‘Do you mind if we go? I need some fresh air.’ He stands up.
‘Sure. Of course,’ I say, grabbing my coat and racing after him as he strides off towards the door.
Outside, and I manage to catch up with Dan near the end of the road. His security man is close behind me. I touch Dan’s sleeve and he stops walking.
‘Dan, what is it?’ I ask, pulling on my woolly gloves. It’s dark, but he looks totally crushed in the glow from the streetlight we’re standing underneath. The security guy hangs back to give us some privacy.
‘Oh Georgie, it’s such a mess.’
‘Tell me,’ I say softly, and he hesitates before clearing his throat.
‘Chloe, my ex, got married.’
‘OK,’ I say, thinking that was quick. I remember him telling me they split up in the summer.
‘Last Saturday at the register office,’ he adds, as if reading my mind. ‘And her new husband is the guy she was seeing behind my back.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘And they felt it only fair to let me know that I’m the father. Even though her husband is going to bring the baby up as his own, Chloe said.’ I slip my hand in his and give it a gentle squeeze of solidarity. He stares at the pavement and I wish there was something I could do to help him.
‘But what about you? What do you want?’
How could they do this? Cut him out. Surely Dan has a right to be happy too? A baby is a gift, and he should be elated, but instead he looks crushed, as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I feel so sorry for him. Especially at Christmas time – it just makes it a whole lot worse somehow. It’s supposed to be a happy time, a joyous time.
‘To be a proper dad.’
‘Of course you’ll be a proper dad. You’ll be fantastic.’
‘Well, on paper perhaps – that’s if she even puts my name on the birth certificate, but then knowing Chloe she probably will, she’ll want money from me, which is fine of course, I’ll gladly provide for my child … ’ His voice trails off. Silence follows. I take a step closer to Dan and he leans forward. We put our arms around each other and hug tightly. Neither of us speaks. I turn my face to his and he looks into my eyes. ‘I’m going to need to be on my own … to get my head around it all and work out what to do,’ he says quietly.
‘I know.’ I put a gloved finger on his lips. ‘No need to explain. But just shout if you ever want to talk.’
‘Thank you. And you take care. You’re amazing. Any guy would be lucky to have you.’
‘Hey, everything will be OK. It will, I promise. One day from now, you’ll look back and see … ’ I kiss his cheek and close my eyes to shield them from the bright headlights of a taxi as it pulls up close to the pavement opposite. Dan reciprocates with a kiss on my lips before giving me a hug.
We pull apart on hearing voices from a group of men crossing the road towards the wine bar. I glance around Dan’s shoulder in their direction and one of the guys looks back. And then I see him. I blink to be sure. And it’s definitely him. There’s no mistaking the dark curls and gorgeously athletic physique.
Oh my God. I don’t believe it.
My stomach flips involuntarily. My pulse races. I feel dizzy.
It’s Tom!
I hold my breath for what feels like forever. Stunned. Everything flicks into slow motion. I can’t move. He sees me. He stops walking. And for a glimmer of a second our eyes meet. I don’t know what to do. Instinctively, I want to go after him. Talk to him. Be close to him. Touch him. But he just nods to acknowledge me before turning away, pushing his hands inside his coat pockets and following the others into the wine bar.
I drop my arms away from Dan and will myself to get it together. My whole body feels as if it’s on fire. My mind is racing. My hands are tingling. Tom is back. He’s right here. In Mulberry-On-Sea. Yet it’s as if he’s even further away from me than ever before.
‘Hey, what is it?’ Dan leans back and lifts my chin. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
I pull my coat in tighter as the intense surge of adrenalin ebbs away, leaving me feeling drained and panicky. My heart is hammering so fast, it’s actually making my chest hurt. I inhale hard and exhale slowly, over and over to calm my breathing, until eventually I’m able to speak.
‘Someone I thought I knew,’ I manage, still reeling from the intensity of the extremely close encounter.
24
Last shopping day before Christmas
The twenty-fourth of December. It’s Christmas Eve and the day of the wrap party has finally arrived. I’m with Sam in Millie’s room, 107, in the Mulberry Grand Hotel. The party is in the ballroom downstairs and the dress code is ‘glamour’. I’ve chosen a gorgeous blush pink chiffon skater dress with a crimson faux fur stole teamed with a pair of nude Loubs.
‘Ooh, very Christmassy. I love the colour,’ says Sam, running a finger over the fur. She’s wearing a floor-sweeping gold-beaded goddess dress, and Millie has managed to tease her curls into a sophisticated up-do. She looks absolutely stunning.
‘Thank you, hun. And wow, look at you,’ I say as she manoeuvres into position on the stool in front of the mirror, taking care not to crush the dress. Millie is doing our make-up, and Sam is going first.
‘So, have you decided on an eye shadow?’ Millie asks, sweeping a protective plastic cape around Sam’s shoulders before selecting two palettes from an enormous three-tiered make-up case.
‘Hmm, the shimmery gold I think, what do you reckon Georgie?’
‘I reckon you could wear any colour and look incredible, you always do,’ I say, keen to boost her mood. She’s not been around much all week, and when I spoke to her on the phone yesterday, she seemed really distracted. Vague. As if her mind was elsewhere. I’m worried about her as she’s normally so upbeat.
I hand them each a glass of champagne.
‘Thanks.’ Sam smiles at me in the mirror and I can’t help noticing how tired she looks. I make a mental note to chat to Nathan later, to see if there’s anything I can do. When I tried talking to Sam in the taxi on the way here, she waved a hand in the air and said everything was fine and that I worry too much. But I’m not convinced. ‘And thank you, Millie,’ Sam adds, and the three of us chink flutes.
‘A pleasure. I love doing make-up; and besides, it means I can avoid the boss for a little longer.’ She swallows a mouthful of her drink and rolls her eyes.
‘Is she that bad then?’ I ask.
‘Oh, Kelly is OK really, we’ve worked together for years now, but Zara – well, she’s the obnoxious one.’ Millie shakes her head and downs the rest of her champagne. Sam gives me a look. ‘What is it?’ Millie asks, looking at me first, then Sam.
‘Oh it’s nothing,’ I quickly say.
‘It’s not nothing. She stole Georgie’s boyfriend,’ Sam says indignantly.
‘She didn’t exactly steal him,’ I jump in. ‘He, well, he just got back with her after we split up … they have history.’
‘Hmm. Doesn’t surprise me.’ Millie purses her lips.
‘Why’s that then?’ Sam asks.
‘Well, let’s just say that Zara has a lot of “history”.’ Millie leans forward and drops her voice. ‘She has a habit of playing the field.’
‘Really?’ Sam and I say in unison.
‘Yes, but I tend not to get involved these days. Kelly knows I don’t have time for Zara, not since … ’ Millie’s voice trails off and she looks away, busying herself in the giant make-up box.
‘Since what?’ Sam coaxes.
‘It was a long time ago, and she was young and … ’ Millie loads up a plump blusher brush, swirling it furiously, round and round inside a pot of bronzing beads.
‘And what? What did she do?’ Sam asks, persistently.
‘She slept with my boyfriend,’ Millie says flatly.
‘Whaaaat?’ I jump in. ‘Oh Millie, I’m so sorry.’
‘Ah, don’t be. Like I said, it was ages ago, and he’s happily married no
w with two children and living in the Cotswolds. Besides, it takes two. I’m sure he was complicit.’
‘So Zara’s a serial cheater then?’ Sam folds her arms. ‘Well, she’d better not come near Nathan.’
‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that score, Sam. Nathan adores you.’ I glance at her in the mirror and she smiles nonchalantly.
‘True.’ She takes a sip of champagne. ‘And I adore him.’
‘But what about Tom? He can’t marry Zara and end up heartbroken when she has another affair,’ I say, thinking of Mum and how she must have felt that time I overheard her talking to Maeve. And no matter what’s happened between Tom and me, I don’t want to see him make the biggest mistake of his life, potentially, by actually marrying Zara.
We finish getting ready and make our way downstairs, out through the main hotel exit and over the long windy gravel drive that’s covered by a white canopy. A ruby-red carpet winds a path to the main ballroom, illuminated by a trillion flickering tea lights in glass lanterns. The scent of orange and cinnamon fills the air, creating a warm, sensual atmosphere. Sam slips her arm through mine.
‘Deep breaths, honey. Deep breaths. You look fabulous. Every man in this place is going to want you … with whipped cream on,’ she giggles naughtily. I flick my big hair back and smile, pleased that she seems brighter and more like her old self.
As we get closer to the ballroom, a lively swing version of Jingle Bells wafts towards us in the night breeze. And wow! Michael Bublé is right in front of me. The actual Michael Bublé himself is singing here in the foyer of the Mulberry Grand Hotel. So it’s true, Kelly really is friends with the famous people and, despite my apprehension about the evening ahead, a shiver of excitement radiates though me. Michael winks as we pass by and I can’t help gasping like a proper fan-girl. Sam steps forward and gives him a kiss on the cheek, as if they’re old friends; for all I know, maybe they are, Sam did go to some very exclusive parties over the years with Alfie, but I’m sure she would have mentioned meeting Michael before now. Cameras swerve into action and I’m immediately reminded that tonight is being filmed live purely to entertain the viewers.
We make it into the ballroom, which is lit up like a theme park, and there’s a woman on stage who’s a dead ringer for Dolly Parton – she even sounds like her too, maybe it is her. She’s singing the funky version of the ‘Working Nine To Five’ theme tune from Kelly Cooper Come Instore. At one end of the room, there’s a full-size carousel. Lauren, Doris and Suzanne from the cash office are laughing as they glide round and round and up and down, clinging onto poles in the centre of brightly painted wooden horses. There’s also a snow slide – Melissa is sitting in a rubber tyre at the top, looking eager to descend. Next to the slide is a Santa’s grotto, inside a gingerbread house that looks as if it’s actually made from real gingerbread, apart from the front door that’s been created from a trillion striped candy canes.
We’re handed flutes of pink champagne as a photographer takes our picture.
‘Darlings, there you are.’ It’s Eddie and he looks as if he’s channelling Brad Pitt at a film premiere in a sleek black tuxedo and gold-framed aviator shades, only years younger – and on closer inspection it appears as if he’s had more work around his HD eyebrows and gloss-coated lips. Pussy is perched regally in the crook of his elbow wearing a mini crimson taffeta ballgown, complete with sparkly tiara on her fluffy head and a diamanté choker around her neck. I stroke her ear and she preens into the palm of my hand.
‘Is this nail varnish?’ I ask, touching one of Pussy’s paws. Her claws are painted a glittery silver colour.
‘Of course. Pussy wanted to look her very best; this is one of her Christmas outfits.’
‘One?’ I ask, bemused and grateful for the distraction – anything to put off the moment I have to see Tom. I was barely able to keep it together when I spotted him in the street that night, so what’s it going to be like watching him with Zara, his fiancée?
‘That’s right. She can’t be expected to make it through the whole festive season with just one measly gown. No, a girl needs a selection sweetie. A se-lection!’ Eddies waves his free hand in the air flamboyantly, elevating his diva status a notch further. He kisses the air either side of my head before stepping back to get a better look. He lets out a long whistle. ‘Sensational. Truly sensational. And you must come and meet Will.’ He gestures towards a giant snowman-shaped ice luge to the left of one of the three cocktail bars. Will.I.Am is actually here, chatting to Kelly, and he looks hot in a long trench coat and woolly hat over silver T and black combat trousers. Annie is hovering near him and, on spotting me, she does a silent scream and points to Will’s back before placing a hand over her heart and making kissy lips.
‘Is it really him?’ I ask, in a ridiculously breathy voice.
‘Of course it is,’ Eddie replies casually, as if it’s an everyday occurrence to be mingling with world-famous superstars. ‘But honeypie, you might want to reunite your jaw with the rest of your face and tone down that whole fan-girl thing you have going on.’ He flashes me a look before whizzing an index finger in a Z-shape around me.
‘Oh I’m sooo sorry, Ed, I wouldn’t want to cramp your style now,’ I laugh and nudge Sam. She gives Eddie’s cheeks a quick tweak.
‘Stop it! Must you be quite so gauche?’ he says, batting her hands away. He quickly adjusts his bow tie and grabs a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why I bother. I’ll come back for you two when you’ve calmed down. Considerably.’
I down my drink and cast a furtive glance through the crowd, wondering if Tom is actually here yet.
‘Relax, will you?’ Sam mouths, giving me a nudge.
‘I can’t help it,’ I say, nerves making my voice sound trembly.
‘Well try. You want to look poised and breezy, not anxious and scorned.’
We finish our drinks and hand the empty glasses to a waiter. ‘Now follow me,’ Sam commands, taking my hand and delving into the crowd.
We emerge at the other end of the room near a crimson velvet-covered stage and next to an enormous real pine Christmas tree, swathed in silver tinsel and pink diamanté-encrusted baubles.
‘Let’s duck in here and take a breather before we hunt Tom down,’ Sam says, but before I can protest that I don’t actually want to ‘hunt Tom down’ – I was hoping we might just casually bump into him, preferably without Zara in tow, and then I can confront him over letting my lovely Carrington’s go – she pushes open a door and drags me in behind her. And I gasp. It takes me a few seconds to acclimatise. The whole room is dazzling. Brilliant white. Fake snow is swirling all around us; even the floor is covered so we’re knee deep in soft, twinkly flakes.
‘Oh wow,’ Sam breathes, ‘a proper snow room! Come on, let’s get involved.’ She runs into the middle of the room making the snow flurry and flutter, whipping around the room. It’s like being inside a giant snow globe. Flakes flick into my eyes, my mouth, my hair – I can even see them on the ends of my eyelashes. It’s incredible. I follow Sam, pleased to see her happy, and she grabs my hands and twirls me around, faster and faster, until neither of us can sustain it any longer and we collapse on the floor laughing. Sam is the first to recover and manages to scrabble herself into a standing position, just about; she’s slipping and sliding as she struggles on her heels while trying not to trip on her dress. She reaches out a hand and I manage to haul myself up onto my feet. But at the last minute, I lose balance, and my left Loub skates away from me and I end up doing a Bambi impression before landing back on the floor in a sideways splits position with Sam toppled over on top of me.
‘Jesus Christ, I’ve think I’ve ripped myself in two,’ I bellow as a searing pain cuts right though me. Sam is cracking up as she rolls over to the other side of the room, where she lies on her back, hoists her dress up and starts doing snow angels. I’m on all fours now and wading over to her. Snowflakes are making it near on impossible to see – they
collect in my mouth, I spit them out and keep wading, tossing my big hair back over my shoulder as I go. I’ve just made it over to Sam when a sudden gust of ice-cold air blasts down on us, making me gasp; the sheer force of the wind knocks me sideways and I end up in a heap next to Sam who stops moving and curls herself into a ball beside me. A deafening noise makes it near on impossible to communicate. We cling to each other, the wind whipping around us, with me desperately trying to keep my flimsy skater dress about my body, when Sam manages to gesture upwards.
I follow her line of vision and oh my actual God. Black night sky is above us. Stars. The moon. The ceiling has disappeared. Walls too. A helicopter is hovering above us, and two giant television screens are broadcasting Sam and me, writhing around on the ground like a pair of crazy loopers with fake snow rotating all around us, tornado-style. LIVE. To the whole world … if you count all those ex-pat satellite viewers in places like the Costa del Sol, and hotels and laptops. And I just know this is going to end up on YouTube. Global. My hits will be stratospheric. I officially want to die, right now, spooning my best friend in a perishing cold field while my new Father Christmas-themed knickers, which have the phrase ‘ho-ho-ho’ emblazoned all over them, are projected up onto the big screen.
Fifteen minutes later, and Sam and I are huddled together in tartan blankets with Millie in 107. And I’m still cringing all over. It turns out that it wasn’t a snow room at all. Oh no! No no no no no! It was a flaming helipad behind the ballroom that KCTV had put a marquee over and filled with snow to be whipped away by a giant pulley, creating a dramatic James Bond-esque arrival scene for Mr Carrington, aka Tom. It was him in the helicopter. So when Tom actually landed, the first glimpse he got was of me curled up on the helipad with my dress whipping at my midriff and my big hair puffing around my head like I’m some kind of freak with her finger stuck in a plug socket for laughs. He didn’t actually speak to me, or anything; no, it was just a horrified glance as he strode past with the film crew.
Carrington's at Christmas Page 54