Carrington's at Christmas

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘But I didn’t realise.’

  Tom laughs and a fizzle of electricity shoots up my arm as his fingers gently stoke mine. Then a bald-headed, beer-bellied man tries to squeeze behind me to get through the crowd, and as he stumbles into my back I’m suddenly catapulted into Tom’s chest. I draw in his delicious scent as he places his hands, one on each of my arms, to rescue me from being winded. The feeling is so intense it makes me gasp. But then I quickly pull away. I’m not falling for it a second time.

  ‘But you told Maxine the weekend was “predictable”. What did you mean by that?’ I can’t look him in the eye.

  ‘Predictable?’ He ponders for a moment. ‘Oh yes, I was just making conversation. She wanted to know what happened, so I told her … you know, people started off not liking the idea of team activities but soon got over it and ended up enjoying themselves – a typical team-building event,’ he says, casually. Then he touches my chin and gently turns my face towards his. My heart surges again as he leans down to whisper in my ear. ‘Georgie, what happened to you to make you so mistrusting?’ Silence follows. I pull away. ‘Have a bit more faith, I wasn’t talking about you. Far from it.’

  ‘But what about Maxine?’ The words are out of my mouth before I know it. His face changes, he looks at me blankly, his forehead creases. ‘The phone call?’ I say, trying to jog his memory. I feel more confident now. I’m not losing my job after all, and in spite of what he’s just said, I still want to know if he’s been sleeping with Maxine.

  ‘What phone call?’ he says, genuinely looking as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

  ‘You know, the one from the hotel room, I err … overheard you, the door was open.’ I feel nervous now and immediately regret having said anything. And then, God I hope he doesn’t ask me how I know. I quickly rack my brains searching for a suitable explanation, and I realise I’m bobbing again from one foot to the other. I quickly stop.

  ‘Why would you think I was talking to Maxine?’ he asks, creasing his forehead. The nerves are replaced by a panic now that’s slowly building up inside me.

  ‘Weell,’ I start, stalling for time. ‘I just presumed you were,’ I finish, swallowing hard. The last thing I want is him thinking that I’m some kind of nutcase snooper, especially if there’s even the slightest chance I’ve got it all wrong, somehow. Maybe he is for real.

  ‘But why Maxine?’ Jesus, he’s not going to let this drop. I swallow again and decide to confront him.

  ‘Because you’re sleeping with her?’ I say, tentatively. His face doesn’t move. A wave of nausea rides up through me.

  He laughs, and I feel so insecure. ‘That’s absurd. Why would you think that?’ His eyes are still smiling and he strokes my hand again.

  ‘I saw you with her in the corridor. She had her arm in yours, she was practically pawing you.’ His forehead creases again as if he’s trying to remember. ‘And you were seen together, actually snogging by the car park.’ Ha! Try wriggling out of it now. I have to look away because the physical attraction to him is so intense that it’s making me feel confused and clouding my judgement. How can I be this attracted to a man when I’m sure he’s having an affair with another woman, my boss? I take a deep breath in an attempt to clear my head.

  ‘Of course!’ he says, as though he’s suddenly recovered from temporary amnesia. ‘The car park. Hmmm, but we weren’t kissing as in kissing kissing.’ I frown and he shakes his head and lets out a big puff of air as if he’s annoyed.

  ‘Well, what kind of kissing was it then?’ I ask, confused. And he hasn’t denied it.

  ‘It’s a bit awkward really.’ He casts a look around before leaning in.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘She grabbed me! And well … she’s just a man-eater. I didn’t stand a chance. Honest to God, she just lunged at me, and before I knew it I was body-slammed up against the wall.’ He pulls a face and makes big eyes. The way he says man-eater, as though he’s genuinely terrified of her, makes me giggle. And I can’t stop, I feel slightly hysterical. I quickly force myself to get it together. ‘And Georgie, I was talking to Walter that morning. I’m not sleeping with Maxine, or anybody else for that matter.’ He stares into my eyes again. ‘But I would love to continue things with you. Be my Valentine?’ He looks downwards, treating me to a flash of his long velvety eyelashes. ‘If you want to, that is. I’ll even throw in the odd sketch and a few crazy golf lessons,’ he adds, looking back up and treating me to a really cheeky, sexy grin. His eyes draw me in. My heart soars. A lovely feeling of relief washes over me. Relief from knowing he wasn’t playing with me after all, and then heightened relief when it dawns on me that he hasn’t twigged about the phone call. No, he’s not even suspicious. In an instant I realise just how incredible he is. And … at last! I have my very own bona-fide Valentine. This is turning into a fantastic day. The best Valentine’s Day ever.

  But there’s something niggling me, casting a shadow. I can’t help wondering why he was talking to Walter, and will he still want me if I become the new floor supervisor and promptly sack him?

  As I’m mulling this over, an amplified bell chimes, stealing my moment to respond. Then a rosy-cheeked toastmaster, standing on a podium and waving a bell in front of a microphone, announces that a buffet lunch is being served and that we’re all to proceed into the Gainsborough room, where we can wait for the bride to arrive for the wedding ceremony that will be taking place on the lawn outside.

  Tom leans into my neck and whispers, ‘Let’s continue this later.’ And the pack of fireworks that exploded for me that night in Brighton is suddenly rekindled and explodes inside me all over again. Tom squeezes my hand and turns to make his way to the buffet. I follow after him, feeling as though I’m gliding along on the biggest cloud in the sky as I’m jostled through to the other room.

  I see James just up ahead and a stab of guilt stings, throwing me back down to earth. I try and avoid him by pretending to fiddle with something in my clutch bag, but it’s no use, he spots me and waves for me to come over.

  ‘Wondered where you’d got to. You OK?’ he says, brightly. His hair is nicely dishevelled and he looks sexy, but in a completely different way from Tom – more schoolboyish and wholesome rather than supermodellish and a bit naughty.

  ‘Yes, yes I’m fine. Been mingling, you know how it is.’ The words trip from my mouth and I immediately feel like a fraud. I glance at his face; he looks happy and relaxed. We’ve made a pact, how can I go back on that and hurt him again? He’ll never forgive me a second time. A tension headache threatens around the nape of my neck. I feel as though I’ve been plunged into an impossible situation. Two gorgeous men and one promotion for the taking. I just wish that I could have it all, but I know I can’t.

  33

  There must be at least a dozen circular buffet tables dotted around the Gainsborough room. Each has its own romantic pet name with details of its wares on a placard standing on a long weighted wire stem. In between the tables are life-size cardboard cutouts of a cartoon Cupid in a variety of cutesy poses. The nearest one is winking at me.

  I wander over to a table called ‘Valentine Foufou’ and it’s loaded with oysters packed into trays of crushed ice. Next to it is a table labelled ‘Bobble Bunny – Royal Sevruga Caviar on buckwheat blinis’. I pop one into my mouth and instantly wish I hadn’t. The salty little balls bounce around on my tongue, tasting vile as I surreptitiously wash them down with the last of my champagne. I head over to the ‘Snuggles – Fifteen varieties of cheese’ table and ponder on which one to try. As I decide on a creamy goat’s cheese with a walnut oil drizzle, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see Lauren standing in front of me. She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and her hair is all bedraggled.

  ‘Georgie. I’m sorry, but, err, it’s Tina … she wants to see you,’ Lauren says, not looking at me. My heart drops. I place the empty flute down on the table and wipe my lips on one of the T&C gold-embossed napkins.

  ‘What do you m
ean? See me, but why?’ I say, panic welling. Why does she want to see me? Today, on her wedding day? Surely I’m the last person she wants to clap eyes on.

  ‘I don’t know. She … she just seems really fired up. She just told me to come and get you.’ Lauren looks as though she’s about to burst into tears.

  ‘It’s OK, it’s not your fault,’ I say softly, placing my hand on her arm. ‘Where is she?’ I ask, praying for it to be over with quickly.

  ‘I’ll take you.’ I follow Lauren as she practically runs from the room. Reaching the hallway, I have to break into a little jog to try and keep up with her.

  ‘Lauren, wait up, what’s the rush?’ I pant, just managing to catch up as she dashes along.

  ‘She told me to be fast. The wedding ceremony is due to start soon.’ Lauren keeps running.

  ‘Lauren, can I ask you something?’ She stops and turns to me. Her tiny face is almost trembling. She’s like a timid little puppy. ‘Why do you let her push you around like this?’

  ‘Because she’s my boss, she has all the power.’ As soon as the words come out of her mouth, I think of Maxine. That’s what it will be like for me if I take her up on the job offer. I can just envisage it, being her bitch. I shudder at the thought, but what’s the alternative? Up to my eyes in debt with no means of supporting myself? My flat repossessed? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘But why don’t you try to find another job?’ I ask, thinking, yes, and why don’t I? But it’s easier said than done in today’s climate. Just last night they were saying on the news how bad the job market is, and I still haven’t heard back about any of the applications I’ve made. And if I were lucky enough to get an interview, I’d be scrapping with fifty other people for just one job while worrying myself sick that Maxine might find out.

  ‘Because she’ll give me a rubbish reference. She’s already told me so. I can’t take the chance and end up being out of work. Not when I have Jack to think of.’

  ‘But she can’t do that … it’s illegal.’

  ‘I know, but you know what she’s like, she’ll find some way to jeopardise things for me.’

  ‘I’m sorry Lauren, I wish there was something I could do.’ I squeeze her arm. ‘And why aren’t you dressed up like everybody else?’ I add, glancing again at her clothes.

  ‘I’m not here as a guest. She’s paying me to be her assistant for the day,’ Lauren says breathlessly, trying to muster up a smile. Typical Tina. ‘Georgie?’ she says slowly, looking unsure.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Err, there is something you might be able to help me with.’ She looks really anxious.

  ‘Sure, what’s up?’ I ask, gently.

  ‘Not here. Can I call you?’ She bites her lip.

  ‘Of course you can. Anytime,’ I say, hoping she’s not in any serious trouble. We keep jogging until we reach the bridal suite. Lauren taps on the door. There’s no answer. We wait a few moments and then Karen, dressed in an unforgiving sky-blue satin bridesmaid dress, pulls the door open. A voice yells out from within the suite.

  ‘Send her in, and then you can both leave.’ It’s Tina dismissing her minions, and I feel like having it out with her once and for all. Who the hell does she think she is? But it’s her wedding day, so I take a deep breath and make my way in.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ I ask, pushing the heavy door closed behind me. For a moment I hesitate. Tina looks beautiful: her hair is piled high up on her head, with little diamanté butterfly clips dotted in between the twines of her braids. Her dress is exquisite – a cinched-in bodice and an enormous Big Fat Gypsy Wedding-style meringue, with what must be a trillion Swarovski crystals glittering through the multiple layers of tulle. But her eyes are glinting with anger and there’s a sinister smugness as well, almost like pleasure. Clutched in her right hand is a mobile phone.

  ‘Georgina, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on things, and I know it must have been hard for you …’ she starts.

  ‘What do you mean “hard for me”?’ I interrupt, wondering where this is leading.

  ‘Well. You know with me about to be married to … well, the man of your dreams, shall we say?’ Her voice is loaded with pity.

  ‘Man of my dreams? What do you mean?’ I can’t believe she’s still harping on about this. Yes, Ciaran is a workmate, but hardly compares with Tom.

  ‘Oh come on. Don’t try and pretend any more, Georgina. You’ve been after Ciaran ever since you first clapped eyes on him.’ Her voice escalates. She’s standing squarely in front of me now, her free hand perched on her meringue-covered hip, making her look like a big fluffy teapot.

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ I almost laugh out loud at the absurdity. But I manage to restrain myself when I see another flash of rage dart between her eyes. I decide to change tack. ‘Tina, will you drop this crazy competition? Please. It’s your wedding day, don’t spoil it for yourself.’

  ‘Crazy? I don’t think so. I’d say pretty accurate actually.’ She leans towards me and I can feel her breath on my face. Leaning back, I try to put some distance between us.

  ‘Well you’re wrong, and I’m sick of this, Tina. Yes he can be a bit flirty, but it’s just work banter. You know what it’s like in Carrington’s, lots of men do it, we have a laugh at work … or we used to,’ I say, unable to offer any more of an explanation to try and make her see sense.

  ‘Will you listen to yourself? Lots of men. Just who do you think you are?’ A glob of spittle threatens at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Tina, that’s not what I meant. Why don’t you just concentrate on the wedding?’ I say, hoping to calm things down. ‘Don’t spoil it for yourself.’

  ‘Look I’m not mad, so don’t try and insult me. I know something is going on.’ Her bottom lip trembles, and for a moment I feel sorry for her – she truly believes that Ciaran isn’t hers, and only hers. What a hideous feeling to have on your wedding day. ‘Why else was he in your hotel room? Naked!’

  I knew it. She heard everything. I gasp and clutch my neck.

  ‘Tina, it wasn’t what you think.’ But before I can explain, she butts in.

  ‘And all those evenings where he doesn’t answer his mobile. Supposedly working. Anyway I’ve got proof.’ She pulls a face at me before turning away.

  ‘What do you mean proof?’ I say nervously, racking my brain to work out what she’s managed to conjure up.

  ‘Proof. See. Right here.’ She shakes the phone at me.

  ‘What is it?’ I dread to think what she might have on Ciaran, or worse still what she thinks she has on me. Reason tells me there can’t be anything, but she seems so convinced that now I’m beginning to doubt myself.

  ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?’ and after tapping a few buttons on the phone, she shoves it at me, slapping it into my chest. Instinctively, I grab it as I step back from her force. Then I push it out in front of me. My hands are trembling as I read the Twitter DM on the screen.

  Sorry can’t meet tonight as planned. Sam’s Dad just died. Sure you’ll understand. Luv Gxxx

  ‘Where did you get this? This is a private direct message. You can’t just go trawling through other people’s Twitter feeds,’ I exclaim, wondering what this has to do with anything. It’s hardly proof.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t need to do that,’ she hisses, smugly.

  ‘So how did you get to see it then?’ I swallow and feel the paranoia surging again.

  ‘Ciaran of course. His pathetic attempt at proving he wasn’t with you that night.’ She spits the word ‘you’ at me and casts a look of contempt up and down my body. ‘But I don’t believe him. This is just a way of covering your tracks. So why don’t you tell me all about it?’ She flashes a sickening smile in my direction.

  ‘Tina, this is mad,’ I say, frantically jabbing at the screen with my finger.

  ‘Oh don’t give me that.’ Tina grabs the phone back from me and is standing even closer now. Her face is red and her neck is developing a blotchy rash
that’s spreading like a wild bushfire. I can’t prise my eyes away from her face. It’s as if it’s swelling up right in front of me. For a bizarre moment I imagine it exploding, her Restylane fillers splattering all over me. The eerie silence pulls me back into the moment. Tina is still staring at me, her face triumphant now. As though she thinks she’s won.

  ‘Tina, I’m sick of this. Do you really think there’s something going on between Ciaran and me? Really, come on, he’s marrying you, that must tell you something. Why else would he be doing that? It’s not as though you’ve got a gun to his head. Even you must know how far-fetched this all sounds,’ I say, desperately trying to make her see sense.

  ‘What do you mean, even me? God you are so far up yourself, it’s untrue.’

  Tina marches over to the window, her dress making a furious swooshing sound as she moves.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just tired of all this.’

  ‘I bet you are. Anyone would be, given all your … “extra-curricular” activity, shall we say.’ She gives me a smarmy smile.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, don’t come all innocent with me. Ciaran told me.’

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘That he’s been seeing you.’

  ‘He actually said those specific words, did he?’ My eyelid twitches. This is insane, why on earth would he say that?

  ‘Well, he said he’s been staying late practically every night to help out with flyers and promotions and stuff. But I know that’s just a cover – probably didn’t want to hurt me with the actual details of your filthy little affair.’ As the torrent of words comes out, a cold trickle of realisation makes me shiver. If what she says is true, then where has Ciaran really been, because I haven’t seen him staying late after work. Maybe he has got another woman on the side, after all, and Tina is convinced it’s me!

  ‘Anyway, I want you to stop seeing him. Do you hear me? After today, he’ll be a married man and I want you to keep away from him. Don’t talk to him, don’t tweet him, and don’t even look at him. In fact, don’t set foot inside the Cupcakes at Carrington’s café ever again. Do you get it?’ she yells, jabbing a finger in my direction.