Miracle on Regent Street (21 page)

I shrug dismissively and turn round. ‘I’m just not good enough, I guess.’

‘Don’t be silly, Evie, you know that’s not true. You’d be brilliant with the customers. You’re so warm and friendly, and . . .’ He coughs and I see from the
corner of my eye that he’s holding his hands on the base of his back. ‘Oof, that last box was a heavy one,’ he groans.

‘Do you want to sit down?’ I offer. ‘I could make you tea . . .’

‘Sorry, not this morning. I’ve got lots to do.’ He smiles regretfully at me but I can’t help feeling mildly put out. He’s clearly punishing me for being late but I
could do with his company this morning. He’s the only person who can cheer me up. An awkward silence descends.

‘Well,’ we both say at once.

‘You first,’ I add.

‘I was just going to say we should still do that thing we talked about,’ he says, pulling at a rogue strand on his cosy Nordic jumper.

‘Oh, yes, definitely,’ I reply quickly, just to continue the conversation but then I realize I have no idea what he’s talking about. ‘Um, what thing?’

Sam shuffles on his feet. ‘You know, go for that drink,’ he mumbles. “To cheer you up. We can celebrate your non-leaving the stockroom.’

‘Ohh!’ I realize he’s talking about the promotion party he suggested last time he was here. Part of me thinks there’s no point, but then I reconsider. Maybe a night out
is just what I need right now. Maybe it’s what we
all
need. ‘You know, that isn’t such a bad idea. For a Delivery Guy you’re pretty clever, you know, Sam.’

He grins and his cheeks go all chipmunky for a moment. ‘Same goes, SG,’ he retorts. ‘So when are you free and where do you fancy—’

I hold my hand up to stop him. ‘Leave it with me,’ I say briskly. ‘I’ll sort it all out.’

‘Oh, well, OK,’ he replies dubiously. ‘I’m usually old-fashioned about these sorts of things, but if that’s what you want, fine. Just let me know where to be and
when. I’ll be there. Now, I’ve got to . . .’ he stabs his thumb over his shoulder to the open door where his van is waiting.

‘No worries. See you!’ I say brightly.

I’m already busy planning our big night out. It’s going to be great.

N
ine o’clock comes around all too quickly and the floor staff soon start trooping into the stockroom for our weekly Monday morning meeting,
yawning and clasping their takeaway teas and coffees for dear life as they mumble incoherently to each other. Most of them have still got their coats on so they’ve clearly come straight
through the staff entrance to here, which means they won’t have seen the shop floor yet.

I finish putting away the delivery quietly while everyone chats amongst themselves.

‘Urgh, I can’t believe it’s Monday again,’ moans Becky to no one in particular as she launches herself towards the sofa in my lounge area. I whip away a pile of new stock
that I’d put there before she squashes it all. She doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Can someone wake me up when Sharon’s finished talking figures? I really don’t need to have
a lecture about how many bags I didn’t sell last week.’

‘At least you don’t have to put up with her and Carly interfering with your department,’ grumbles Elaine from Designers. ‘I couldn’t get rid of them over the
weekend. They were constantly prowling round, sizing it up and scribbling things down on a clipboard. I didn’t get to sit down and read my
Grazia
once. It was so annoying.’

‘Can you believe what happened in Guy’s department, though?’ pipes up Becky. ‘It’s amazing what he’s done; he’s like a changed man. Suddenly he’s
all preeny and keeps saying things like, “My vision” and, “I know what customers want . . . ” instead of moping around the place with a face like a slapped arse.’

I can’t help but smile to myself. I knew Guy would throw himself into the success. And I’m happy for him. If it continues maybe he won’t lose his job.

‘And he didn’t talk about the loneliness of being homosexual
once
,’ adds Jenny. ‘Or wonder if his ex was going to be out cruising along Old Compton Street on
Saturday night. He was just . . . happy.’

‘It was weird seeing new customers in the store, though,’ adds Becky. ‘I mean, the place felt kind of buzzy for the first time in ages. I liked it.’

‘I hope my department doesn’t end up like that,’ grumbles Elaine. ‘I’ll never be able to read my mags if I’m as busy as Guy. Looks way too much like hard work
for my liking.’

I laugh at this. Elaine is notoriously lazy. She thinks working at Hardy’s is the best gig ever. She used to work at Selfridges and says Saturdays were hell. She took the job here for a
quieter life. She likes the fact that she gets paid to do nothing. Although she does always moan that it feels like time stands still in Hardy’s. And she’s right. One hour can feel like
ten in here sometimes. Half the time the staff don’t know what to do with themselves. There’s only so many times they can tidy shelves and adjust the way things look before their only
option is to stand in their departments, gazing vacantly out, hoping for someone – anyone – to come and pass some time with them. I do feel sorry for them. Half of them have forgotten
how to do their jobs and I’m not sure they’d know what to do if they were inundated with customers. But Guy really rose to the occasion and I’m so glad. Of course, he had no idea
that his job depended on it.

‘Oh my God!’ Barbara from Shoes bursts through the stockroom door, nearly spilling her tea in the process. ‘Have you seen the beauty department? It’s had some sort of
amazing makeover! Quick! Come and look!’ She disappears again and I watch as the other staff members quickly get to their feet. I’ve never seen them move so fast. I follow behind them.
I can’t help grinning as I hear their exclamations.

‘Wow!’ breathes Becky.

‘It looks so cool, doesn’t it!’Barbara claps her hands in delight.

‘Where did that gorgeous soap come from? I’ve never noticed that before? Is it some new brand?’ Jenny says.

‘I want one!’

‘Oooh, look at the cool dressing table!’

‘Who did this? It’s amazing!’

‘Maybe it was Guy again.’

‘What about Carly? Isn’t she meant to be trying to change the direction of the store? I bet it was her . . .’

I’m standing on tiptoes, trying to see over everyone’s heads. Sharon and Gwen are in the middle of the displays, turning round in a circle and trying not to show their
astonishment.

Sharon claps her hands briskly and turns to face us all. She is still in her outdoor attire, which shows how flummoxed she is. Normally she is immaculately dressed and ready for action by eight
forty-five. But today she is still wearing her mackintosh over her work outfit of a sleek, deep red pencil skirt and black opaque tights. Her black high-heel court shoes are still clasped in her
hands and her beige Ugg boots are on her feet. She looks more like a chicken than ever. I can just imagine her striding proudly around on Rupert’s farm, pecking at all the farmhands to get
them to work harder.

She focuses her beady eyes on each of us, one by one. ‘Who is responsible for this?’ she says sharply.

No one answers. Everyone just looks at the floor, inspects their fingernails or looks out of the windows. I bob down behind Barbara.

Sharon turns to Gwen. ‘Have you taken it upon yourself to completely remerchandise the department without permission?’ she barks.

I hold my breath and for a moment regret my actions. Poor old Gwen looks like she’s about to burst into tears. Her flushed, well-powdered face clashes somewhat with her cerulean-blue
eyeliner and matching mascara, and she looks at the floor.

‘I have to admit—’she begins nervously.

‘Well, it’s good,’ Sharon interrupts briskly. I peek out from my hiding place and am amazed to see Sharon smile at Gwen who, understandably, looks shocked. Sharon never
smiles.

‘Oh, I can’t take the credit for this—’ Gwen looks around desperately, trying to see if anyone looks guilty. I hide behind Barbara again.

‘Oh, Gwen, shush now,’ Sharon interrupts. ‘Don’t make such a fuss. I might think your shop floor looks good, but will the customers? That’s the real test.’
She ruffles the papers on her clipboard. ‘Now, enough of this jibber-jabbering.’ She raises her voice above the excited chattering. ‘Ladies, let’s start—’

‘And gents!’ interrupts Guy as he dashes into the department clutching a venti latte that looks almost as big as he is. He is wearing one of the vintage trilbys with a camel scarf
tied jauntily round his neck over a beautifully cut chocolate-brown overcoat. He looks hot. The girls all wolf whistle and he curtsies. ‘Sorry I’m late, Sharon, I didn’t get out
of here till well past closing time yesterday. I had so much clearing up to do before I went . . .’ he pauses and pulls off his leather gloves delicately, finger by finger, ‘. . . ON MY
DATE.’

‘OOOH!’ we all gasp, and he puts his hand up to stop us.

‘Do not fear, treacles, all the juicy details will be revealed later. Suffice to say the date in question won’t be complaining about the customer service at the store!’ He
winks as he shrugs his coat off and throws it over his arm, but leaves his hat on. He tilts it slightly and looks at us all. He is wearing a suit. He never wears suits. ‘I’m here to
work now.’ And he nods reverentially at Sharon to let her know she can continue.

Sharon rolls her eyes; she’s never had much patience for Guy. ‘Thank you, Guy, I’m sure we’ll all be
dying
to hear about your date later,’ she says with
sarcasm that is lost on him. He just nods in agreement.

‘Quiet, please,’ Sharon snaps. ‘We’ve got some important things to discuss before the store opens. Now, first on my list is sales figures. It was a pretty poor week, even
by our standards.’ She glances down at her spreadsheet. ‘I cannot emphasize how important it is for you all to raise the figures in your departments. Hardy’s simply cannot go on
as we are. You must all know that we are barely taking any money at all. Rupe—’

The staff’s giggles undulate through the room like an ocean wave. We all know how much Sharon fancies Rupert. Sharon glares at us and continues, ‘This is not a laughing matter,
ladies.’

‘And gents,’ pipes up Guy pedantically.

Sharon ignores him. ‘As I was saying, the Hardy family are under a huge amount of pressure from the board to drastically improve the store’s takings by Boxing Day. That gives us just
over three weeks to make a marked improvement.’

‘We can’t help it if the customers don’t want to come in,’ grumbles Elaine.

‘Yeah, we’re all doing everything we can to make the sales. But no one bothers to come in here,’ adds Carly’s colleague Paula. ‘They all go to Selfridges, or
Liberty, or the big department stores on Oxford Street. And frankly, I don’t blame them.’

‘Then we must do something about it,’ retorts Sharon crisply.

‘Like what? Have us all marching round the West End with sandwich boards?’ laughs Becky.

‘Don’t joke about it, Becks,’ calls out Elaine.

‘I don’t think any of you understand the seriousness of what I’m saying,’ Sharon snaps. She looks around at us all in irritation and I can suddenly see how much she cares
about this place. She may not have the best management skills in the world but she’s passionate about Hardy’s and she can see that it needs to change. This place is her life, too.
‘If we don’t all drastically improve the takings in this store, we’ll all be out of a job.’ Her statement silences everyone.

‘What are you going to do?’ says Guy, ‘Fire us all?’

Sharon sighs. ‘No, you are all wonderful employees and I doubt anyone else could do a better job than you.’ I raise my eyebrows. Sometimes Sharon surprises me. There is a trickle of
approval through the group at her words. ‘What I meant is, none of us will have jobs because Hardy’s won’t be here any more.’

‘Hardy’s is going to close?’ gasps Guy, and clutches his hand to his heart, inadvertently trickling coffee down his slick suit. ‘Fiddlesticks!’ he exclaims, and
brushes his hand manically down the stain. ‘I just bought this on staff discount.’

‘It is more than likely,’ Sharon confirms.

A shocked hush descends upon the room, then the babbling begins again.