‘Oooh, I’d love to give her a hand with that, and every hour for two days will certainly take it out of her … those tunnels go on for ever.’ Betty leans forward. ‘And one of them is at least a mile long.’
‘I’m sure she’d appreciate the help,’ I say, typing in Betty’s name under the ‘tunnels resource’ section. ‘I’ll let her know.’ I go to make a note in my pad on the ‘phone calls to make’ page.
‘No need love, I’ll be seeing her at bingo on Friday, we’ll chat it all through then, you’ve enough to be getting on with.’ Betty smiles kindly.
‘Thanks so much, I really appreciate your help, Betty. And all of you, really, I can’t thank you enough.’ I smile around the table. With their help, Carrington’s first regatta sponsorship is going to be a massive success. When I first agreed to represent Carrington’s, I had no idea just how much work would be involved, so having a team of helpers is an absolute godsend. I make a mental note to thank each of them with a gift – a bouquet of flowers or some champagne truffles, perhaps – when it’s all over. If everything goes smoothly and to plan, Isabella is bound to be impressed, and Tom will be thrilled that Carrington’s is represented so well in the community. I’m sure it will make a difference to his negotiations in trying to find a suitable location for the new store.
‘You’re very welcome, G.’ It’s Melissa, our sturdy plain-clothes store detective. She flings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a big bear hug, practically winding me in the process. ‘Right, what else is on that plan of yours?’ she adds, eventually letting go of me.
‘The stalls are all organised; we have a nice selection ranging from gourmet candy floss – I never knew it came in different flavours – to good old traditional mulberry pie with custard. Sam has got her cake menu finalised, and Max, the Carrington’s food hall manager, is doing a Japanese-themed marquee.’
‘Well, I heard he’s already told that Meredith one from the committee what locations he’s having,’ Betty puffs.
‘I bet he has.’ Melissa rolls her eyes.
‘Apparently, he went straight to the organ grinder, Dunwoody, and said he can’t be expected to serve his finest food in a back alley without proper access for his special climate-controlled Carrington’s food delivery van,’ Betty continues.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I say, remembering the email I got from him this morning confirming this to be the case. And he’s managed to book Mr Nakamura, the Japanese chef, to do a Teppanyaki demo and a sushi-making class. It’s going to be brilliant – visitors to the regatta will be able to visit the special ‘Japanese cuisine’ marquee, which will be in a prime spot by the harbour, where for a small fee they can roll their own temaki and eat it right away. I’m going to make sure Isabella has a front-row workbench for that event. Tom has told me she loves sushi, and as a fluent Japanese speaker, she’s going to be very impressed that we have Mr Nakamura here in Mulberry-On-Sea for her to chat to.
‘And you know, Max is actually a proper trained chef, and he’s friends with Gordon Ramsay, so I can’t imagine he takes any crap, certainly not off the likes of that Meredith one. We all know what the sleb chefs are like.’ Melissa shakes her head. Hmm, good for you, Max! ‘And there’s something not right about that bird. Trust me!’ Mel continues, and I stifle a giggle, thinking she’s got a very good point. Meredith sure makes me feel uncomfortable – it’s as if she has it in for me but I’m not entirely sure why. I know she has issues with Carrington’s after her affair with the Heff, but still … ‘Yep, I can always tell the shifty ones, comes from people-watching all day long as I follow them covertly around the store. I should have a master’s degree in character profiling.’
I also got an email from Meredith, stating that she wants a woman from the WI to approve Sam’s menu to ensure there isn’t a ‘conflict of interests’ with the other cake sellers – Meredith really does seem hell-bent on making this regatta as difficult as possible for Carrington’s. I haven’t told Sam yet.
Talking of whom – she must be telepathic, as my mobile buzzes with a text message from Sam: spooky! I glance at the screen while the others chat about the last series of Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares.
Just a reminder re. the nanny/manny interviews tomorrow. First one is at 10 so bring your clipboard and oversized geek glasses lol xxx
I quickly tap out a reply.
Can’t wait, don’t forget the running shorts! xxx
I slot my mobile into my pocket. We’re not really supposed to have phones on us, but everyone does, and as long we keep them on silent it’s OK.
‘So, is that it for now? Only, I need to get back to the shop floor to sniff out the lifters. Had to body-slam a bloke with half of Home Electricals stock shoved up his hoodie this morning – must think I’m blind.’ There’s a resounding tut-tutting sound.
‘Well, I’d like to see them try it on in my department.’ Annie flicks her hair before leaning back in her chair. ‘I’m like a hawk when it comes to my bags.’ I smile, remembering how they used to be my bags. I sometimes wish I still worked in Women’s Accessories, with all those luxury handbags. Nothing beats the smell and feel of buttery-soft leather on opening a new season delivery box from designers like Marc Jacobs and Mulberry.
‘I think so. And thanks for coming – see you all on Monday for what could very well be our last meeting – not much left to do now, we’re almost there,’ I beam. We all push our chairs back and go to leave, and then I remember. ‘Oh, hang on, I forget to say … who fancies a trip to an ice-cream factory?’
Tom put me in touch with his Uncle Marco and we’ve already exchanged emails and sorted out most of the arrangements, but he’s invited me to the factory too – how could I resist seeing where ice cream is actually made? No way.
‘Ooh, I’d love to do that … and then I can tell Jack all about it,’ Lauren says, her eyes lighting up.
‘Why don’t you bring him with you?’ I suggest, thinking he’s bound to love it.
‘Really?’ She looks so excited.
‘Sure, why not! We can make a day of it. I’ll organise a date and let you know. It will have to be soon, is that OK?’
‘Brilliant. I can’t wait. And Jack will be so excited when I tell him. Thanks Georgie.’
10
When I arrive at Sam and Nathan’s house, a white weather-boarded villa on a private beach estate just along the coast from Mulberry-On-Sea, I ring the bell. And wait. And wait some more. The lights are on and their cars are in the driveway. I’m pondering on whether to call Sam’s mobile, when Nathan eventually pulls open the front door, looking frazzled.
‘Georgie, am I pleased to see you. Come in.’ He gives me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Sorry about the wait. I was on the phone appeasing a client and Sam’s going through Holly and Ivy’s wardrobes trying on every single outfit they have – she wants them looking their very best when the candidates turn up. And a lorry-load of new gear arrived yesterday so it’s taking forever …’ He smiles, but there’s a hint of frustration in his voice, which is so unlike him.
‘Oh, no problem, I can see you have your hands full.’ He has a half-empty bottle of milk in one hand and a bunny-print towel slung over his right shoulder.
‘Oh God.’ He waves the bottle in the air. ‘Trying to tidy up before the first candidate arrives. Come on, I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ He strides off towards the kitchen.
‘Thanks, Nathan, but why don’t I make the tea, and then you can give Sam a hand?’
‘If you’re sure! That would be fantastic. Thank you.’ He throws the bottle in the sink and goes to leave, but then quickly turns back. ‘You know where everything is, yes?’ He rakes a hand through his messy blond hair before reaching down to retrieve a heart-shaped Hello Kitty cushion from the floor.
‘Yes! Now go.’ I grin, lift up the kettle and waggle it around as proof.
An hour or so later, and the girls are bouncing in their activity chairs, looking cute in matching red spotty pinafores ove
r little white T-shirts, and Sam, Nathan and I are sitting around the breakfast island in the centre of their enormous kitchen. All marble counters and terracotta floor tiles. I know Sam is a professional cook and spends a lot of time in her kitchen, but it really is breathtaking, with whole-wall concertina glass doors that open out directly onto the grassy sand dunes leading down to the sea. And I’m a big fan of her rainbow-crystal-embellished food mixer too. Very blingtastic!
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit casual to have the interviews in here?’ Sam grabs a packet of baby wipes off the counter and wings them into a drawer.
‘We could use the dining room if you prefer, it’s more formal – or how about my office? Then it would be like a proper interview. We could even sit in a row on one side of the desk as a panel and pretend we’re in The Apprentice, hands up to be Lord Sugar. I want the pointy finger “you’re hired” line,’ Nathan jokes, but Sam doesn’t laugh – she shoots him a fiery ‘shut-up-this-is-serious’ glare instead, which is so unlike her.
‘Or how about the lounge? Nice and relaxed,’ I suggest, wishing they’d both calm down – they look so anxious, anyone would think they were the candidates waiting to be interviewed. And the strained atmosphere between them is almost palpable. I’ve never seen them like this, and it’s awkward. Horrible even. Sam seems so unhappy.
‘Yes, good idea, not too formal, not too messy,’ Sam says, eyeing up a pile of dirty plates stacked on the draining board. I breathe a small sigh of relief, but then she promptly adds, ‘I’ll just run the Dyson round,’ and practically launches herself from the bar stool and towards the door in less time than it takes for me to swallow a mouthful of tea.
‘I’ll do it.’ Nathan places a hand on Sam’s arm.
‘Oh for God’s sake, I am capable of vacuuming my own house, you know,’ she snaps, wrenching her arm free. And I’m shocked. In all the years Sam and I have been friends, I can’t remember ever having seen her like this. And definitely not with Nathan. I’ve never heard her utter a bad word about him, let alone to his actual face. And she’s not usually so bothered by what other people think. I know she’s exhausted, but there’s something more to it – I’ll talk to her when we’re alone and see if I can get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s going on here. Sam and Nathan are rock solid, or so I had thought.
‘Does it even need vacuuming? I thought you had a cleaner!’ I say, trying to quell the situation. I’m sure a prospective nanny or manny isn’t going to be bothered about a bit of carpet fluff.
‘We did. But she left. Went back to Poland to care for her elderly mother,’ Nathan says in a monotone voice, looking as if he has the weight of the world on his broad shoulders as he shoves his hands in his pockets and avoids eye contact with Sam. But before either of them has a chance to argue some more about who’s getting the Dyson out, the doorbell rings, signifying the arrival of the first candidate.
A few hours, and several pots of tea later, and the third wannabe nanny has just left, a twenty-something Russian girl with limited English – the agency had said she was fluent. It quickly became apparent that she really wanted to be a pop star, though, and even offered to sing for us, but Sam politely declined, saying it wouldn’t be necessary. And the last candidate hasn’t turned up yet, but she’s already twenty minutes late, which isn’t a good sign.
‘Oh God, at this rate we’re never going to find someone suitable!’ Sam says, scooping her legs up into the armchair. ‘They were all a nightmare. Did you see how Ivy cried when that … whatever her name was,’ Sam waves a dismissive hand in the air, ‘picked her up and squeezed her cheek? I have a good mind to call the agency and complain. She shouldn’t be allowed to scare children like that.’
‘But then she did have a very hairy wart on her chin!’ I say, making light of it. I didn’t think she was that bad, but Sam seems really upset – furious, even.
‘Hmm, I could barely tear my eyes away from it; you would think she would have it removed, seeing as how she works with children. And she was way too rough – poor Ivy’s little cheek. Did you see how red it was? It’d better not be bruised.’ Sam folds her arms.
‘Nooo,’ I say, glancing towards the door as Nathan scoops both girls up, one under each arm, and heads into the kitchen. ‘But I’m sure Ivy will be fine,’ I add diplomatically. Ivy’s cheek looked fine to me and I thought the woman was very gentle with both the girls, but then, what do I know about babies? Or how they’re supposed to be handled? ‘Sam, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure. What is it?’ she shrugs, staring at the carpet.
‘Well, I just wondered if everything was OK?’ I keep my voice low – the kitchen door is closed, I think, but I’m not absolutely sure. ‘With you and Nathan?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’ Sam frowns and I hesitate.
‘It’s just that you seem a bit … err,’ I pause to feel my way, but Sam doesn’t give me anything other than a blank face. ‘Um, stressed,’ I settle on.
‘Do I?’
‘Yes. I know you’re tired—’
‘Georgie, you have no idea, but take my advice and stay single and childless for as long as possible.’
‘Um …’ I start, feeling taken aback, but the doorbell rings, stealing my moment to probe further.
‘Can you get it? I need a few seconds on my own without a baby screaming or tugging at me.’ Sam rests her head back on the sofa and closes her eyes.
‘Oh, err, sure.’ I jump up, feeling confused and sad. We usually chat about anything and everything, but I guess I’ll just have to find another time and try again.
I head along the hallway and pull open the front door, but there’s nobody there, only a sleek black limousine at the end of the driveway with a guy by the door in a chauffeur’s uniform. Blimey, this candidate must be well heeled. And quite a bit older than the others we’ve seen today.
A woman wearing skintight black leather jeans and the highest stacked heels I’ve ever seen emerges from the car and sashays towards the house. Hmm, hardly suitable footwear for a nanny! She’ll break her neck trying to run around after the twins in those. And I instinctively know that Sam will hate her on sight – way too much lip filler and volume spray in her super-big blonde hair. She looks more like an ageing rock star than Supernanny!
Not even bothering to acknowledge me, the woman strides past, pausing only briefly to hand me her cashmere pashmina. Flaming cheek – must think I’m a servant or something. I sling the pashmina in the boot box by the door and charge after her down the long Dynasty-style hallway, trying not to cough as a heady cloud of Oud perfume wafts my way.
‘Oh hello,’ Sam says, looking a bit taken aback as she walks out of the lounge and almost bumps right into the woman’s chest. ‘Err, you’re a bit late.’ Sam springs back, eyeing the wall clock before glancing at me over the woman’s shoulder. I pull a face.
‘Well, that’s one way of putting it.’ The woman plants a hand on her bony, leather-clad hip.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Sam stands square on to the woman, her eyes flashing.
‘Look, why don’t we sit down and start again?’ I jump in, gesturing towards the lounge.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary. You’re not really what we have in mind for a nanny. Sorry! I’ll see you out.’ Sam goes to walk away, but the woman grabs her arm. I move closer, wishing I hadn’t left my bag in the kitchen now. I scan the hallway looking for a phone, just in case I need to dial 999. This woman is clearly a looper. Sam shakes her arm free.
‘Don’t be silly, darling. I’m not here to look after your babies,’ the woman says.
‘Oh! Then why are you here?’ Sam says right back.
‘To see you, of course!’
‘But, I assumed … sorry, who are you?’ Sam gives the woman an up-and-down look.
‘Your mother! But you can call me Christy.’
Sam’s face pales immediately.
She clutches the side cabinet.
Instinctively, I launch my
self across the hall to stand by her side, but I’m too late. Sam’s legs buckle and she crumples to the floor.
Oh my God.
11
Dan’s gig was awesome; he’s such an amazing singer and the crowd was mesmerised as he treated us to every one of his hit songs, ending with my all-time favourite – ‘Sweet Sugar’, a country/soul ballad that he co-wrote and originally recorded in Memphis. It’s a very special song for me, as it was playing on the radio in the Carrington’s staff canteen when I very first clapped eyes on Tom.
The aftershow party is in the VIP suite of a nearby Mayfair hotel, so Tom and I walked here. It’s such a warm evening, it would have been a shame not to.
As the lift doors open directly into the suite, the atmosphere is already charged. Exciting. And very glamorous. All kinds of fashion and music types are milling around looking fabulous. Cara Delevingne is standing by the floor-to-ceiling window with the best billion-dollar brows I’ve ever seen. Tinie Tempah is chatting to a girl right next to me (I remember Dan saying they have the same manager), and an exceptionally hot guy who looks incredibly like Benedict Cumberbatch has just walked in. Swoon. I try not to stare as I walk by on my way to the bar, which is situated underneath a giant screen showing film footage from Dan’s performance.
‘Shall we have Sex on the Beach?’ Tom grins, waving the cocktail menu at me.
‘Oooh, why not?’
‘As long as there isn’t any sand … eh? We don’t want any chafing.’ He nudges me and I laugh at his schoolboy joke.
Tom orders while I scan the crowd looking for Dan. And then I spot him, surrounded by people on the other side of the room. He sees me, nods before smiling and excusing himself, and heads towards us.
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