Carrington’s at Christmas: The Complete Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s, Ice Creams at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown
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I whisper, quickly, glancing around the café. ‘Somebody might hear you.’
‘Sorry, but it’s obvious he’s keen,’ she replies in a hushed voice, even though there’s nobody else here.
‘Hmm, you know he’s been acting very strange recently.’
‘Really! What kind of strange?’ Sam asks, eagerly.
‘I’m not sure … just, kind of extra-attentive, you know, more so than he usually is.’
‘Ohmigod, I knew it. He wants you big time,’ she squeals, banging her cup down on the saucer.
‘Will you stop it,’ I reply, trying not to smile.
‘Oh you’re such a spoilsport.’
‘Please.’ I pull a face.
‘OK. If you insist.’ She sticks her tongue out. ‘So, tell me about the other bombshell instead then?’
‘Well that’s the bad news I’ve had today. The Heff came charging into the staff canteen, slap bang in the middle of the engagement announcement, and said we’re entering a terminal decline and as of today everything changes.’
‘So what does that mean then? Your job’s safe though, isn’t it? I mean, they’re not going to get rid of you. You’re a fantastic sales assistant. Everyone knows that, and all the regulars love you. I’m always overhearing them saying how helpful and kind you are.’ Sam stops licking cake from her fingers and looks me in the eye.
‘Ahh, that’s nice to hear, but I don’t know, Sam. All I know is that a retail expert, Maxine somebody or another, has been brought in to conduct some kind of review. I’ve got a meeting with her on Tuesday, so I’ll guess I’ll find out more then.’ A trickle of panic starts. I try and shake the feeling off, desperate to keep an open mind.
‘Maybe you’ll get a promotion, you never know,’ she says gently, and I know that she’s only trying to make me feel better.
‘Perhaps,’ I say wryly. The feeling of panic lurches up again. What if I really do lose my job? Everything I’ve worked so hard for could disappear overnight. I don’t even have any savings – nothing to fall back on – and my credit cards are all maxed out. And then there are the loans …
‘Well, let’s not worry about it until it happens, and I don’t for a minute think it will. Now, will you tell me if you like this please?’ she says, handing me a miniature heart-shaped sparkly pinkberry cake. ‘It’s a new recipe I’m trying out for Valentine’s Day.’
‘Mmm, it’s divine,’ I say, after taking a bite. I manage to put a smile on my face, although I can’t help thinking that it’s OK for Sam – she’s never been poor, or even had to struggle, how can she ever know what it really feels like? ‘Will we still be friends if I lose my job and end up in some dingy dump surviving on Super Noodles?’ I ask, trying to lighten the mood, but remembering the early days when I left care, I relied so heavily on overdrafts, even paying by cheque for groceries, just to buy me an extra few days until payday when the same horrible cycle would start all over again.
‘Don’t be so dramatic. You know that’s never going to happen. People don’t just lose their job, you know, unless the company they work for goes bust or they’ve done something really bad, and then it’s usually their own fault …’ Sam’s face drops when she realises what she’s said. ‘Oh Georgie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’ She tries to grab my hand, but I quickly pull it away.
‘Like what?’ is all I can muster. I lean back in the seat. My mind leaps back to the hideous day at school when I was summoned to Miss Braintree’s office and ordered to pack up my things. I was on the next train home and in the local school playground the following morning in my ill-fitting second-hand uniform, being slapped around for ‘talking posh’.
‘Well, you know. That business with your dad,’ Sam whispers the word ‘dad’.
‘But I’m not my dad, I’m me. I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?’ I know I’m shouting, but the feeling is mounting. I’ve worked twice as hard to prove I’m not like him.
‘No. Of course not. Georgie, honestly, everything will be OK, really it will. You’re my best friend and always will be because you’re funny, kind, really brave given what you’ve been through, smart … even if you do have a tendency to put two and two together and come up with five on occasion.’ She smiles kindly. ‘Look, try not to panic. You’re going to be fine.’ Sam leans forward to stroke my arm and I feel tears stinging my eyes. I swallow hard and silently pray that she’s right. ‘But if you’re really worried then you must cover every eventuality. Why don’t you look for another job, just in case?’ There’s silence while I take in what Sam has said.
‘The thought has crossed my mind, but what if Maxine finds out? I don’t want her thinking I’m disloyal to Carrington’s or lacking in confidence over my position here.’
‘She won’t. Not if I talk to Dad, discreetly,’ Sam suggests. I think of Alfie, her lovely father. During those lonely years at Nanny Jean’s I would fantasise that Alfie would come and rescue me. He had even contacted social services and said I could live with him and Sam, but they had not allowed me to as he travels too much and Sam was looked after by a nanny in the school holidays after her interior designer mum ran off to LA with a rock-star client when Sam was just a baby. Said I needed stability.
‘Oh Sam, but isn’t that cheating?’
‘Don’t be daft. You’ve already proved yourself. It’s not like you’re looking for something you haven’t already worked hard for. Let me call him, it can’t do any harm,’ she pleads.
‘I’m not sure. Anyway, I’m a sales assistant not an estate agent.’
‘Oh, everybody does it. It’s not just what you know these days, but who you know as well. And besides, you’ll just be selling houses instead of handbags. Is simples,’ she grins.
‘Weell, I guess it won’t do any harm to ask him, to have a backup just in case, but promise me you’ll be discreet,’ I say, reluctantly. I can’t imagine working anywhere else.
7
It’s been ages since I’ve had a good night out, so after the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve had this week, I intend to make the most of tonight, Sam’s birthday.
After The Heff’s announcement, the mood at work has been subdued. I managed to find out that we all have meetings with Maxine next week, but nobody knows more than that, not even James, and we still don’t know anything about Tom, or what he’s going to be doing. Even Eddie has been very down, although he’s the only one who knows for definite that his job is safe. Mind you, he’s in a major strop now that his workload has doubled since Maxine got The Heff to agree to him working for her as well. Apparently, her old PA left to work somewhere else, the day before Maxine came to Carrington’s, and they haven’t managed to find a replacement yet. Cost cutting, she calls it, but Eddie reckons it’s his punishment for calling her a ‘tapeworm host’.
So after enduring the sweaty huddle on the bus journey from work to Sam’s palatial clifftop house, where I cursed every second for economising on the cost of a taxi fare, I press the intercom on her sunshine-yellow front door.
As the buzzer sounds I push the door open and a delicious aroma tempts my nostrils. I’m starving, in a way that feels like my stomach has given up expecting food and actually started eating itself from the inside out.
‘Ceeeelebration time, come on,’ Sam sings, as she comes dancing down the hallway to meet me. She’s got a cocktail sloshing precariously around in her left hand, whilst her right hand is busy keeping an enormous turbaned white towel about her head. ‘Oh, are you OK? You look a bit frazzled.’ She stops singing.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.