Cupcakes at Carrington’s (Carringtons Department Store 1) (27 page)

‘Being here is exactly what she needs right now,’ I say, pouring milk into the mugs. ‘She’ll come back to us. She may change a little, but she’ll definitely be back. I promise.’ I smile and pick up the mugs.

‘Thanks Georgie. I …’ He pauses. ‘… We both couldn’t get through this without you.’

‘She’s my friend. You too. It’s what we do.’

After handing Sam her tea, and giving her shoulder a little squeeze, I sit down opposite her. She’s staring at the cashmere jumper.

‘Sam, can I do anything? Do you want to talk?’

‘No. Just sit with me,’ she says, not even looking up.

I take a sip of my tea and think about work, wondering if it’s still all worth it. There must be more to life than scrapping over sales in a desperate bid to keep my job and stay one step ahead of the game. And it’s only going to get worse if I manage to stay on and end up slaving for Maxine. I wish I didn’t have the flat, the car and my debt problem to support. Then I could just sod off on one of those volunteer charity working breaks that I’ve read about in magazines. The girls come back looking all refreshed and wholesome, not haggard before their time like I am.

I’ve not slept at all for the last few nights, tossing and turning, thinking about Alfie, worrying about Sam and everything else that’s going on at work. I just wish the game could be over, but I suppose it never will be, not really. Even if I get to stay at Carrington’s and spend the next forty years working my arse off, I’ll never be free. There’ll always be a Maxine, a revamp, or someone like Tina I have to watch my back with just to stay one step ahead.

I’ve reached the point now where I just want to know what’s happening, what has Maxine got planned? Am I going to get to sell Prada and Hermès bags or be unemployed? The wait is excruciating. We’ve been told we’ll know one day next week, which might as well be an eternity away. And when I was last at work, Tom was avoiding me, not even bothering to hold the lift like the rest of us do when we see somebody running to catch it. Maybe Maxine has already told him his job is safe so he figures he doesn’t even need to bother trying to distract me any more.

I
t’s 14 February and the big day has finally arrived. I’ve managed to shove myself into a big puffy gold vintage gown that I hired from a dress agency to keep costs down. It didn’t seem too bad in the shop, but now I just look like a giant Ferrero Rocher. The dress code is ‘movie star glamour’, but I can’t afford anything new and I must have put on a few pounds, as everything in my wardrobe is either catching under the arms or the bulge of my stomach is slightly more prominent than it ever was before. But then the stress is like a tonne weight permanently shackled to my body, so it’s been goodbye
No Carbs Before Marbs
and hello to my loyal friend … Red Velvet.

I spritz another generous shower of perfume onto the insides of my wrists – well, it’s aftershave really. It’s Tom Ford for men, another tester from Scarlett, and it’s so delicious and sexy and about as close as I’m getting to having an actual man of my own these days. But at least I’m not going to be home alone for a change, small mercies and all that. And I have a Valentine’s card! Found it pushed under my front door this morning in a crimson envelope:

Georgie, Thinking of you xxx

I know it’s from Dad, he’s been sending me one every year since I was a little girl, and even though he disguises his handwriting and tries to make it sound as if it’s from somebody else, I still know it’s from him.

I slip my feet into the Gina sandals before glancing in the hall mirror. The face looking back at me looks different somehow and I don’t think it’s just the make-up, which is more glamorous than my usual style. No, it’s as if it belongs to somebody else, someone I don’t recognise any more. My mobile rings and, seeing that it’s Sam, I flip it open.

‘Hi honey, how are you today?’ I ask, tentatively, hoping she’ll be able to talk to me. When I called her last night there was only silence punctuated by the odd snuffle and sniff until she managed to utter ‘OK’ when I said I’d call again in an hour. I had a long chat with Nathan instead and he said she’d been lying on her bed all day listening to Frank Sinatra songs and staring at the ceiling. Alfie was a big fan.

‘OK. It’s the wedding today, isn’t it?’ Her voice is flat and lacking in any emotion.

‘Yes, that’s right. I don’t have to go though. I can spend the day with you instead.’

‘Yes you do. Ciaran will feel let down if you don’t turn up. And I shouldn’t have declined his invitation. He works for me but that didn’t even matter when Nathan invited me to Italy … what was I thinking?’ she says, sounding like a robot.

‘Oh, please don’t be hard on yourself. Look, I don’t have to go, I’d much sooner be taking care of you.’ I pause, letting the thought sit with her for a moment. ‘You’re my best friend,’ I add, softly, unsure of what else to say to her.

‘I know. But I’m going to see the funeral people today.’ Her voice wobbles on the word ‘funeral’ and I’m instantly transported back to Mum’s one.

‘Well then, let me come with you.
Please
. You don’t want to go on your own.’ I’m conscious of sounding as if I’m telling her what to do. And then instantly feel guilty that the chance of forgoing the wedding springs into my mind so temptingly.

‘No. I’m going on my own. Nathan wanted to come too but I want to do this for Dad. He did everything for me, so it’s the least I can do.’ Her voice trails off. ‘But there is something you can do for me.’

‘Anything,’ I say, quickly.

‘Go to the wedding and, if you get the chance, then please apologise to Ciaran on my behalf. Say I’m sorry I let him down.’

‘Oh Sam, I will, but you haven’t let anyone down.’

‘Yes I have. I let Dad down … I should have been there with him,’ she says, matter-of-factly, and a short silence follows.

‘That’s not true.’

‘Please. Just go to the wedding.’

‘OK, if you’re sure. But if you change your mind, at any time, then just call me or text, and I’ll come.’

‘I will.’ There’s a pause. ‘And thank you,’ she adds, her voice sounding a little softer now. ‘Georgie, you will come to the funeral with me, won’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes of course, I’ll be right there next to you, for the funeral and for always.’ I say goodbye and take another peek in the hall mirror before leaving.

*

At the entrance to the manor house, a throng of guests are milling around. There’s a long, ruby-red carpet weaving all the way up and along the gravel driveway to create the Oscar-themed wedding that Tina chose. Faux paparazzi are busy flashing their cameras at the arriving guests.

‘Over here, smile. Yes,
wooork iiit
,’ a pap bellows at me the minute I step out of the cab. I manage a weak smile as I remember to lift the ankle-length dress up just enough to make sure that I don’t catch the toe of my sandal in it. I couldn’t bear to fall flat on my face in front of all the people who are milling around up ahead of me. I feel self-conscious with them all gazing in my direction. Everywhere I look there are beautiful people I don’t recognise. Couples. The women in sparkly cocktail dresses and the men in black tuxedos.

‘Ignore them. They’re just for show, they’re not real guests. From some wannabe agency or other. “Permanently resting” actors, most likely.’ Eddie appears at my side, his razor tongue sharpened to perfection as usual.

‘Thank God you’re here,’ I say, relieved to see a familiar face. He looks me up and down and then lets out a whistle of approval.

‘Baby doll, you look fierce,’ he says, clicking his fingers in a Z shape around me. I laugh and hook my arm through his and we make our way up the red carpet and into the foyer that’s crammed with a trillion rose-pink heart-shaped metallic balloons. Just inside the huge glass doors is a huddle of pretend fans, and they’re all waving autograph books and screaming to get our attention. Eddie grabs one of the books, and milking the moment to the max he scrawls his signature before tossing the book back into the crowd. I cringe inside and bat a balloon away from my face, half wishing that I was home alone scoffing a chocolate bar, after all.

‘This is so embarrassing … and how come she’s managed to pull this off in under a couple of months? Weddings on this scale usually take a good year to organise,’ I whisper in Eddie’s ear.

‘Yep, they totes do, but madam gets what madam wants, doesn’t she? Probably had the venue on a retainer from the very first moment she clapped eyes on Ciaran. You know how showy she is, anyway. I think Ciaran’s wealthy parents footed the bill and I guess you can have whatever you want whenever you want … if you chuck enough money at it. Wouldn’t surprise me if One Direction show up and sing a special
a cappella
Valentine song especially for her,’ Eddie snorts.

‘Really?’ I say, perking up at the prospect of getting close to Harry.

‘
Weell …
that might be stretching the budget just a little bit, but who knows?’ Eddie shrugs his shoulders. ‘Ciaran didn’t get much of a say, so I guess anything is possible.’

‘Oh I see,’ I reply, thinking how sad, and wondering whether it’s too late to locate Ciaran and shake some sense into him.

‘Anyway, let the show begin,’ he says flamboyantly as he grabs a flute of pink champagne from one of the nearby waiters and makes off towards the glass-domed atrium. Catching my breath, I push my silver clutch bag under my arm and take two glasses of the pink champagne. I know I’m not going to enjoy today so I need all the sustenance I can garner. I take a big gulp of the bubbly liquid and immediately wince as the glands under my ears smart from the shock of the bittersweet liquid. I glance around, noting that there don’t appear to be any other real guests here yet. I finish the flute, so, clutching the other one, I make my way through to the atrium.

The scent from the long-stemmed pink lilies hits my nostrils. There must be at least twenty head-height marble pillars dotted around the perimeter, each displaying a gigantic floral arrangement. To my left there’s an enormous easel detailing the seating plan. I head towards it, eager to see who Tina has sat me next to. As I scan, looking for my name, I feel a hand on my back.

‘Hi there. You’re on the same table as me.’ I spin around and James is standing right in front of me. He looks gorgeous in his creamy white tuxedo with matching bow tie. ‘You look amazing,’ he says, looking me up and down, and then leaning towards me he plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I catch a whiff of his spicy aftershave and wish again that things could have been different.

‘And you don’t look too bad yourself,’ I reply, smiling warmly. There’s an awkward silence and I start bobbing from one foot to the other. I quickly stop when James’s gaze wanders down towards my feet.

‘Nice sandals,’ he says, grinning at me.

‘Thanks.’ I feel like a teenager on her first Valentine’s date. He’s being very complimentary; I feel a bit awkward.

‘Georgie, I was wondering whether, now that we’ve cleared the air between us …’ He looks into my eyes and then pauses momentarily. I wait for him to carry on, curious to hear what he’s about to say. But before he can finish the sentence, Maxine appears unexpectedly from behind one of the flower arrangements, startling me in the process. I grasp the flute as it topples in my hand, just managing to save it from crashing to the floor.

‘Not interrupting anything
priiivate
, am I?’ she says in an extra breathy voice, lingering on the word ‘private’, as if it’s a rampant rabbit sex toy, and all for her. She slings her crimson chiffon wrap, which has slipped from her shoulder, back into place. Impulsively I spring apart from James, blushing at her innuendo.

‘Georgie, I want to talk to you,’ she continues. She does her pageant smile and my heart sinks. I quickly shake the spilt champagne from the back of my hand before nodding back at her. ‘Away from here.’ She shakes her big hair back and attempts to cock a newly Botoxed eyebrow at me.

She knows!

She knows what happened between Tom and me. And on top of the other secrets she has on me she must have decided it’s tipped the scales. She’s going to sack me. I just know it. It’s one thing being let go as part of a recession-busting revamp, but to be sacked for snogging your boss’s lover – well, it’s unimaginable. And on Valentine’s Day too! Talk about irony. But I can’t believe she’s about to do it here, at a wedding. I brace myself for the showdown that’s bound to come any minute now.

‘Follow me,’ she orders, and I do, deftly batting the wrap from hitting my face as she swings around fast and sashays off, her Agent Provocateur scent wafting behind her like a lethal vapour trail.

‘Sit down,’ Maxine says, as we enter her room. An enormous bouquet of red roses is perched upside down on top of the trouser press, as if it was thrown from the bed opposite. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, so I pick my way through on tiptoe, only just managing to avoid a shocking tangerine-coloured lacy negligee and pair of purple snakeskin cowboy boots.

I wonder who the saucy cowgirl look was for. Was it Walter who kept her company, or maybe it was Tom – or, perhaps, both of them? My mind is racing. Nothing would surprise me any more. A sudden image of Maxine screaming ‘giddy up’ pops into my mind and instantly I cringe at the thought of her riding bareback astride Walter. I can’t even bring myself to imagine the same scenario with Tom taking Walter’s place.

Spotting two chairs over by the window, I reluctantly do as she’s ordered. But instead of adopting her usual towering-above-me position, she sits in the adjacent chair to mine and crosses her legs. I fidget with my clutch bag, unable to make my mind up whether to place it on the table beside me or keep it in my lap. I decide on the latter, figuring it’s better to have something to hold on to.

‘Maxine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mea—’ I start, but she promptly flings up a hand. Her eyes are glinting, as if she’s on some weird power trip.

‘Don’t be,’ she says, suddenly changing tack.

‘But, I …’ My voice trembles. Her face softens a little, which only makes my anxiety surge even more. I place the champagne glass down on the floor beside the chair leg and surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palms down the back of my clutch bag. I wish she’d just get on with it.