish. I even heard on the store’s grapevine that a pop star and his stylist came in yesterday and bought three entire looks off the mannequins, apparently for some new video he’s shooting. Guy had been most excited. Apparently this guy is set to be the next big thing on the music scene. Everyone in the store was talking about it.
I fire off a quick picture text to Sam to show him the bustling department. He kept saying at the pub how gutted he was he hadn’t had a chance to see any of the makeovers for himself. I’ve promised to give him a tour when he next does a delivery, but until then, I’ve been sending him updates.
‘Oh, thanks, Rupe. It is rather fabulous, isn’t it?’ Guy says with his usual lack of modesty. ‘It was a lot of hard work but it seems to have paid off.’
‘It certainly has,’ Rupert says, patting Guy on the back. ‘I just wish I knew how you’d done it.’
‘Oh,’ Guy says, waving his hand, ‘it’s just a natural creative flair, you know? You could call it a gift, I guess.’
I smile to myself. A gift. That’s it. It was my Christmas gift to Rupert – and Guy.
‘You must have had some help, though,’ presses Rupert. ‘I mean, looking around the place it feels like someone with a real knowledge of vintage fashion must have had a hand in it. Someone who works as a stylist every day, you know, someone like Carly? I mean, she’s our in-store style expert.’
‘Oh, um, well, of course she helped,’ stutters Guy, clearly struggling to retain some glory without risking Carly’s wrath. He has no idea who did the makeover either, so it could have been her. ‘Has she said anything?’
Rupert shakes his head. ‘I think she’s too modest.’
‘Well,’ Guy says, drawing himself up and pulling on one of his braces, ‘I couldn’t have done it without her, obviously. We, er, we make a great team. Her style, my vision, we’re irreplaceable!’
‘If you carry on selling like you are you certainly will be, Guy,’ laughs Rupert. ‘I can’t wait to show the Board your department’s figures. Keep up the good work!’ And he moves off, making notes on his clipboard as he passes me at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Hello, Mr Hardy,’ I say shyly, but he’s so busy scribbling he doesn’t seem to hear me.
Lily’s tearoom is full of customers as I walk in, cups are clinking, the cake stands are empty and Lily is happily purveying her territory from behind the counter.
‘Evie darling! I wondered where you’d got to this morning. I thought maybe you hadn’t made it to work after last night!’
‘I made it all right,’ I say with a grimace. ‘I just haven’t been able to escape till now, it’s been so busy.’
Suddenly I wish I’d followed Lily’s lead when it came to stopping at two drinks. She had a sip from her third when we did the toast but then refused to have any more. So, obviously I drank it for her. Now she looks as fresh as ever, whereas I feel like something that Rupert would feed to his animals at his farm.
‘I know, fabulous isn’t it?’ Lily exclaims, her blue eyes glittering like a sun-kissed ocean. ‘Although I have to say I could do with some help in here. My legs aren’t what they used to be and I’ve been rushed off them this morning. Luckily, I called Iris and she said she’ll come in and help me.’
I spot Iris, serving tea and tiny triangle-cut sandwiches to a couple sitting in the corner. She has a retro-print 1970s apron on over her mustard polo neck, cream chinos and a big floppy fedora.
‘I bet she’s a wonderful assistant,’ I smile.
‘She is,’ Lily says. ‘We’ve got a great system going. I have to say, it’s rather lovely having her here, not to mention all the customers. Last night made me realize just how lonely I’ve become, spending all day in this empty tearoom and then going back to my little flat. It’s just not how Lily Carmichael was meant to live. I’m a people person, darling. Always was, always will be!’ She pauses and clasps my hands in hers. ‘You know, I had such fun last night. And I’m so happy Sam suggested we meet every week. It�
��ll give me something to look forward to. You have no idea how lonely I’ve been . . .’
‘Oh, I think I do,’ I murmur before meeting her gaze. ‘You’re not the only one who hasn’t had much of a social life until now, you know,’ I say with a wry smile.
‘But that’s all changing, right?’ she says, raising a thin, pencilled eyebrow. ‘Is that nice young Sam the fella you’ve been courting?’
I feel a blush rise to my cheeks. ‘Sam? No, he’s just a friend.’
Her smile fades a little. ‘Oh, I see. But I wonder if he does . . . ?’ I frown at her as I try to work out what she means. She leans in closer. ‘If I’m not much mistaken, Sam is sweet on you, my girl,’ she says, tapping my arm with her hand.
I’m about to deny this when Iris dashes over, gives me a squeeze and delivers an order to Lily. ‘Two teas, one scone, one Chelsea bun and a plate of roast beef and horseradish sandwiches, please, dear, and make it quick!’
‘Coming up, Iris darling!’ Lily takes Iris’s scribbled piece of paper and then turns to me. ‘Do you fancy making the teas for me?’ And she throws an apron at me.