Cupcakes at Carrington’s (Carringtons Department Store 1)

by Brown, Alexandra

  ‘Do you need to go? Of course you have to get back to work,’ he says.

  ‘I do, but I’m OK for a bit longer. I, err … I, just want to make sure we can—’ I stop, and pick at the crust of a sandwich, unsure of what to say next.

  ‘Shall I make it easy, sweetheart?’ It’s Dad who plucks up the courage to steer the conversation in the direction that we both know it needs to go in. I nod, before taking another sip of the milky tea. Just how I like it. He remembered that too. ‘I was overjoyed when you called on Saturday, elated when you said you wanted to sort things out. I can’t begin to tell you how happy,’ he starts, slowly, as if he’s treading carefully. Searching for the right words to say. I smile, and glance down at Dusty, before looking over in his direction. He has every right to be fed up with me. For years I’ve snubbed him, avoided his calls, and pretended he doesn’t exist, but he’s never once retaliated. He’s never given up. It’s strange, but in a way I have Tina to thank for helping me put things into perspective. When she stood there in that hotel room, sneering, trying to make me feel ashamed, just like Kimberley and her school friends did all those years ago, I realised I was no better. I’ve blamed Dad, and for what? To make him feel ashamed, just as Tina tried with me.

  Sam was right. I can forgive him. And I’m tired of being angry. With him. With the multiple sclerosis. With the care system. After everything that’s happened, with the necklace, the games at work, my careless tweet … it’s made me realise that he’s only human: we’re all capable of doing things we wouldn’t normally do when put under extreme pressure, just like me selling the necklace when I knew it was wrong, I’m sure Dad knew it was wrong when he took out the loan in my name to pay off his gambling debts. And he must have been desperate to take the chances he did at work, I know that now. That’s why I called him from the wedding. That … and, well, what Sam said in the club that night has been playing on my mind. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him, like it did to Alfie, and things were still horrible between us. I’ve not even given him a chance to explain how it was for him all those years ago.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much, but I completely understand why, well … why things have been so difficult since … since Mum died. You were all alone and there was nothing I could do from inside the prison to stop them taking you.’ Dad pauses, and I take another sip of tea. His eyes flick to my trembling hand as I place the cup back down on the table. ‘There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of her, still, after all these years. And I know I was to blame. And for you ending up in care. I let you both down so badly.’ He turns away. I bite my lip, and push my nails into the palm of my hand to stem the tears. It’s the same for me, but I never stopped to think he missed her too. He looks as if he has the whole world balanced across the back of his shoulders. He lost his wife, his childhood sweetheart. Attending her funeral handcuffed to a prison warder, stripped of his dignity too. He lost everything, including me. And for all this time I’ve told myself he deserved it, that it was his own fault.

  ‘Dad, please … pneumonia killed her, not you. The MS made her so weak. I know that now.’ But it was easier, I suppose, to blame him. I couldn’t bring myself to accept any part of my anger was – or could be – directed at Mum and the illness.

  A silent tear trickles down his creased cheek as he draws a breath, pushing his shoulders back to open up his chest. I reach my hand over to his and it’s as if he’s finally been given permission to stop torturing himself with guilt. And something changes in me too. I don’t feel scared any more. By forgiving him, I’ve thrown off the feeling of stigma that’s clung to me for so long. I’ve taken back the power that I gave away – to the likes of Maxine, Tina, those spiteful little girls in the playground, and at the foster home where I didn’t really fit in or belong – the very moment I made Dad my guilty secret and blamed him for everything that happened to me.

  ‘Stupid old man …’ he mutters, wiping his face with a wodge of kitchen roll. ‘How about another cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes please.’ I can tell he’s keen to busy himself. He pats my shoulder on his way over towards the kettle. ‘I know darling. I know it was the illness, I do … but what I did destroyed her too. She was so proud of me, you both were. That’s the irony I suppose. I used to think being a good husband and father for you was all about money.’

  ‘You were so much more than that, Dad. Remember the fun we used to have in the park, and on holiday? You must remember the time I covered you in leaves and Mum pretended to …’ My voice trembles before trailing off. It feels strange talking about Mum. Nobody knew her like Dad and I did, yet we’ve never spoken about her. Dad’s tried to on the odd occasion when I’ve inadvertently taken his call, but it’s as if I’ve wanted to keep her memory all to myself.

  ‘But money gives you choice, darling. You know that. Look how well you’ve done for yourself.’ He pauses. I glance away, if only he knew. ‘And nice holidays. Cars. A decent education. I wanted you to have everything … everything I didn’t have when I was growing up. I guess I just didn’t know when to stop. I think of the promotion and the choices it could give me, Louise in HR confirmed a salary increase, and I know exactly what he means.

  Silence follows.

  ‘Do you miss those things?’ I ask, as he places a steaming cup down in front of me. He shakes his head, before reaching into his pocket for a dog treat. Dusty, now wide awake, wiggles her body in anticipation. With a flick of his hand, she obeys immediately and sits, tilts her head back and catches the treat. I’m impressed, he’s obviously spent hours training her and the bond between them is touching.

  ‘No. I have everything I need right here,’ he starts, looking first at me and then at Dusty. ‘In many ways prison saved me. Banking isn’t glamorous, you start off thinking it is, when you’re young and cocky. But it soon sucks you in until you think you’re invincible. You become arrogant. Convinced you’re untouchable and better than everyone else,’ he looks away, ‘and that’s when the stakes become too high. You want more and more, like a drug … only it’s never enough. There’s always a monkey further up the tree than you.’

  I look away. I’ve taken risks, and what for? So I can swing in the trees with the monkeys? To plug the void of inadequacy that comes from being bullied? To ease the pain of being all alone? Shake off the stigma of being ‘in care’?

  ‘And the gambling?’ I ask, tentatively, knowing that it was his addiction to late-night illegal poker games that pushed him to borrow money in my name and raise the stakes on the trade floor. Selling secrets to the highest bidder in order to honour his debts. He smiles softly.

  ‘Darling, it’s exactly the same thing. Only what happens on trade floors around the world isn’t illegal, although … God knows, most of it should be,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘No, I kicked that demon into touch when I was inside, and I’ll never, ever, let it get a hold on me again. Poison ivy, that’s what it is, insidious and nasty. Chokes everything good out of life.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, quietly, thinking of the necklace and the narrow escape I had. I could so easily have found myself sucked into a world of money laundering and high stakes.

  ‘Anyway, enough of the gloom. Tomorrow is another day as they say.’ He claps his hands together. ‘Are you still OK for time? I could show you my pot plants if you like.’ He smiles, and I’m glad I came to see him. It’s a start.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to get back to work,’ I reply, glancing at the kitchen clock and realising that a whole hour has passed by already. I can’t afford to be late for the meeting. ‘But I’ll come again. I promise,’ I say, pulling my handbag onto my shoulder.

  ‘You will?’ he says, his eyes lighting up.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well that’s the best news I’ve had, in … well years,’ he says, cheerily, and he looks lighter, instantly younger. I make my way out, and he follows close behind me. As I stand aside to let him open the door, he places a hand on my left arm. ‘Sweet
heart, I know I can’t change the past, or change what I did to you. But I can change what I do and I give you my absolute promise I will do everything I possibly can to make the future better. If you’ll let me?’ His eyes search mine. My heart softens, and I know it’s time to let go. To forgive him. Mum never stopped loving him, she told me so just before she died, and I don’t think I ever did, not really.

  ‘Maybe we can work on it together,’ I say, grinning, and he takes both my hands in his. He squeezes them tight and I feel happy. Optimistic. I know that we’ll both give it our best shot.

  ‘Before you go, I nearly forgot. Here,’ Dad says, gently letting go of my hands and pulling a crumpled envelope from his pocket. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, darling. Sorry it’s a bit late. I forgot to post it in time. And then when you called I thought it would be nice to give it to you in person for a change.’

  ‘Oh Dad, thank you,’ I say, giving him a big cuddle and wondering who the other card was from then … how intriguing.

  37

  Both men are already sitting on the black sofas when I arrive in Maxine’s office. Eddie is hovering next to Maxine’s desk with his notepad poised, and Maxine’s perched on the corner with her usual crossed-leg pose with an eager glint in her eye. It’s obvious she can’t wait to witness their humiliation, and I just want to get this over with. I clench my fists and then quickly release them in an attempt to dry the sweat that’s accumulated in my palms. My heart is racing and I can’t look either of them in the eye. But it has to be done.

  Lauren pops her head around the door, just as I turn to close it.

  ‘Shall I bring drinks?’ she whispers.

  ‘Maybe later,’ I say, giving her a wink as she closes the door. I walk into the middle of the room and, after glancing at the clock, I shake my dark bob out and straighten my top. I realise my fingers are shaking. It’ll soon be over with.

  ‘James, Tom,’ I start, looking at each of them in turn. I swallow. I can’t believe this moment has actually arrived. ‘Thank you for meeting with me …’ I pause. Tom is smiling up at me, just like he did at the wedding. I waver. I don’t know if I can do it, but I have to. I force myself to focus. I’ve made the decision and there’s no going back now. James is looking at the floor as if he knows what’s coming. ‘At such short notice. I’m afraid I have some news you may not like. Maxine has offered me a promotion to floor supervisor.’ I quickly glance up at the wall clock and then to Eddie, who gives me a little nod of reassurance. My stomach churns, I wish there was another way. I bite my lip, willing them to understand why I’m doing this. ‘And …’ I falter, and sneak a look at Maxine as she shakes her hair back, relishing the show she’s orchestrated. She nods for me to continue. Out of the corner of my eye I see Eddie glance at the clock too.

  ‘I’m sorry, but Maxine’s decision is final, neither of you are required any more.’ Eddie’s eyes dart towards the door. The room is filled with a loaded silence. My heart is pounding. I think I might actually faint. James is staring at me now, confusion and hurt clouding his eyes. Maxine is practically panting with glee. I will them both to hear me out so they can understand why I’m doing this. ‘Which is why I’ve decided not to accept her offer. I’m leaving.’ I grin sheepishly at them. Their eyes are riveted on me now, and nobody says a word. ‘I’ve had enough of this game,’ I finish, and swallow hard.

  I can hear blood pumping in my ears. I’m not playing this pathetic game for a second longer. I’m choosing my friends, my family, and my sanity. No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I feel fantastic. It’s like a massive cancerous growth has been excised from my body. I feel light. I feel free, and I feel giddy – giddy with the euphoria mixed with anticipation at what this means. Then a serene sense of calm descends over me. I think of Mum, and Dad, and then I know it’s all going to be OK. It’s as if Mum’s telling me so. The happy times with her are all around me. I don’t have to be inside Carrington’s any more to remember them, not when they are right here in my heart forever.

  Maxine’s face is rigid, her eyes are almost bulging out of their sockets, and it makes every agonising second since that moment in her hotel room worth it a million times over.

  ‘But you can’t,’ she breathes, before falling silent. James shakes his head and throws a look of contempt in Maxine’s direction. Tom has his head bowed. I spot him flick his shirtsleeve back to see his watch, and for a moment it throws me, but before I can work out why, the door bursts open.

  ‘Not too late, am I?’ It’s Camille, wearing a beautiful vintage mink Balenciaga cape with matching fascinator. She looks as if she’s just stepped off the front cover of Vogue, circa 1950. ‘Well done, my dear, I knew you could do it,’ she says, gently patting my arm and enveloping me in her signature Hermès perfume. And thank God she’s here. Right on cue. The relief is overwhelming. I didn’t want to hurt James and Tom for a second longer, but this was the only way Eddie and I could think of to get Maxine here for her long-overdue comeuppance.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Maxine demands.

  ‘Camille Carrington-Davenport. And I take it you’re Maxine,’ she says, in a very breezy voice. Maxine’s face freezes with horror.

  ‘You can’t just storm in here like you own the place.’ Maxine is up on her feet now, with her hands on her hips. She glares at Camille and then back at me, as if she can’t decide which one of us to deal with first.

  ‘Oh, but I can,’ Camille says, lighting up a More Menthol before puffing a smoke ring into Maxine’s face.

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Maxine butts in, her eyes scanning the room. We all stare at her. ‘Because guess what … it’s not funny,’ she says, her voice sounding slightly hysterical. ‘And you can’t light up in here,’ she adds, batting the smoke away. Her eyes are darting around the room. She knows she’s cornered and that Camille is going to wipe the floor with her.

  ‘You see, that’s where you’re wrong. This place, as you say –’ Camille pauses to sweep a hand in the air – ‘belongs to me. So I can do what I like.’ A stunned silence envelops the room as we all watch the showdown unfolding.

  ‘What are you going on about? Walter is the boss here … he owns the company,’ she spits the words, her eyes darting between me and Camille.

  ‘Oh, he obviously didn’t tell you. My grandfather, Harry Carrington, founded this business and I inherited it. I’m the major shareholder. The one with the money!’ She pauses to let Maxine catch up. ‘My husband is just the figurehead, a front man, if you like. He doesn’t own the company. No, he prefers pursuing other interests.’ Camille draws on her cigarette. ‘And I have to say you are a little older than his usual dalliances.’ Camille casts a disparaging up-and-down look at Maxine, whose mouth falls open. I manage to stifle a snigger. Nobody says a word. The silence is broken by the door bouncing open.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ We all turn to see Walter striding into the room with a petrified look stamped on his face. ‘The girl outside said you were here. But you never come up to the executive floor,’ he puffs, looking first at Camille and then at Maxine, and then to the rest of us as he tries to take in what’s happening. Eddie and I exchange furtive looks. Well done, Lauren, she made the call to Walter right on time, just as we planned. It’s all coming together nicely.

  ‘So glad you could join us, darling. I have something here for you.’ And from her bespoke Anya Hindmarch crocodile clutch, Camille whips out a Dictaphone.

  ‘What is that?’ Walter asks, nervously, his eyes darting towards Maxine. She throws him a warning look, as if she’s telepathically telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’.

  ‘Calm down dear, and close your mouth. It’s not an attractive look.’ Walter’s face turns scarlet and he quickly closes his mouth like an obedient child. Eddie, barely able to contain himself, lets out a little squeal of delight that he instantly attempts to cover up with a cough.

  Camille places an expensively manicured fingernail over the play button and presses down on it. Eddie makes
big eyes at me and grins. Maxine gasps as her voice bellows out from the tiny machine. We all stand rooted to the spot as we listen to Maxine telling James he can keep his job if he sleeps with her. I look over at James, but he doesn’t see me; his head is bowed. There’s a short pause before her voice pipes up again from the machine, only this time she’s talking more softly, whispering almost. She’s asking Tom how much he wants to keep his job. Her voice sounds all panty and flirty. I stare at Tom. He glances at me, and then at the floor. I pull my eyes away. My heart is almost pounding right out of my chest. Then Tom’s voice can be heard telling Maxine ‘not that much’, and can she please stop throwing herself at him, it’s totally inappropriate.

  He turned her down. A shudder of relief washes over me. So he really was telling the truth. A ‘true gentleman’, that’s what Nathan said. I wasn’t sure, but now I have absolute proof. Tom looks up and our eyes meet. He winks at me and my stomach flips.

  Yesterday, Eddie told me all about the Dictaphone he’d planted in Maxine’s office, after I told him what happened at the wedding and my decision to leave, and how our plan to scupper Maxine was redundant now. But it was too late. Eddie had already put in a call to Camille, figuring she’d be very interested in listening to what went on in Maxine’s office. And she was – Camille contacted Eddie the very minute she stepped off her private jet back from New York Fashion Week.

  Maxine’s face is a picture of disbelief mixed with pure white rage. Her pouty lips are pursed tight.

  ‘Oh, and I think there might be more,’ Camille says, calmly, and out of the corner of my eye I spot Eddie smirking and slowly nodding his head, relishing his moment of revenge. Camille clicks the machine again, and this time Maxine is congratulating me for stealing Malikov away from James and gushing at how pleased she is I’m in the lead and that a woman is teaching those men a thing or two. I clasp a hand to my neck. My face flushes. I look over to James, and he looks back this time, and shaking his head he smiles.