‘Oh Sam, it’s the story of my life. Well “love life” to be precise. Tom and I are over before we really began,’ I say, keeping my voice low so as not to be overheard.
‘What do you mean, over?’
‘Over! As in split up.’
‘Whaat? I don’t believe it. Just like that?’ Sam makes wide eyes.
‘Yep, just like that.’
Sam lets out a long whistle. I’ve told her everything. The NDA. Tom thinking I’d love the surprise of being in a reality show. Hannah and her colour chart. Zara snaffling two high-end designer bags for herself. Right down to her having the hots for Tom and practically chewing her own collar right through to escape Carrington’s, just so she can sink her perfect veneers into him in Paris – the city of love, after all.
‘So, let me get this straight – he suggested you call it a day and you agreed?’ Sam says, raising an eyebrow as she scoops off a marshmallow and pops it into her mouth.
‘That’s right. Two can play at his game.’
‘But hang on … you didn’t actually want to split up?’
‘Of course not,’ I say, feebly.
‘Hmm, and how do feel now?’ she asks.
‘Like I wish I’d never said the things I did.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. Talk to him, I guess?’
‘Good, because one of you has to be sensible. You can’t just split up over nothing.’
‘It’s not nothing.’
‘OK, he kept a secret, and not for the first time, granted – but still, it would be such a shame. You two are good together.’ I manage a wry smile. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. You can sort this out. I promise.’ Sam points to a generous slice of Battenberg on the top shelf of the cake stand and raises her eyebrows encouragingly. I waver before shaking my head.
‘No, thank you. I’m stuffed.’ I’ve already eaten my way though a red velvet cupcake and a delicious Christmas stollen slice smothered in dusty white icing sugar with an edible sprig of holly on top. I clutch my stomach.
‘Why don’t you just call him now and see if you can sort it out?’ Sam tilts her head to one side. I hesitate.
‘Because, I, well … ’
‘You want him to contact you?’ she finishes for me, and I nod. ‘From what you’ve told me, you could have a wait – you know how “gentlemanly” he can be?’ Sam does speech marks in the air and smiles. ‘That year he spent at the exclusive polo school in Argentina certainly wasn’t wasted. They turn out royalty too, you know.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘So, my guess is he’ll respect your decision, even if he didn’t really want to split up and it was just all in the heat of the moment. If he’s gone away thinking it’s what you want, then … ’
‘But what if Zara does go to Paris? You’ve seen how stunning she is. She makes Rosie Huntington-Whiteley look dowdy, for God’s sake.’
‘Georgie, have a bit more faith. You’re gorgeous too. Plus Tom isn’t like that. He’s not going to jump straight into bed with Zara. She may well fancy him, but that doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. Besides, he’ll probably be back soon, won’t he? And then you two can talk properly?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Didn’t you ask?’
‘No, I just wanted to get out of his office as fast as I could,’ I say, mulling over what she’s said.
‘Never mind. Eddie will know. Look, if it’s really going to play on your mind, then let’s stalk her.’ Sam smiles mischievously as she licks cake crumbs from her fingertips.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Google her, of course. Knowledge is power and all that,’ she laughs. ‘Hold on.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘You’ll see.’
Five minutes later, Sam returns with her iPad under her arm and sits down next to me.
‘Right. Let’s see what we can dish up on the handbag snatcher,’ Sam sniffs, before flipping open the case and tapping the screen.
zara cooper
‘I’ll start with that. Not sure if it’s her real name, but there’s bound to be something,’ Sam says authoritatively and, a few seconds later, a list of entries appears on the screen. ‘Ahh, here we go.’ She clicks on a link titled Zaramakesasplash and we both start reading.
Stunning TV heiress had the sailors all of a lather when she treated them to a sneak preview of her super sexy new swimwear range …
‘Hmmm.’ Sam stretches the screen to enlarge a picture of Zara in a cherry-red tasselled monokini that nicely accentuates her spectacular handspan waist and silicone missile boobs.
‘She has her own swimwear range.’ The words come out of my mouth but it’s as if somebody else is saying them. My heart sinks. I can’t compete with a swimwear model – the last time I dragged my boring black Speedo out of the cupboard it was covered in mildew.
‘Well, I’ve never heard of it,’ Sam snorts, and she should know: her vast array of bikinis, tankinis, wraps and Havaianas have their own sunshine-yellow-painted beachwear wardrobe installed in her summer season dressing room. Sam has two dressing rooms in her beachfront villa, one for Spring/Summer wear and the other for Autumn/Winter. ‘Let’s carry on. I saw that episode last season and she ends up skidding on a wet patch on the deck before practically cramming her face into the belly of a rotund man who was busy downing a very frothy lager. Hence the “lather” line. He spilt the whole pint over her.’
Sam scrolls through the entries before hesitating. Her finger hovers.
‘What is it?’ I ask on seeing her face.
‘Err, nothing,’ she mutters.
‘Click it then.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Just click it please.’ And she does.
Saliva drains from my mouth. There, on the screen right in front of me, is a picture of Zara standing outside a nightclub, with her arms wrapped around Tom. Her lips are pressed on his. And the caption underneath says …
Childhood sweethearts destined for happy-ever-after …
Tears sting in my eyes. A sickening heat prickles down my legs and arms leaving my hands feeling numb.
‘That’s enough.’ Sam snaps the cover back on her iPad and swivels her face towards mine. ‘Hey, don’t cry,’ she says gently, keeping her voice low and soothing. ‘Why are you so upset? You said yourself that you’d only been on a few dates. It’s not like you were sleeping together or anything, is it? You’ll move on; you’re only young and there are loads of fit men around. Tell you what, we’ll go down to that bar by the marina one evening – there’s bound to be a few good catches in there. Might even bag you a guy with a super-yacht, how thrilling would that be?’ Sam nudges me with her elbow and I know she’s just trying to cheer me up so I don’t worry about being single again. After Brett, it took me nearly two years to get together with Tom. OK, I had the odd evening out with a few guys and then the one-night stand with James during that time too, but it’s not the same as a proper boyfriend. I chew the inside of my cheek. Sam places the iPad on the table. Silence follows. And then she realises.
‘Oh God, you were sleeping together, weren’t you? Oh honey, come here.’ Sam swings her arms around my shoulders and gives me an enormous hug, enveloping me in a heady mixture of Halston Woman perfume and vanilla frosting.
‘I’m sorry.’ I lean in to her for maximum comfort.
‘What for?’ She pulls back to see my face.
‘For not telling you,’ I say, running my index fingers under my eyes in a feeble attempt to keep my mascara intact.
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘But we tell each other everything. It was only one night,’ I sniff, unable to stem the tears any longer. I wipe the back of my hand across my cheek. ‘I’m such a rubbish friend,’ I add, feeling really sorry for myself. Sam places her hands on my arms.
‘Now, listen. You are an amazing friend, and an amazing person, and if Tom doesn’t realise when he’s well off, then he’s … well, he’s a mug, quite frankly.’ Sam
shakes her curls defiantly. ‘I would call him an arse, a wanker even, but if you end up sorting it all out and marrying him or something, then you’ll never forgive me. So for now, he’s just a mug.’ She grabs a napkin and hands it to me. ‘A really crappy one. One that you get in Poundland or, worse still, one of those mugs that comes free with an Easter egg and practically melts your fingerprints right off because the china is so thin.’ I attempt a watery smile.
‘God, I’m sorry. I feel like such an idiot. I knew deep down that I was probably punching above my weight with Tom.’ I pull a face.
‘Will you stop it! You’re my best friend and I love you, but I hate hearing you rubbish yourself like this. You’re gorgeous, funny, kind – a bit bonkers sometimes, admittedly,’ she shakes her head, ‘but Tom is crazy about you. And I should know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Italy. Ring any bells? He couldn’t wait to come and surprise you. He’s besotted with you. I could hear it in his voice, every time we spoke on the phone to go over the plans.’
‘Well, he has a funny way of showing it,’ I say, taking a massive slurp of hot chocolate and scalding the roof of my mouth in the process. I grab a slice of Battenberg and take a big bite to sooth the pain.
‘He even said as much to Nathan … how you’re not like any other girl he’s known.’
‘I bet. Especially if they are all stunning like … Zaaara. Even her name is flirty and glamorous-sounding.’ I take another bite of the cake.
‘Now that’s enough,’ Sam says. ‘Will you please have a bit of faith? You’re a grown, confident woman, so put a smile on your face, swallow your pride, find out what time it is in Paris and bloody call him. I’m not going to sit back while you throw a pity party for one.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a feeble voice.
‘And quit saying sorry.’ She creases her forehead. ‘Sorry,’ she quickly adds, and we both crack up.
‘Ha!’ I’m the first to recover. ‘I’m being silly, aren’t I?’ I pull a cartoon sad face to lighten the mood.
‘A bit.’ Sam holds up a thumb and index finger in front of my face as a measure. ‘Look, life is too short. We both know that.’ She squeezes my hand gently as the unspoken thought passes between us. I nod, remembering Mum, gone too soon, and now Alfie.
‘Do you want Tom back?’ she asks, looking serious now.
‘Yes,’ I say, relishing the feeling I get whenever I think about him. I’ve never felt it so intensely and that has to mean something. Maybe he still is my one. And if there’s a glimmer of a chance that he is, then I can’t just give up. Some people search a lifetime looking for their one, so I should count myself lucky that he’s here, right under my nose … well, in Paris to be exact, if I really want to get picky about it.
‘So go for what you want. Grab him with both hands—’
‘One on each bum cheek.’ I snort.
‘Exactly. Don’t let her steal him away from you. Call him.’
‘OK. I will.’ I swallow hard.
‘Promise?’
‘I promise. Now, can we please change the subject?’
‘Yes,’ Sam says, decisively. ‘I’m going to have one of those 4D scans.’
‘Fab.’ I smile.
‘It is.’ Sam tries not to laugh again as we attempt a sensible conversation.
‘Err, what is a 4D scan?’
‘I have no idea. But Jenny – works in Greggs up by the station, you know, the one whose husband is in Afghanistan?’ I nod. ‘Well, she’s pregnant as well and due a few months before me.’
‘Ahh, that’s nice,’ I say, wondering how she managed it. Last time I bumped into Jenny on the bus, she said Tony was away on another tour.
‘They got lucky during his last R&R,’ Sam explains, as if reading my mind. ‘Anyway, she gave me the number of a clinic over by the golf course that does a whole range of different scans, and they give you a DVD to take away. And if you sign up for the pay-per-view scheme, you can even go in and watch the baby whenever you like on their fifty-inch plasma screen. It’s just like being at the cinema, she said. I’m so excited and I can’t wait to see little Honey Moon Taylor making her debut. Wonder if she’ll give me a wave,’ Sam squeals, and I give her a big hug.
‘Oh me too. When can you tell if it is actually a girl?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure. But I just know there’s a girl in here.’ Sam rubs her tummy. ‘At least there’d better be. I’m seeing gorgeous little dresses and Hello Kitty everywhere, not Bob the Builder and mountains of mud.’ Sam rolls her eyes.
‘And what about Nathan?’
‘Ahh, he says any child is a gift and he just wants them to be happy and healthy. Me too, of course … but a girl would be really nice,’ she quickly adds.
‘Hmm, well I hope little Honey has more luck than me with men,’ I smile wryly.
‘Oh, you’ll be fine. Just call him.’ Sam stands up and starts clearing the table. I help her carry the cake stand and mugs over to the counter. ‘Let me know how it goes,’ she says, pushing open the swing door to the kitchen with her hip. I follow and place the mugs in the dishwasher, and the cake stand on the side, knowing how Sam likes them hand-washed instead.
‘Will do.’ I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Oh, one last thing – do you know what a shaman is?’
‘A whaat?’ Sam shrugs and pulls a face. ‘Can you eat it?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I smile.
‘Then I’m not interested. Why do you want to know?’
‘Just something I heard earlier.’
‘Is it important?’
‘No!’
Waving, I push though the swing door and take a deep breath before leaving the café and heading towards the staff lift. I’m going to call into Masood’s shop, and then ring Tom later because, it’s like Sam said, I’m a grown, confident woman. I say it over and over as a mantra inside my head while doing my absolute best to ignore a raft of sabotaging thoughts about mince pies and custard with ten Benson thrown in, while Zara boards an aeroplane bound for Paris wearing the teeniest-tiniest string bikini she can find.
8
Seven shopping weeks until Christmas
It’s Sunday morning and I’m admiring my gorgeous new big hair in the light-bulb-framed mirror and wondering if it might be just a bit over the top for a sales assistant. But Kelly insisted and who am I to argue? Besides, I secretly love my new hair extensions. I’ve gone from having a wispy brunette bob to mid-length luscious hair with caramel and honey highlights that swings back into place whenever I shake my head. I’m like something out of a L’Oréal advert. And I’ve had my teeth whitened, which was excruciating by the way, but sooo worth it as I now have a proper gleaming Hollywood smile.
Annie is sitting next to me and we’re in the makeshift dressing room down in the basement, which has been adorned with paper chains and tinsel so it feels really Christmassy, especially when Michael Bublé starts singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ on the radio. Kelly had an old stockroom cleared out and furnished with a row of chairs, mirrors and little changing cubicles. Every surface is crammed with cosmetics, packs of fashion tape, hair paraphernalia and continental breakfast platters, piled high with pastries and fruit, courtesy of Sam’s café. An enormous clothes rail runs the length of the room, crammed with virtually all of Womenswear’s stock, and an assortment of divine heels from Footwear. And I’m sure I spotted a pair of red lacquer-soled Louboutins nestling at the back – I sooo hope I get to wear them.
‘See you later, Georgie,’ Annie says, as Millie arrives to take her off somewhere.
‘Yes, will do, and good luck,’ I call out over my shoulder.
My mobile buzzes with the arrival of a text message. I quickly check the screen, hoping it’s from Tom, but it isn’t. I sag in disappointment on seeing that it’s another message from Dad. Not that I don’t like hearing from Dad, I do. I really do. Our relationship is great now and he’s really getting the hang of texting; he w
ants to know if I prefer carrots, cauliflower cheese or both with my roast dinner later on. I still don’t know the news he wants to share – he wouldn’t say when we spoke on the phone yesterday, said it’s best kept until he sees me – but it must be something important if he’s actually cooking. It’s not his forte. I tap out a reply and end it with a kiss followed by a heart icon – Dad will love it, inserting icons into a message is next on his agenda to master.
My finger hovers over the text message stream between Tom and me, and as I read the last four that I sent to him on Monday evening, right after seeing myself on TV, I cringe all over again. And like I have a trillion times – at least – since then, I ponder on sending him one last text.
After my chat with Sam in the café, I’ve tried calling Tom, several times in fact, but his number does an international ringing tone before going straight to voicemail, leaving me wondering if he’s actually avoiding me on purpose. I’m reluctant to leave a voice message for fear of umming and ahhing or generally making a fool of myself by sounding desperate. I’m not sure I could bear it if he didn’t call back. I decide to go ahead and text him instead. I’ve typed out:
Hi Tom hope you arrived safel
when Eddie appears, so I quickly delete it and shove the phone inside my pocket instead.
‘Heeeey sexy ladeeeee … ’ Eddie sings, doing a lasso movement in the air and shaking his hips in proper gangnam style. Pussy is tucked under his free arm and she’s wearing a Wonder Woman outfit complete with tiny red cape. I stroke her ear and she nuzzles into the palm of my hand as Eddie leans down to kiss my cheek.
‘Thank you,’ I say, doing a quick swing of my hair.
‘Oooh, get you, very red carpet and swishy. Has Kelly forgotten that we’re inside a department store located in a dull little seaside town?’ he sniffs, giving Pussy a treat from a tiny plastic barrel attached to her lead.
‘Maybe, but I’m not complaining.’ I grin and turn back to face the mirror.
Carrington's at Christmas Page 40