Ice Creams at Carrington’s (11 page)
‘Well, thanks for popping over, dear, it’s always a treat to catch up.’ Nancy gets up to see us out. I give her and Dad a hug; Tom does too.
‘I’ll call you, Georgie, before we head off,’ Dad says, pulling open the front door and squeezing my hand as I step outside. ‘And do stop worrying. We’ll be fine!’ he waves after us.
Oh God, I really hope so … I couldn’t bear it if something happened to either of them.
T
he regatta plans are coming together really nicely now, and I needn’t have panicked at all, as Betty, Annie, and someone from practically every department instore has volunteered to get involved and help out. #TeamCarringtons has had six weekly lunchtime meetings now in the staff canteen, and we’ve even managed to source a carousel – it turned out that Annie’s Uncle Mikey used to work on the funfairs, so he put me in touch with a man just along the coast in Brighton who was more than happy to agree to turn up and spin the horses in exchange for a pound a ride. So, thankfully, I’ve managed to cross ‘carousel’ off my seemingly never-ending ‘to do’ list.
‘OK, so everyone is agreed then?’ It’s Annie. We’re in the staff canteen and just about to wrap up our seventh meeting. ‘That I’m the deputy #TeamCarringtons boss?’
‘Fine by me, dear,’ Betty says, finishing the last of her tea. ‘I’ve got enough on my plate at home with lazy Luke.’ She smiles wryly before sitting back and folding her arms.
‘And fine by me too,’ Denise from Home Electrical says to Annie. ‘But only if I can be in charge of the brochures – making sure all the ice-cream vans have a big bundle to sell. I want to liaise with that Matt from the council. He is hot,’ she laughs. Matt popped instore last week to see how I was getting on, so I invited him to join in our lunchtime meeting, and now Denise is clearly smitten. ‘Georgie, do you know if he’s single?’
‘Sorry, no idea,’ Denise’s forehead creases with disappointment, ‘but I’ll see what I can find out,’ I quickly add, and she grins like a loon.
‘Thanks, Georgie.’
‘OK, so to recap, we’re pretty much there then – we have a carousel, thanks Annie,’ she nods as I click to update my project plan with Uncle Mikey’s friend’s mobile number. ‘And you’re going to be the go-between with the council to make sure he has permission to set up the day before – and that all the legal stuff, health and safety, etc., is sorted out. Would you like some help with any of that?’
‘Nope. Thanks anyway, but I have it all under control,’ she says, smoothing down her black uniform top and straightening her gold Carrington’s name badge.
‘Great. And thank you! I do appreciate all your help. So, that leaves the tunnel tours …’ I tab through the project plan until I find the right place and type an update. ‘Mrs Grace has agreed to conduct the tours; they’ll be every hour and tickets are already available to buy on the Carrington’s website, and the official regatta website, too, which went live last week. Plus, she’s also liaising with her publicist to see about organising a series of short readings from her book, with the option to buy a copy and have it signed at the end of each tour, which is a very nice touch.’
‘Oooh, I’d love to give her a hand with that, and every hour for two days will certainly take it out of her … those tunnels go on for ever.’ Betty leans forward. ‘And one of them is at least a mile long.’
‘I’m sure she’d appreciate the help,’ I say, typing in Betty’s name under the ‘tunnels resource’ section. ‘I’ll let her know.’ I go to make a note in my pad on the ‘phone calls to make’ page.
‘No need love, I’ll be seeing her at bingo on Friday, we’ll chat it all through then, you’ve enough to be getting on with.’ Betty smiles kindly.
‘Thanks so much, I really appreciate your help, Betty. And all of you, really, I can’t thank you enough.’ I smile around the table. With their help, Carrington’s first regatta sponsorship is going to be a massive success. When I first agreed to represent Carrington’s, I had no idea just how much work would be involved, so having a team of helpers is an absolute godsend. I make a mental note to thank each of them with a gift – a bouquet of flowers or some champagne truffles, perhaps – when it’s all over. If everything goes smoothly and to plan, Isabella is bound to be impressed, and Tom will be thrilled that Carrington’s is represented so well in the community. I’m sure it will make a difference to his negotiations in trying to find a suitable location for the new store.
‘You’re very welcome, G.’ It’s Melissa, our sturdy plain-clothes store detective. She flings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a big bear hug, practically winding me in the process. ‘Right, what else is on that plan of yours?’ she adds, eventually letting go of me.
‘The stalls are all organised; we have a nice selection ranging from gourmet candy floss – I never knew it came in different flavours – to good old traditional mulberry pie with custard. Sam has got her cake menu finalised, and Max, the Carrington’s food hall manager, is doing a Japanese-themed marquee.’
‘Well, I heard he’s already told that Meredith one from the committee what locations he’s having,’ Betty puffs.
‘I bet he has.’ Melissa rolls her eyes.
‘Apparently, he went straight to the organ grinder, Dunwoody, and said he can’t be expected to serve his finest food in a back alley without proper access for his special climate-controlled Carrington’s food delivery van,’ Betty continues.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I say, remembering the email I got from him this morning confirming this to be the case. And he’s managed to book Mr Nakamura, the Japanese chef, to do a Teppanyaki demo
and
a sushi-making class. It’s going to be brilliant – visitors to the regatta will be able to visit the special ‘Japanese cuisine’ marquee, which will be in a prime spot by the harbour, where for a small fee they can roll their own
temaki
and eat it right away. I’m going to make sure Isabella has a front-row workbench for that event. Tom has told me she loves sushi, and as a fluent Japanese speaker, she’s going to be very impressed that we have Mr Nakamura here in Mulberry-On-Sea for her to chat to.
‘And you know, Max is actually a proper trained chef, and he’s friends with Gordon Ramsay, so I can’t imagine he takes any crap, certainly not off the likes of that Meredith one. We all know what the sleb chefs are like.’ Melissa shakes her head.
Hmm, good for you, Max!
‘And there’s something not right about that bird. Trust me!’ Mel continues, and I stifle a giggle, thinking she’s got a very good point. Meredith sure makes me feel uncomfortable – it’s as if she has it in for me but I’m not entirely sure why. I know she has issues with Carrington’s after her affair with the Heff, but still … ‘Yep, I can always tell the shifty ones, comes from people-watching all day long as I follow them covertly around the store. I should have a master’s degree in character profiling.’
I also got an email from Meredith, stating that she wants a woman from the WI to approve Sam’s menu to ensure there isn’t a ‘conflict of interests’ with the other cake sellers – Meredith really does seem hell-bent on making this regatta as difficult as possible for Carrington’s. I haven’t told Sam yet.
Talking of whom – she must be telepathic, as my mobile buzzes with a text message from Sam: spooky! I glance at the screen while the others chat about the last series of
Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares
.
Just a reminder re. the nanny/manny interviews tomorrow. First one is at 10 so bring your clipboard and oversized geek glasses lol xxx
I quickly tap out a reply.
Can’t wait, don’t forget the running shorts! xxx
I slot my mobile into my pocket. We’re not really supposed to have phones on us, but everyone does, and as long we keep them on silent it’s OK.
‘So, is that it for now? Only, I need to get back to the shop floor to sniff out the lifters. Had to body-slam a bloke with half of Home Electricals stock shoved up his hoodie this morning – must think I’m blind.’ There’s a resounding tut-tutting sound.
‘Well, I’d like to see them try it on in my department.’ Annie flicks her hair before leaning back in her chair. ‘I’m like a hawk when it comes to my bags.’ I smile, remembering how they used to be
my bags
. I sometimes wish I still worked in Women’s Accessories, with all those luxury handbags. Nothing beats the smell and feel of buttery-soft leather on opening a new season delivery box from designers like Marc Jacobs and Mulberry.
‘I think so. And thanks for coming – see you all on Monday for what could very well be our last meeting – not much left to do now, we’re almost there,’ I beam. We all push our chairs back and go to leave, and then I remember. ‘Oh, hang on, I forget to say … who fancies a trip to an ice-cream factory?’
Tom put me in touch with his Uncle Marco and we’ve already exchanged emails and sorted out most of the arrangements, but he’s invited me to the factory too – how could I resist seeing where ice cream is actually made? No way.
‘Ooh, I’d love to do that … and then I can tell Jack all about it,’ Lauren says, her eyes lighting up.
‘Why don’t you bring him with you?’ I suggest, thinking he’s bound to love it.
‘Really?’ She looks so excited.
‘Sure, why not! We can make a day of it. I’ll organise a date and let you know. It will have to be soon, is that OK?’
‘Brilliant. I can’t wait. And Jack will be so excited when I tell him. Thanks Georgie.’
W
hen I arrive at Sam and Nathan’s house, a white weather-boarded villa on a private beach estate just along the coast from Mulberry-On-Sea, I ring the bell. And wait. And wait some more. The lights are on and their cars are in the driveway. I’m pondering on whether to call Sam’s mobile, when Nathan eventually pulls open the front door, looking frazzled.
‘Georgie, am I pleased to see you. Come in.’ He gives me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Sorry about the wait. I was on the phone appeasing a client and Sam’s going through Holly and Ivy’s wardrobes trying on every single outfit they have – she wants them looking their very best when the candidates turn up. And a lorry-load of new gear arrived yesterday so it’s taking forever …’ He smiles, but there’s a hint of frustration in his voice, which is so unlike him.
‘Oh, no problem, I can see you have your hands full.’ He has a half-empty bottle of milk in one hand and a bunny-print towel slung over his right shoulder.
‘Oh God.’ He waves the bottle in the air. ‘Trying to tidy up before the first candidate arrives. Come on, I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ He strides off towards the kitchen.
‘Thanks, Nathan, but why don’t I make the tea, and then you can give Sam a hand?’
‘If you’re sure! That would be fantastic. Thank you.’ He throws the bottle in the sink and goes to leave, but then quickly turns back. ‘You know where everything is, yes?’ He rakes a hand through his messy blond hair before reaching down to retrieve a heart-shaped Hello Kitty cushion from the floor.
‘Yes! Now go.’ I grin, lift up the kettle and waggle it around as proof.
An hour or so later, and the girls are bouncing in their activity chairs, looking cute in matching red spotty pinafores over little white T-shirts, and Sam, Nathan and I are sitting around the breakfast island in the centre of their enormous kitchen. All marble counters and terracotta floor tiles. I know Sam is a professional cook and spends a lot of time in her kitchen, but it really is breathtaking, with whole-wall concertina glass doors that open out directly onto the grassy sand dunes leading down to the sea. And I’m a big fan of her rainbow-crystal-embellished food mixer too. Very blingtastic!
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit casual to have the interviews in here?’ Sam grabs a packet of baby wipes off the counter and wings them into a drawer.
‘We could use the dining room if you prefer, it’s more formal – or how about my office? Then it would be like a proper interview. We could even sit in a row on one side of the desk as a panel and pretend we’re in
The Apprentice
, hands up to be Lord Sugar. I want the pointy finger “you’re hired” line,’ Nathan jokes, but Sam doesn’t laugh – she shoots him a fiery ‘shut-up-this-is-serious’ glare instead, which is so unlike her.
‘Or how about the lounge? Nice and relaxed,’ I suggest, wishing they’d both calm down – they look so anxious, anyone would think
they
were the candidates waiting to be interviewed. And the strained atmosphere between them is almost palpable. I’ve never seen them like this, and it’s awkward. Horrible even. Sam seems so unhappy.
‘Yes, good idea, not too formal, not too messy,’ Sam says, eyeing up a pile of dirty plates stacked on the draining board. I breathe a small sigh of relief, but then she promptly adds, ‘I’ll just run the Dyson round,’ and practically launches herself from the bar stool and towards the door in less time than it takes for me to swallow a mouthful of tea.
‘I’ll do it.’ Nathan places a hand on Sam’s arm.
‘Oh for God’s sake, I am capable of vacuuming my own house, you know,’ she snaps, wrenching her arm free. And I’m shocked. In all the years Sam and I have been friends, I can’t remember ever having seen her like this. And definitely not with Nathan. I’ve never heard her utter a bad word about him, let alone to his actual face. And she’s not usually so bothered by what other people think. I know she’s exhausted, but there’s something more to it – I’ll talk to her when we’re alone and see if I can get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s going on here. Sam and Nathan are rock solid, or so I had thought.
‘Does it even need vacuuming? I thought you had a cleaner!’ I say, trying to quell the situation. I’m sure a prospective nanny or manny isn’t going to be bothered about a bit of carpet fluff.
‘We did. But she left. Went back to Poland to care for her elderly mother,’ Nathan says in a monotone voice, looking as if he has the weight of the world on his broad shoulders as he shoves his hands in his pockets and avoids eye contact with Sam. But before either of them has a chance to argue some more about who’s getting the Dyson out, the doorbell rings, signifying the arrival of the first candidate.