11
It’s Wednesday evening in my flat, and the atmosphere at work this week has been really buzzy, mingled with lots of anticipation. There’s a rumour going around the store that Mulberry-On-Sea council want the cast of Kelly Cooper Come Instore to switch the Christmas lights on in town. Now that would be epic. Last year, they had the utterly lush country singer and local guy, Dan Kilby, do it. He turned up looking hot in leather jeans and a checked shirt, with his guitar slung over his shoulder, just like Gunnar Scott in Nashville.
All week, the regular customers have been instore, dressed up in their best gear hoping to get their faces on camera. Mr and Mrs Peabody even turned up on Sunday, and Kelly let them in to mingle as background shoppers. And a reporter from the Mulberry Echo popped instore yesterday hoping to get an exclusive about the TV show, but one of Kelly’s minions appeared from behind the Missoni mannequin and shooed her away. Apparently, Kelly doesn’t do local rags, much preferring big glossy sleb magazines with three-page photoshoots. Serena, one of the Clarins concession girls, and absolutely stunning, did GQ after the pilot and got to keep the Calvin Klein jewellery collection she modelled. I wonder if I’ll get to do one – I’m still holding out for a free diet delivery service, especially as my tiny freezer is now jammed with a turkey that serves 10–12 people (I didn’t read the label properly) and one hundred and forty-eight cocktail sausages. Tesco had them in the ‘buy one box get two free’ deal. And my fridge is brimming with buck’s fizz for the festive period – it was such a bargain that I’d have been a fool not to, a case of six bottles for only £9 – I got two. So even if I did want to stock up on healthy food to cook from scratch, I’ve got nowhere to store it.
Eddie and Sam are here, and we’ve just polished off an enormous pepperoni pizza while waiting for Kelly Cooper Come Instore to start. Sam and Eddie are lounging side by side on the sofa, with Mr Cheeks kneading Sam’s thigh. I’m snuggled in the beanbag next to the radiator, wearing my fleecy leopard-print onesie and Ugg boots, and I’m still freezing.
‘Ooh, it’s soo exciting,’ Eddie says, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. ‘You know, Claire could be watching right now, scanning her flatscreen searching for the next reality TV star to manage – yours truly, natch.’ He pulls a compact mirror out of his man-bag and preens for a bit.
‘You know, I think Dad knew Claire. She’s Peter Andre’s manager, right?’ Sam says, casually, and I remember Alfie had lots of celebrity friends, so it’s highly likely.
‘Whaaaat? Faints. You mean to tell me that you’ve been sitting on this highly prized piece of information and didn’t even think to mention it?’ Eddie is outraged.
‘Sorry, didn’t realise it was important.’ Sam shrugs.
‘Important! This revelation could change my whole life. Can you call her?’ Eddie asks, leaning forward.
‘What now?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t know her. And I don’t have her phone number.’ Sam shakes her head and Eddie slings the mirror back in his bag before sidling into her.
‘But you could get it for your very best GBF, couldn’t you? Have I ever told you that I love you, and how your hair is looking sooo luscious these days, darling, and you’re going to be such a fabulous yummy mummy,’ Eddie purrs, working it to the max as he strokes Sam’s arm with a wicked glint in his eyes.
‘Stop it, you big schmoozer.’ Sam laughs. ‘I could ask Dad’s old PA, I guess. What’s it worth?’ She slurps the last of her orange juice through a pink bendy straw.
‘Err … a free stint in your delightful café!’ Eddie immediately offers.
‘Blimey, you must be keen. Not like you to volunteer for extra work, Ed,’ I interject, before swallowing an enormous mouthful of buck’s fizz. Thought it best to make a start if I’m to work my way through all of it before New Year’s Eve, when I’ll need the space for a bottle or two of champagne. I pour a generous measure into Eddie’s flute too.
‘Ha-ha.’ He sticks his tongue out.
‘Washing up?’ Sam asks hopefully, and Eddie winces.
‘I was thinking of something more … customer facing! Seeing as I’m such a wonderful raconteur, as you know … ’ He pauses for maximum impact. ‘So you might as well utilise my key skill, darlings.’ He flashes us both a look as we stifle a snigger. ‘Front of house, stirring drinks, that kind of thing.’ He makes pleading puppy-dog eyes at Sam and speeds up the stroking.
‘God, you’re incorrigible. I’ll see what I can do,’ she says, yanking her arm away. Eddie plants a kiss on her cheek and Sam laughs.
‘You won’t regret it.’
‘I think I already am.’ Sam rolls her eyes.
‘Will you two pack it in, the show is about to start,’ I say, taking the TV remote and turning the volume up. I grab a cushion to hide behind – just in case. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach and I can’t stop shivering, but I’m not so sure it’s the winter weather now as it’s actually roasting in here. I guess it must be nerves. Eddie throws himself upright so he’s perched on the edge of the sofa.
A funky version of Dolly Parton’s ‘Working Nine To Five’ starts playing and, as he whoops, Eddie practically leaps across the room, he’s that excited.
‘Oh my God. I just knew this was going to be sensational. Kelly said as much when we were filming in the spa. She even gave me a speaking part,’ Eddie gushes.
‘What do you mean a “speaking part” – aren’t you all talking while you’re being filmed then?’ Sam asks, stating the obvious.
‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but given my natural flair for the limelight – Kelly’s actual words … ’ He pauses to strike a pose in front of the balcony patio doors, and I try not to laugh. ‘Yes, Kelly upgraded me to “staged spontaneity”.’ He makes quote signs with his fingers. ‘So, I got to act out a completely fabricated scenario. The whole crew were very impressed with my ability to … ad lib,’ he finishes with a flourish. Sam and I stare at him for a few seconds before clapping enthusiastically and then turning back to the TV.
Sam reaches her hand out to grip mine, and there on the screen is Kelly, standing on the pavement in front of the main entrance to Carrington’s, with her arms folded, talking about olde worlde charm and how it has no place in the modern retail world, and if Carrington’s wants to thrive and be part of the future then we really must up our game. And she’s the woman to show us how. I knew it! There’ll be glass lifts replacing the wooden escalators before we know it, and the cherry-wood panelling will be ripped out to make way for tiles and chrome. She’s going to sterilise Carrington’s. Oh God. Maybe us being on Kelly Cooper Come Instore isn’t such a good idea after all, and I so wish Tom was here so I could make him see sense before it’s too late.
I grab my phone, and without hesitation I press to call his number, one last time. I PM’d him on Facebook days ago which he’s ignored, I even tried Skypeing him but that request was ignored too. I’m going to try again, if not for our fledgling romance, then for Carrington’s, before it’s too late. The number rings out. Sam and Eddie stare at me. Eddie swipes the remote from the coffee table, pauses the programme and frantically mouths.
‘What the hell are you doing? We’re going to miss the start.’
I’m just about to hang up when the international ringing tone stops. Tom’s voicemail doesn’t kick in this time. I hold my breath. Silence follows.
‘Hello, Tom?’ I eventually manage. Sam is shaking her head.
‘Hang up,’ she whispers quickly, and tries to take the phone from me. It ends up being suspended midway between the two of us when a voice talks out into the open air of my lounge.
‘He is busy.’ It’s a woman’s voice. With a French accent. Sultry and breathy-sounding. Sam wrenches the phone from my hand and quickly presses the button to end the call.
‘What are you doing? You can’t chase him,’ she says, with a horrified look on her face.
‘Calling
him, like you told me to,’ I say, desperately trying to keep my voice even. I want to yell. Who is she? He’s only been gone a little while and already another woman is fielding his calls. Answering his mobile – doesn’t get more intimate than that. Unless they’re actually having sex. The thought makes my vision filmy and my chest tighten.
‘But that was then, hun,’ Sam says, gently.
‘And now is now – which explains why he’s ignoring you,’ Eddie butts in, wagging a pointed finger in the air.
‘Eddie!’ Sam snaps.
‘Sorry, was just saying … ’ He shrugs his shoulders.
‘Well don’t.’ She glares at him.
‘Oh, I’m only joking. Georgie knows I adore her and, well, if I’m totes honest, then I’m cross – how dare Tom do this to her and then swan off?’ Eddie grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. ‘Push it out of your mind, babycakes. You know how easily you jump to conclusions – she’s probably a production assistant and ugly as hell, with a Cyclops eye and a snaggle tooth. Maybe Tom was on the loo or something.’ He grimaces. ‘Tell you what, let’s watch the show and then you can see for yourself. They might show him scouring the Champs-Elysées looking for gorgeous handbags for you to sell. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ Eddie pats the back of my hand as if he’s placating a toddler.
‘Yes, maybe,’ I manage, calming down a bit. He’s right, the sexy-sounding woman could be anyone, and I mustn’t judge all men by my ex’s, Brett’s, standards. I take my phone back from Sam and surreptitiously swipe through to the world clock app. It’s ten p.m. here, which means it’s eleven p.m. in Paris – surely Tom wouldn’t be filming this late in the evening? The thought lingers as Eddie presses play on the remote control, and Kelly comes back onto the screen.
The first half of the show is mainly Kelly talking about her years of experience serving customers in the fashion and retail business, with clips of old film footage from the Sixties of her strolling down Carnaby Street in London, dressed in a mini dress and long white vinyl boots on her way to work in a trendy boutique with freaky-looking mannequins in the bay window. And now she’s talking about Carrington’s staff, introducing each of us as if we’re celebrities.
‘Remember to look out for the gorgeous Georgie Hart who runs Women’s Accessories; she’ll also be sharing her fashion and beauty tips next week in Closer magazine.’ Wow, how nice of her, and I find myself smiling, despite still feeling disgruntled over the French woman answering Tom’s mobile, and the very real possibility that Kelly may change Carrington’s beyond recognition – and not necessarily in a good way. Eddie and Sam give me a round of applause. ‘And Eddie, the boss’s BA. What can I say? He’s a natural star. Born for this.’ Eddie glows as he beams at Sam and me.
‘See! I told you she adores me,’ Eddie says. ‘You too Georgie.’ And maybe he has a point. I glance at the bulging goody bag nestling under my little silver Christmas tree (I couldn’t wait to put it up) which arrived from a PR company. It’s crammed full of lotions and potions for me to try out and talk about in the column. Hannah said not to worry if I can’t be bothered to actually test the products and then write about them, as she’ll get one of KCTV’s people to do it for me. But I can not wait to dive in. I’ve already had a peep and saw a Jo Malone candle in a new gingerbread Christmassy scent, a beautifully fragrant Soap & Glory strawberry body scrub, there’s even a full-size pot of that new CC cream that everyone is raving about – it costs a fortune and they gave it to me for free! I really could get used to this celebrity lifestyle, especially as ASOS are couriering a selection of accessories for me to try out and write about too.
Next up on screen is Zara, donning her floppy hat, which is pretty pointless, given that all of the Carrington’s staff know who she is now. She does a spiel about having identified several areas of Carrington’s customer service that ‘need work’ – flaming cheek. And now I’m on the screen, with the poker-face woman going on about the scratch on the crocodile skin bag, and I don’t believe it. The voiceover guy is wittering on about me just not getting it. Not getting what? Sam tuts. Eddie is up and pacing around now, and I’ve got my face half hidden behind the cushion. I don’t look too bad, my hair and make-up is fab, and the DVF suit nicely accentuates my curves. That old adage of the camera adding on ten pounds doesn’t seem true, as I still look fairly slim – not as slim as Annie, of course, she’s tiny, but not too bad, even if I do say so myself.
Zara is back now and is saying that I should have offered the woman a substantial discount to compensate for the scratch, and that’s why I lost the sale! Unbelievable. If she was half the retail expert that she thinks she is, then she would have familiarised herself with Carrington’s pricing policy – if there’s any kind of hesitation over the quality of the bag, then we always offer another unopened one from the stockroom, which I did. Every decent sales assistant knows that knocking money off the high-end bags just depreciates their value and perceived specialness. It’s a basic. I take a big gulp of buck’s fizz. At least they cut the ladder incident – something to be grateful for, I suppose.
After the ad break, they show me dealing with the complaint, but have cut out the bit where the actor accuses Annie of having used the bag, and also my ‘Zara’ comment. And now Kelly is talking about the new pet spa, and how it’s already boosting revenue for Carrington’s. Eddie is silent, he’s actually got his palms pressed together in a kind of meditative state as we watch him appear on the screen, and he looks fantastic. Really suave, and sort of … illuminated. He’s got a ton of make-up on and has the ‘tits and teeth’ thing going on too, with his shoulders back and an enormous gleaming white smile fixed into place, and the camera really loves him. It’s amazing. It’s as if he was born to it. He’s parading around the spa now, pretending to be looking for a mate for Pussy – introducing all the dogs by name and telling the viewers about each one’s personality. Trixie the poodle loves cuddles. Albert the puppy mutt likes lots of exercise. And oh my God – Eddie is looking directly into the camera now, adopting Kelly’s pointy finger pose and asking the viewers to go online after the show to vote for their favourite friend for Pussy. He’s just like a pro.
‘Genius, Eddie. Well done,’ I cheer, feeling relieved that my bit is over. I’m made up for him. ‘Are you OK?’ He has actual tears in his eyes and I’ve never seen Eddie cry before. Never.
‘Oh it’s nothing. Stupid queen,’ he says, quickly brushing the tears away with the back of his hand before topping up his glass with more buck’s fizz.
‘Wow. Think I’d better call Claire, first thing tomorrow.’ Sam smiles. ‘A star is born! Don’t forget us two when you’re lounging by an infinity pool somewhere exotic with your pool boy bringing you piña colada spritzers.’ She gives him a nudge with her foot.
‘Oooh yes, now wouldn’t that be fabulous? Eddie says, perking up. ‘Say it again,’ he insists, pulling his mirror out to preen some more, and we all laugh.
Turning back to the TV, my smile instantly freezes. Tom is on the screen. He’s wearing the midnight blue Mr Carrington tuxedo, which frames a crisp white shirt, the collar of which is undone to reveal a teaser of his black-curly-haired and very firm tanned chest that has just the right hint of sheen. His dark curly hair is gelled back and he has a shadow of stubble on his chin. His cheeky smile is in place and his eyes are twinkling. My stomach flips and my pulse quickens; he looks utterly gorgeous, as always, and all my doubts about him melt in an instance. It’s as if everything that’s happened between us is irrelevant, silly and inconsequential. I just want to touch him and feel his arms around me, talk to him, share a joke, inhale his delicious chocolatey scent and let him tickle me all over. Oh God, I miss him so much. And I don’t think I realised just how much, until now. Silence follows.
‘Cor! He scrubs up well.’ It’s Eddie who breaks the moment. Sam squeezes my hand tighter as we watch Tom’s scene unfold. He’s being shown around the actual House of Dior! Oh my God. I’m riveted to the screen. I’d love to go there
. The bags are divine, and now he’s being shown the exquisite Granville in cruise blue, named after the fashion designer’s home town. I wonder if this means we’ll be stocking Dior bags – my pulse races at the prospect.
The camera follows Tom into a waiting car and we see him being shown the sights of Paris: iconic Métro signs, the Eiffel Tower, of course, the Moulin Rouge with its famous red windmill on the roof. The opulent Pont Alexandre III bridge with gold statues over a tree-lined River Seine, with bobbing houseboats at the water’s edge. Past cobbled narrow alleyways opening out into squares full of chic cafés with striped awnings and seats outside, mingled in with buckets of glorious multicoloured blooms from the many flower shops. Oh, I so wish I was there with him to share a croissant and drink espresso. It looks glorious and really romantic.
Tom arrives at a studio where he’s about to meet a jewellery designer, when the ad break starts.
‘Top-up,’ I say to Eddie, hoping neither of them notices my trembling hands. It’s incredible the effect Tom has on me. And then a thought pops into my head – I wonder if he misses me, I wonder if he’s watching the show. I know it probably isn’t broadcast in Paris, but he could be watching online. I hope he is, then he’ll have seen me looking my best – with the big hair and lovely outfit, and not the ladder bit, thankfully. And I’m not bothered about Zara saying I should have given the woman a discount, Tom knows that isn’t Carrington’s policy, and he’s the boss, not Zara, despite what she may think.
We’ve all been to the bathroom and topped up our drinks when the show comes back on. And I freeze. With the glass halfway to my mouth, which is hanging open, a horrible hot sensation trickles right through me. I place the glass down and hold my breath. There, on the TV screen in my shoebox lounge, is Tom, laughing and looking utterly beautiful in a white shirt and brown leather riding boots over tight white jodhpurs. He’s on a moonlit sandy beach under a starry night sky, riding bareback on a fiery steed, just like a hero in that Bonnie Tyler song … which incidentally is bellowing out in the background. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s an exquisite, olive-skinned, barefoot woman in a flimsy flowing gypsy dress that’s ridden up to show off her toned thighs – her arms are wrapped around his back and her long luscious dark hair is splaying all around them. But he’s supposed to be in Paris? Last I heard, they didn’t have beaches in Paris.
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