A Vintage Christmas (14 page)

‘Don’t put yourself down,’ he says softly, then he lifts his hands up dramatically as if he’s making a declaration. ‘Tomorrow Hardy’s shop floor, next year, the entire fashion world!’

‘Oh shush.’ I’m blushing. ‘Hardy’s is good enough for me.’ I shuffle my feet on the floor as I try to think of a way to deflect the attention back to him. ‘But what about you? I know you want something more than this too . . .’

He shrugs and looks uncomfortable. ‘Life isn’t always about what you want, Evie.’

I tilt my head to encourage him to go on but he’s too busy throwing the remains of his tea down his neck to continue. He wipes his mouth and then grins at me. His tawny-brown eyes are the colour of one-pence pieces, I notice. That’s probably why they always shine so brightly.

‘Gotta go, I’m afraid, or I’ll be late for my next delivery.’ He pauses. ‘Maybe we should . . . go for a drink to celebrate your promotion? I mean, we won’t get to have our morning chats any more now, will we? Not when you’re “One of Them”.’

‘Oh. No. I hadn’t thought of that. Well, yes, let’s definitely do that.’ I suddenly think of other people I could invite. We could make a night of it.

‘Just let me know where and when.’ And then Sam’s gone, waving his hand without looking back.

For once, time passes quickly. It’s unusually interesting seeing what surprises lie in store for me in the new delivery. There’s a short, shimmering silk dress that looks like it’s been dipped in the Indian Ocean because of the way the bright aquamarine wash cascades down the swathes of silky white material. My jaw gaping, I pick out another. It’s a Park Avenue princess’s dream made in frothy white tulle embroidered with tiny gold cobwebs of sequins. I gently put it on a padded hanger, worried the delicate material will disintegrate at my touch. I pull out another garment, a scoop-backed, sculpted black dress, the skirt finished with hundreds of tiny beads. I’ve never been in such close contact with so many beautiful clothes and I’m almost too scared to touch them. To be honest, I imagine our customers will be as well. I mean, I know Hardy’s needs a serious fashion update, but this is way too ambitious for the kind of customers we actually have. But it isn’t my place to say anything . . . yet.

As the clock hands inch towards nine I begin to get a fluttery feeling in my belly. I’m excited by the thought that once everyone knows about my promotion they’ll start to treat me like an equal. A shiver of anticipation comes over me as the staff begin filing into the stockroom, the new place for staff meetings. Rupert decided it was bad for business for potential customers passing the store on the way to work to see us all slumped lethargically around the till point on the ground floor during our meetings. He thought it put them off coming in the store.

‘Hello there, Sarah dear!’

My heart sinks as Susan and Bernie, the silver-haired Irish sisters who’ve worked in Haberdashery for forty years, walk in and greet me. Even
they
haven’t noticed I’ve replaced the old stockroom girl, though as a child I used to spend hours helping them sort through the old buttons and fabric swatches. Each time I see them I hope that they’ll suddenly put two and two together. Maybe I’ll tell them now, start afresh with my promotion. I open my mouth to correct them just as Gwen and Jenny from Beauty walk in.

‘Hellooo, Sarah!’ they chime simultaneously.

‘Hi,’ I mutter, defeated again. I brighten up when Carly appears, flanked by Paula and Tamsin, her colleagues from Personal Shopping. All three look immaculate. Carly is stylish and naturally sexy; Paula is austere in a 1980s throwback kind of a way, with frosted lips, blue eyeshadow and big backcombed hair, like a latter-day Mrs Slocombe from
Are You Being Served?
Tamsin is pure Essex thoroughbred, complete with fake nails, fake tan, dyed platinum hair and suspiciously perky-looking boobs.

The staff gather round Carly, gasping at her outfit and giggling as she regales them with yet another anecdote about one of her notoriously crazy and fun nights out.

‘Oh, Carly,’ Gwen wheezes, clutching her sides, ‘you are a card. Tell us what you said to those football fellas again?’

After finishing her story Carly inches through the adoring staff members towards me.

‘Hiya, babe, how are you doing?’ she says warmly. I smile up at her. She looks radiant as ever in a futuristic-looking gold sequined top with fierce shoulders that protrude at right angles, in contrast to the rest of the top, which hangs against her body like a sheath. I recognize it as the Gainsbourg immediately. She must have preordered one for herself to wear on the shop floor. It helps to sell the clothes, though they’ve never before had such a tempting selection as today’s delivery.

‘What do you think this announcement is all about?’ Carly asks me excitedly.

I look at her curiously. It was only last week that I told her all about my hopes for promotion. To be fair, I
did
say it was top secret and she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone but she’s obviously forgotten. It’s understandable, though. Carly has such a busy social life she probably doesn’t have space in her brain to remember the things I tell her about mine. Every night she’s either going on a date, or to a fabulous party, or being invited to some opening of a cool new bar. Our lives couldn’t be more different.

I glance up at her as she shakes her wavy brown hair off her shoulders. I say ‘brown’, but it isn’t brown like mine is brown. It’s intricately woven with gold, copper and auburn tones that make it glimmer and shine like a crown. She also has these cute, perky freckles all over her nose, and her eyelashes, which are long and perfectly frame her pale green eyes, giving her a wide-eyed look, as if even she is surprised at how beautiful she is.

I still remember seeing her on her first day. I’d just left the stockroom to go on a break and she walked past me, followed by a trail of fawning staff members. She was telling an hilarious anecdote about a date she’d been on that had everyone – even grumpy Elaine from Designers – in hysterics. She was so confident and at home with everyone that I felt intimidated by her and didn’t introduce myself, but the next day, she turned up in the stockroom with a cup of coffee for me.

‘Mind if I come in?’ she grinned, and passed the cup to me. ‘I thought you could do with one of these. Someone told me you start at 7 a.m. every day. How do you manage that? I can barely drag myself here by nine! I’m Carly, by the way. Your name’s Sarah, isn’t it?’

I took the coffee and opened my mouth to tell her otherwise, but I was too shy to explain that my colleagues were still getting my name wrong and I was also worried about drawing attention to the fact that I’d hijacked someone else’s job. It was just so embarrassing. Instead I asked her how she came to be working here. We sat for half an hour while she told me all about her year spent living and working in Sydney, her bijou Clapham flat where she lived with her best friend from university, and what it was like being newly single again. I heard about good dates and bad dates, girls’ nights in and big nights out. And I listened, completely intrigued by her colourful life, which seemed so different from mine.

Then she asked me about Hardy’s and I was happy to oblige her with my knowledge. She was so grateful she offered to buy me a drink after work. Buoyed by the thought of having made my first proper friend at work, I phoned Delilah and asked her if she wouldn’t mind picking the kids up from nursery. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping in town ahead of my ‘date’ with Carly.

I met her when she finished at 6 p.m. and we went for cocktails at a cool hotel bar in Soho. It was the best night out I’d had in ages. OK, make that the
only
night out I’d had in ages. We got tipsy and talked about bad boyfriends and good sex, like all girlfriends inevitably do. Well, she did most of the talking, to be honest, but that suited me fine. I went home that night feeling happy and young, and like someone had
seen
me for the first time in ages. And so what if she didn’t know my actual name?

Since then we’ve spent lots of time together at work. Carly’s always hanging around here and we’ve had the occasional night out too; Mondays usually, as she’s always got something on the rest of the week. But we have hilarious conversations about the dates she’s been on, the latest clothes she’s bought and the nights out she’s had with her best girl mates. I love listening to her stories. It gives me a taste of the kind of life I’d love to lead.

Now she turns, winks and motions at me for a cup of tea just as Sharon opens the door. I sidestep towards the kitchenette to pour Carly a cup from the pot I made earlier. Actually, I’m quite happy to be tucked away in the corner as I don’t want to draw attention to myself before the Big Moment. I imagine Sharon will spot my absence and wait for me to emerge. Or she’ll ask where I am and Carly will tell her. Then I’ll step into the cheering crowd as Sharon announces my promotion. Maybe Carly and her colleagues from Personal Shopping will even elevate me above people’s heads, like fans do in rock concerts.

I smile at the thought as I top up the teapot and hear Sharon announce other notices. I’ve just poured Carly’s cup when Sharon’s thin, sharp voice rises in volume and she claps her hands. I swirl the teabags quickly when I realize she is about to make the Big Announcement.

‘And now,’ I hear her say, ‘I want you all to join me in giving our congratulations to the member of staff who has been given a long-overdue promotion . . .’

I clutch Carly’s tea, partly in fear, partly in excitement. I can imagine Sharon’s eyes working the room like searchlights to find me.

‘This young woman has worked tirelessly to prove her commitment to Hardy’s, often in difficult circumstances, and over recent months she has consistently amazed me with her work ethic, her ability to transform her department and her unique vision for the store . . .’

I can feel myself blush. All my hard work has finally paid off.

‘She is a credit to the store,’ Sharon continues, ‘so I’m sure you will all join me in congratulating her on her promotion. She is an irreplaceable team member and I know that Hardy’s will be a better place with her on-board the management team. Now, where is our new assistant manager? I can’t see her?’

Oh my God, this is it, I think. This is my moment.

I peer out and see Sharon searching amongst the sea of staff. I step out into the crowd just as she says, ‘Ah, there she is! Don’t be shy, step forward!’ Blushing, I take another step, and then Sharon enthuses, ‘Everyone, please give Carly a big round of applause.’

C
HAPTER
4

I
freeze. Discordant clapping echoes around the room and I slowly reverse back into the kitchenette and lean my head against the cool, tiled wall above the sink and close my eyes. I want to cry with frustration. How can I have got it so wrong?

Once I’ve gathered myself I wander back out into the crowd and immediately spot Carly holding court. I
want
to congratulate her,
want
to feel happy for her but I can’t help but feel like pounding my fists on the floor like Delilah’s daughter, Lola, does when she’s having a tantrum. But of course I do nothing of the kind. Instead I wait for more people to leave, take a deep breath, paint a bright smile on my face and walk over to her.

‘Congratulations, Carly. You really deserve it,’ I say warmly, but my words sound hollow, like an echo of all the congratulations that have gone before. I wonder if she’ll be sympathetic once she remembers that I was expecting to get a promotion myself. But she doesn’t seem to recall.

Once everyone leaves I slump against some shelves. I pull out my mobile and dial Sam’s number, desperately wanting the sympathy only a good friend can give. But it goes straight to voicemail. I put the phone back in my pocket and look miserably out of the small window at the plump flakes of snow still falling. Much as I wish I had someone to share my disappointment with, part of me is relieved to be left alone in my prison. Because at this precise moment that’s what it feels like. I’ve served nearly two years here, and now my sentence has just been extended; and with no parole. I groan as I think of how I boasted about my impending promotion to Sam this morning. Why didn’t I keep my stupid mouth shut? He’s going to think I’m such a loser when I tell him what happened. And he’ll be right.