Cupcakes at Carrington’s (Carringtons Department Store 1) (30 page)

‘And what does that mean?’ I say, barely able to bring myself to listen to the answer. She taps the mobile a bit more before shoving it at me again. Scrutinising the screen for clues, I feel dizzy and suddenly realise I’ve been holding my breath for a couple of seconds. I take a huge inward breath and release out all of the tension with a big puff.

‘Oh you might huff, madam. But you won’t get away with it.’

‘What do you mean?’ My voice wobbles momentarily and tears sting. I quickly blink to push them away, mentally counting backwards. She’s not going to do this to me. I swallow hard and stare back at her.

‘Well, you’ve broken the law so I’m going to report you, and then you’ll be sacked when the police arrest you.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, what are you going on about now?’ I demand, exasperation burning through me.

‘Oh, I’d watch what I was saying if I were you,
Georgina.
Look here at your Twitter feed.’

Went in a mega-loaded Russian oligarch’s car today. How starry is that? #customerwithasuperinjunction

She lets out a spiteful little giggle.

‘So?’ I say, desperately trying to fathom out where this is going.

‘Is that all you can say? What about the super-injunction?’

‘It’s true. He has,’ I say, feeling nervous now. Maybe I shouldn’t have been quite so specific about his personal business. A momentary lapse; I’m usually so careful about other people’s privacy, knowing first-hand what intrusion feels like. I mentally kick myself.

‘Yes, but nobody is supposed to know. It’s confidential. THAT’S. THE. WHOLE. POINT. OF. THEM,’ she says, emphasising each word in a slow, deliberate voice, like I’m the village idiot. A triumphant smile spreads across her face. ‘So, do you see my dilemma, Georgina?’ There’s a moment of silence, and I know it’s a rhetorical question, but then it dawns on me. So this is why she upgraded my wedding invitation, just so she could play her trump card.

‘You can’t be serious? For God’s sake, Tina, that’s insane.’

‘Is it? Only I think divulging personal information about a Carrington’s private customer having a super-injunction – the simple fact that you’ve told the whole of Twitter it exists – is actually a very serious offence indeed. And well, that’s exactly what you’ve committed, isn’t it? I wonder what Mr Malikov would have to say about this?’ I can feel adrenalin pulsing around my heart. It’s getting faster and faster. The room wobbles, and I clutch at a beechwood cabinet to steady myself. ‘In fact, you’re no better than your father. A criminal. Insider trading. Fraud. And didn’t he take out loans in your name leaving you to pay them?’ I swallow hard. She’s obviously done her homework. I remember a particularly nasty article in a trashy newspaper mentioning this hideous reality at the time. I was nineteen and Dad was out on licence so I didn’t report him, but the bank found out and told the police anyway. He ended up back inside. ‘Bet you’re still paying them off now. What kind of a father does that to his own daughter?’ Tears sting in my eyes. ‘You never know, you might even end up in prison as well.’

A hateful smile spreads across her face, but it quickly diminishes. The ring of her words throws me right back to the playground taunts, as if it happened just yesterday. The court when the guilty verdict was read out. Mum crying, gripping my hand in a desperate attempt to garner a modicum of strength to cope with it all. And that was the pivotal point. The very moment our lives changed forever. Dad went away, Mum died not long after and I was sent to Nanny Jean’s, where I cried myself to sleep every night for over a year.

I step forward and as if in slow motion I reach out to slap her face, but she grabs my wrist and, after twisting it, yanks my arm backwards. The pain is excruciating. I bend over with agony and she leans down so her face is practically pressing into mine.

‘Now you listen to me, you stuck-up bitch. You will keep away from Ciaran. You will not even look in his direction. You will not visit the café where he works. Ever again. You will forget he even exists. And, if you can’t do that, then this phone becomes my insurance, because Ciaran is
my
insurance and I won’t let you steal that away from me.’ She spits every word directly into my face and I contemplate grabbing the phone and deleting the tweet but, as if reading my mind, she carries on. ‘I’ve got a screenshot saved on a memory stick.’ She shoves me away from her.

I clutch my arm, which is throbbing and raw from the embedded prints of her nails, but strangely I feel very calm. I look her up and down, and it’s a look of utter pity.

‘Go to hell, Tina,’ I say, desperately trying to keep the rising fear from my voice. She glares at me, the phone clutched tightly in her balled fist. Her mouth drops open. She closes it and opens it again, in quick succession, like a fish gasping for air. I turn and, hoisting my dress up, I march from the room.

I
will always hate Valentine’s Day from now on. After crashing through the door to the loos, I throw myself into one of the cubicles. Pushing the toilet seat down, I perch on top of it. My hands are shaking as I pull my mobile from my bag. I need to talk to Sam. I find her number in my favourites list and my finger goes to the green call button. But I hesitate, and quickly snap the phone shut. She has enough to deal with. No, I’m doing this on my own now.

I sit for a while, drawing in the silence and running through everything that has happened. And we haven’t even got to the actual wedding part yet. A plan starts to hatch in my head and for the first time since that day in the canteen when Maxine turned up, I can actually think straight. I know what I need to do, but there’s something else I want to do first … something I should have done a long time ago. I flip open my phone to call Dad.

‘Yo go, G. Over here.’ It’s Melissa, and she beckons me over. ‘You’re just in time.’ I scan the lawn. Most of the guests are seated, but there’s a small crowd standing at the back. I make my way over to stand with Melissa. Ciaran is up at the front, turned towards Tina, who is making her way very slowly down the flower-lined aisle in between the rows of chairs. A harp is playing and Tina is taking her time, ensuring everyone notices her, and oh my God … she’s got a pink miniature Shetland pony on a lead, draped in white tulle with a wonky plastic horn perched on the side of its head.

Ciaran’s face is smiling, but he doesn’t look how I’d imagine a groom should look – not that I’ve been to many weddings, so I’m no expert. His eyes are darting through the crowd as if he’s searching for something, or somebody. He looks in my direction and then quickly flicks his eyes away. Eddie is standing next to me. He sniffs loudly to get my attention.

‘Could she take any longer?’ Eddie is twitching all over like an overcharged electricity cable. ‘Yes, yes move along … nothing to see here,’ he says sarcastically and far too loudly.

‘Eddie, what’s got into you?’ I ask, transfixed at the state of him.

‘Nothing,’ he snorts, waving his flute.

‘Ed, you might want to slow down a bit,’ I whisper, leaning in close to him so nobody else can hear.

‘Oh no, the fun hasn’t even started yet,’ he says, as if he knows something I don’t. I tear my eyes away from him and see Tina has made it to the front. The service begins and I’m sure Ciaran sways ever so slightly. I blink and look again, I must be mistaken, and it’s probably just the sun catching in my eyes. The registrar starts the service, and I feel like screaming out ‘yes’ when he gets to the ‘if any person present knows of any lawful impediment’ bit. But Tina being an actual hateful cow probably doesn’t count. They exchange vows, and I’m definitely not mistaken this time.

‘I … err, I …’ Ciaran is definitely swaying, and for a sickening moment I think he actually might keel over. His best man flies up to check he’s OK. I wrestle with my conscience to stifle the voice inside me that wants to scream out ‘don’t do it’, right here in public, but it’s too late. Ciaran makes it through, and now Tina has her lips shoved out for a kiss.

*

Piercing my thoughts, the toastmaster’s booming voice announces the dining hall is now open for the wedding breakfast. I turn and follow the crowd inside.

My head is spinning with thoughts of the promotion now. And James and Tom, and Tina’s sordid blackmail attempt. Fear swirls, but I just have to keep calm. If I think it all through I can make it work, I just know I can.

The chandeliered dining hall is filled to bursting point with circular tables. I manage to find mine, which is unsurprisingly near the fire exit door and at the very back of the room. And furthest away from the top table, which is a miniature version of all the other tables, but with two enormous carved wooden thrones behind it, and it’s perched up on a white, velvet-draped platform.

I study the menu. Grilled Wagyu fillet steak with a marble score of nine, whatever that is, or pan-fried John Dory with a smoked foie-gras mousse and red cabbage. I’m not sure I like the sound of either of them, but then my eyes are drawn down to the Valrhona chocolate soufflé with clotted cream, and I definitely like the sound of that.

I can’t wait for the dinner and the speeches to be over so I can make my excuses and leave. I need time to concentrate after everything that’s happened today. Maxine wants her answer in less than forty-eight hours.

The band is playing again in the corner of the room, filling it with a lively version of ‘My Funny Valentine’, so I try to concentrate on the music instead, just to get some peace for a moment from the chatter inside my head.

Eddie arrives and plonks himself down in the seat on my right, closely followed by James, who, after checking the place cards, sits down on the other side of the table, opposite me. An elderly couple accompanied by a bustling woman, who I presume to be their carer, sits down next to Eddie. I glance to my left and see Melissa’s name on the place card next to me. Then the wine waiter appears.

‘Fish or steak, madam?’ he asks in a bored voice. I opt for the fish and he pours me a generous measure from a bottle of white wine. I take a long mouthful and, after swallowing the fruity liquid, my mind jumps to Maxine and Tina. Once again I’m stuck in a Catch-22 situation. Either way I’m finished. James and Tom will hate me if I become Maxine’s bitch and do what she’s asked. But then the thought of Tina carrying out her threat fills me with a different kind of dread. It’s a tentative threat, but in these privacy-obsessed times of phone hacking and injunctions galore, she could probably make the allegations stick. And if she tells Malikov, I bet he’ll seize the opportunity to punish me for spoiling his scam to launder dirty money through Carrington’s. It would be like a dream come true for him. He gets to ‘defend’ his privacy in public while at the same time milking the kudos of everyone knowing he has a super-injunction, just like all the other ‘important’ people he covets. At the very least that adage of ‘no smoke without fire’ will haunt me forever.

I spot Maxine striding through the room, closely followed by Walter. Guess Camille must still be in New York for Fashion Week. I draw a sharp breath and pray Maxine’s not sitting at our table. Luckily she stops at another one. Melissa appears from behind me and takes her seat, just about managing not to slosh her Guinness over the pristine white linen tablecloth. I take another mouthful of wine and see Tom looking at the seating plan before making his way over. He’s heading towards my table and that feeling I get whenever I set eyes on him surges straight through me again. Reaching the table he quickly checks the number and, after politely saying hello to each of us, he sits down.

Melissa nudges me hard, as if I haven’t noticed Tom sitting opposite me. I kick her back even harder under the table. She leans into me.

‘I could ride him like a stallion in the Grand National!’ She elbows me and I splutter wine.

‘Shush,’ I say, wiping my chin.

‘G, you are one lucky mare,’ she says, totally ignoring my pleas. ‘Tell me … when you were utterly spent after your first shag, were you like
fuuuck
?’

‘Err, not exactly, we haven—’

‘Shut uuup! I can practically touch the sexual tension between you two. Ever considered a threesome?’

The music stops and the bandmaster calls for our attention.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Mr and Mrs Murphy?’ Then the whole room starts clapping and whistling. Everybody is standing up as the main doors fly open. Ciaran and Tina make their entrance. Tina’s head is held high, she has a smile on her face, but I’m sure I detect an aura of smugness at the corners of her eyes as she surveys the room on her way over to the podium. Ciaran is smiling too, but it isn’t his usual big grin; it’s as if he’s on autopilot. His body looks stiff and uncomfortable in the grey morning suit. They reach the podium and, after mounting the flight of steps, Ciaran sits down at the table. Embarrassingly, Tina stays standing, muttering something through gritted teeth as she attempts to keep the smile in place. Ciaran quickly jumps up and pulls the other chair out for her.

‘That’s my girl. Start as you mean to go on,’ a fat middle-aged man booms up from the table nearest to them.

The band starts up again and the food starts to arrive. Tom is busy chatting to an older, sensibly dressed woman, on his right-hand side. James is sipping wine, in between glancing over at me. I smile back at him and push the lobster ravioli starter around my plate, thinking about Maxine’s instruction and Tina’s threat again, I can’t decide what’s scarier. ‘I need to talk to you later,’ I whisper to Eddie, but he seems preoccupied and just nods quickly in response.

*

As the waiters clear the main course plates, Tina suddenly stands up and clicks her fingers towards the band. Realising it’s a cue to stop playing, the music peters out, ending with a lone cymbal crash that’s followed by an awkward silence.

‘Can I have everyone’s attention, please?’ Tina shouts, tapping the side of the microphone. ‘I know this is an unusual request as we haven’t actually got to the formal speeches part of this
dream
Valentine’s Day yet. But, I have to introduce a very important person.’ She pauses for a moment to scan the room, big smug smile still in place and head held high like she’s announcing the arrival of royalty. ‘Walter Davenport!’ She shoves the microphone under her arm and does a little clap, followed by a simpering giggle as we all crane to stare at him.