Carrington's at Christmas

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey you! How are you? Did you get my messages?’ A short silence follows.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Um, it’s me!’ I say, feeling weird.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Georgie.’ Maybe it isn’t Sam speaking. I don’t think I’ve ever had to say my actual name to her on the phone before – we’ve always just known whenever one of us was calling the other …

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know it was you. The number came up as “unavailable” on my phone.’

  ‘Ah, maybe it’s an international thing,’ I suggest, wanting to disperse the awkwardness between us as quickly as possible. ‘So, how are you? God, I wish you were here, Sam. You’ll never guess where I am? Central Park. And it’s just like it is on the telly …’

  ‘Lovely. Are you having a good time?’ she asks, but her voice is stilted.

  ‘I am, yes. Thanks. Be better if you were here though. How are things?’ I ask tentatively. She sounds distant. A million miles away, which I suppose she is, but it’s more than that. There’s something else … and I can’t put my finger on it.

  ‘Georgie. I’m going to have to go, Christy is waiting for me – we’re going out to dinner. Let’s catch up soon. Yes?’

  ‘Oh. Um, well sure. Of course. OK,’ I babble, awkwardly. ‘Love to the twins, and Nathan.’ But she’s gone. I clasp my hands together around the phone, grateful for the big shades because any minute now hot, confused tears are going to bounce onto my cheeks. I don’t understand what’s going on. She’s been my best friend since school, we’ve known each other for years; we’re like sisters, the kind of sister you imagine having when you don’t actually have one, because I know plenty of sisters who can’t stand each other, but Sam is the perfect sister, the sister who gets you and will laugh at the same things, love the same things, give you shoes and hold your hair if you vomit after too many margaritas – she’s your very own personal cheerleader. But everything seems different somehow and I’m not sure how it happened. It’s as if we’re strangers now, there’s a shift – like sand trickling through my fingers – and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t stop it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a filmy image of Gaspard tapping on an iPad mini, making notes about the weird English girl, no doubt. This was a mistake. Coming here. What on earth was I thinking? I need to be at home, in Mulberry, being there for my friend when she needs me most, not sitting on benches in parks in Manhattan. No wonder she was off with me, I’ve let her down. And she’s never ever done that to me. She’s always been there, right by my side, supporting me no matter what. I take a deep breath, and type out a text.

  Wish I was there with you! It’s just a park after all. Hope you’re OK xxx

  I press send, and then instantly regret it, when this reply comes back.

  I’m fine. And you might as well enjoy it seeing as you’re there now! x

  15

  My time in New York is nearly over now and it’s amazing how much work we’ve managed to do – and how many sights, bars, restaurants and clubs Eddie, Ciaran and I have visited too. We’ve even done the Sex and the City tour! Twice. I sat on the steps of the New York public library – where Carrie nearly married Big – in the glorious summer sunshine. I seem to be getting used to it now and, given that the summer weather at home is so unreliable, I’m not complaining. I walked barefoot on the grass, wafting a Chinese paper fan that I bought on Canal Street in an attempt to create a modicum of breeze on my heat-baked face, through Jefferson Market Garden in Greenwich Village where Miranda really did marry Steve. I found some amazing dress bargains in Century 21 and had a hot dog with fresh papaya juice from the famous Gray’s Papaya on Broadway, just like Carrie did after her book launch party. And Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan went there too in You’ve Got Mail. I love that film.

  Of course, we’ve been to all the ubiquitous designer boutiques – Tiffany & Co on Fifth Avenue with its timelessly elegant Art Deco building, where I got to stand on the same spot as Audrey Hepburn, and gaze at the glittery jewels, just as she did during breakfast. I almost cried happy tears in Marc Jacobs – from being surrounded by all of the beauty. It was then on to Kate Spade where I bought a gorgeous purse in lipstick-pink for Sam; next was Tom Ford where Eddie went mad and practically bought up the whole store – he had to use the boot of my town car as well as his own just to get his shopping haul back to the Plaza. And then in Manolo Blahnik I really did cry happy tears when Eddie and Ciaran treated me to my first pair of Blahnik heels in ruby red with a crystal strap – a birthday surprise! And last, but very much not least, we visited the traditional American stalwarts such as Saks, Bergdorf Goodman, Macy’s, FAO Schwarz – all of them amazing and a trillion miles away from Mulberry-On-Sea. Bigger. Bolder. Carrington’s does stock high-end pieces, but a limited range, I realise now, having seen the vast selection over here. And we really must expand our Womenswear and Footwear ranges. I’m going to talk to Tom about it when I get home. And see if we can section off parts of the floor space to create individual instore boutiques, too, like they have in the department stores here, with a red rope at the entrance, and Charles from Security waiting to unhook it so customers can feel special as they browse. We could have a Tiffany boutique. A Tom Ford boutique. A Louboutin boutique – I know my clients would love it. And the seasonal visitors from the boats in the marina too, I imagine. Don’t all the swanky ports have fabulous shopping opportunities right there?

  But the highlight of my time here was definitely travelling on the Staten Island ferry, with the cool refreshing breeze coming off the New York harbour water in my hair, and seeing the Statue of Liberty – it took my breath away. It really did. It’s so iconic and exactly like it is on the telly. And I managed to get a perfect selfie with it in the background to text to Sam. I can seriously say that I’ve had the time of my life; a whirlwind of new experiences. That old adage of work hard to play hard is sooooo very true. I’ve been at Gaspard’s studio every night – it’s when he works best – and then back to the Manhattan mansion for a few hours’ sleep, before sightseeing all afternoon.

  And I’m exhausted, but Gaspard now has four designs. A satchel (in two sizes), a top handle, a clutch, and a coin purse with a detachable strap that can be worn over the shoulder or crossbody. All with the signature House of Mercier monogram on the interior fabric. I explained that just because an ‘ordinary’ girl might not have the money to pay designer prices, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want a bit of glamour! But not in your face – he was then all for doing a Fendi and stamping his logo all over the leather, but I put a stop to it. Too Nineties. Understated is far better. Think Cambridge Satchel, not Gucci monogrammed bowling bag. So now we just need to work out where to have the personalised inscription – I’ve suggested the underside of the flap, or even on the strap would work. Or how about letting the customer choose? But this prompted a lengthy feasibility meeting with the design team, as Gaspard wants the inscriptions done at the point of sale and plans on installing a special instore embossing machine, which has ‘limited capability’. In other words, it can’t inscribe on uneven surfaces … So the proper designers are debating all the options and will no doubt decide what’s best.

  So, because today is Friday 15 August, my actual birthday, after presenting me with a gorgeous silver bracelet with a Big Apple charm on, Gaspard told me to take the day off. I’m celebrating with Eddie and Ciaran by doing one last big sightseeing marathon before I have to return to Mulberry-On-Sea on Monday – we got up really early and have already been to Bleecker Street and meandered around the quirky boutiques, we stood in awe in Times Square, breathing in all the flashing billboards, sidestepping the crowds moving in a multitude of different directions, just relishing in, and absorbing, the sheer enormity of it all.

  We climbed up the Empire State Building; the Chrysler too. We saw kids open fire hydrants in the street just to cool down – of course Ciaran and I dived right in, splashing and jumping around like loopers wh
ile Eddie stood on the sideline angsting over his new $700 Tom Ford strappy sandals getting ruined with water damage. We popped into a Magnolia Bakery and had pumpkin cake with maple cream cheese frosting and toasted pecans for breakfast – oh God, it was to die for; they even popped a candle in after Eddie and Ciaran told the whole shop we were celebrating. Well, they are, I’m trying to forget that I’m thirty – I don’t feel thirty. I was OK last year being twenty-nine, but thirty feels so much older. I feel as if I’m in limbo, not a twenty-something or really a thirty-something. And it’s not like I’ve actually done very much with my life either, not like Sam – married with two beautiful babies – or Tom – building a business empire. And not forgetting Eddie, living his dream of celebrity stardom. Those are all solid, tangible things they’ve done. I’m still ordinary Georgie Hart from Mulberry-On-Sea and the best thing I’ve done is build a relationship with Tom, my one, which is breathtaking of course, but I can’t help feeling that I want to do more, to see more, to achieve more – certainly before my next big milestone birthday of forty.

  So I’m currently in denial, pretending it’s just another day, which is surprisingly easy being so far away from everyone – Tom is in a meeting all day but promised to call the minute it was over so, with the time difference, I’m not expecting to hear from him for a while yet. I’m sure I’ll hear from Dad at some point, just as soon as he finds somewhere with a decent signal – we last spoke when he and Nancy were whooping it up on a vineyard in the South of France; they had been crushing grapes in a giant wooden barrel with their bare feet. Dad was over the moon and a few sheets to the wind, too, I reckon, after all the wine they had tasted that day. He was very slurry during the call, and I could hear Nancy giggling and shushing him in the background, but it’s nice that they’re having the time of their lives too! Good luck to them.

  And Sam is probably busy with the twins, although we haven’t actually spoken since that day in Central Park. She emailed me the following day and said it’s really tricky to talk at the moment – Christy is there all the time, and they’re busy trying to sort things out. So I sent a light reply back saying that I totally understand and we can catch up properly when I get back – I didn’t want to get all heavy with her by asking why things seem to have changed between us, figuring she has enough emotional stuff going on right now. I attached a few pictures of New York for her to see: all the major sights, even a selfie with the bright city lights at night from the Soho House rooftop, which was very naughty of me, I know, as you’re not allowed to use mobiles inside there at all, to protect the privacy of the slebs, apparently – but I sneaked one when nobody was looking as there was no way I was leaving without a picture of some kind. Who knows if I’ll ever get another chance?

  We’ve just arrived at the entrance to Grand Central Station, which isn’t at all how I imagined it to be. Quite unassuming – I was expecting something far grander.

  ‘Let’s find the oyster bar,’ Ciaran says, grabbing Eddie’s hand and steaming in. I dash alongside, rapidly realising that I judged too soon – as we walk further into the station, it’s utterly stunning! We arrive in the main ticket hall, an opulent vaulted atrium with three enormous arched windows at one end, streaming shafts of light, which catch and dance on the glittery chandeliers.

  ‘Meet you at the clock,’ I laugh, tearing towards a magnificent four-sided brass ball clock at the heart of the hall, set high above the information meeting point. Tilting my head back, I stare up at the ceiling, a velvety blue and gold astrological mural – this place is so magical. And oh my God, here’s the staircase where Justin Timberlake stands and sings to Mila Kunis in that film, Friends with Benefits. It’s just wonderful being here, in actual real life, to see it all. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like I’m actually doing stuff. It’s brilliant.

  ‘Isn’t it breathtaking?’ I gush to Eddie and Ciaran when they catch up.

  ‘It sure is. See, I told you, it’s the best place in the world, America!’ Eddie beams, and he’s so right. And it suits him to a T – in fact, seeing him here, where he can be whatever he wants to be, I totally get why he felt stifled at home. Mulberry-On-Sea is like a bubble, so insular, compared to the bustling, pulsing, vibrant metropolis that is New York. And I’ve never seen Eddie and Ciaran holding hands on the high street at home, oh no – Mrs Godfrey from the WI would be outraged, for sure, whereas here nobody cares at all, which is just as it should be. ‘Let’s celebrate. Champagne and oysters for lunch. Follow me.’

  *

  We’ve worked our way through a dozen Fire Island oysters, which tasted delicious, followed by a further dozen sweet Fanny Bay oysters, which also prompted a round of juvenile sniggers, started by Ciaran and exacerbated by two flutes each of champagne, and now I’m stuffed, and a little bit trollied as we wander back outside and into a nearby coffee shop. The guys are debating our next place to visit on this whistle-stop tour, when my phone rings. Ahh, I bet it’s Tom. I quickly glance at my watch as I rifle through my bag in search of my phone. The meeting must have dragged on – it’s one o’clock here, so six in the evening at home.

  Moments later, I’ve accepted his FaceTime request and he’s on the screen and my heart aches. It’s ridiculous, we’ve spoken a few times while I’ve been away, though not for a day or so now as Tom has had loads of back-to-back meetings to discuss the new store, and with the time difference, and my work schedule here, it’s been tricky to co-ordinate things, so we’ve only managed a surreptitious text or two – but even so, it’s not the same as actually touching him, cuddling him, laughing with him, or simply being next to him. I’ve really missed him and can’t wait for us to start living together, and I’m not even sure we need to talk about it first any more. Tom’s right, we love each other and that’s the most important thing. Being apart has just made me feel it more.

  ‘Hello Mr Carrington!’ I hiccup. ‘Ooops, sorry about that,’ I laugh, slapping my spare hand over my mouth. ‘Too many bubbles at lunchtime always gets me giddy.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Oh dear. He looks really stern.

  ‘Um, in a coffee shop,’ I say, wondering what’s going on.

  ‘Hang on.’ He’s talking to someone off camera.

  ‘Which one? Do you know the address?’

  ‘I’m not sure, near Grand Central Station.’ Ahhhh … Now I get it! It’s a wind-up, of course it is. I crack up laughing, and the hiccups ricochet one after the other. I bet he’s here, about to bounce out from under a table to surprise me. So exciting. I glance at Eddie and Ciaran, but they’re huddled over an iPad mini lining up our next sightseeing attraction, and totally oblivious to me.

  ‘I can’t hear you with all that background noise – can you go outside?’ he says, the narky face still in place.

  ‘Ha ha, you’re so funny. Sure I can,’ I say playing along. He’s probably standing on the pavement. I motion to Eddie to watch my bag; he nods and loops it over his knee for safekeeping. ‘Hang on a minute,’ I say to Tom before leaping up and dashing to the door. Outside, and I scan the street. ‘Surprise surprise,’ I giggle in my best Holly Willoughby voice. ‘I’m here!’ I pull a funny face for good measure. I literally cannot wait to see him.

  ‘Yep, I can see that. But what I’d like to know is, why?’

  ‘Err, what do you mean?’ I feel confused as I scan the street.

  ‘Why aren’t you here? I thought when you said you were in a coffee shop that you were nearby, but had got lost or something.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, racking my brains, wondering what on earth is going on – and he hasn’t even said happy birthday!

  ‘The envelope! Did you open it?’ A long pause. And then a horrible realisation dawns – he isn’t here. Oh God! I feel sick. Shit. My heart plummets. The smile slides from my face.

  ‘Um, err, I’m so sorry, I must have forgotten.’ I tear back into the coffee shop and yank my bag from Eddie’s knee before bombing back outside and down a side alley away from the
traffic where it’s marginally more private. ‘I have it here!’ I flip my passport from my bag – I stored the envelope inside it for safekeeping – and wave it in front of the phone for him to see.

  ‘Good. Call me back when you’ve opened it. And happy birthday!’ And the screen goes blank. Tears sting as I rip open the envelope.

  It’s a ticket.

  I scrub at my eyes with the back of my hand in an attempt to focus. Las Vegas. I scan again. Departure date – today! Departure time – six hours ago! Oh no. Oh God. It’s too late. I missed the flight. I push the ticket back inside the envelope and see there’s a card too, handwritten in Tom’s writing.

  Happy birthday Georgie,

  If you managed to hold out on opening the envelope, then I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

  Let’s fly – we’re spending the weekend in Vegas starting with a birthday picnic via helicopter over the Grand Canyon.

  All my love

  Tom, aka Mr Carrington xoxoxox

  PS. I’ve squared it with Gaspard for you to have the weekend off and he’s sworn to secrecy so as not to spoil the surprise!