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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don’t you tell me?’ His voice is tight. He rakes a hand through his dishevelled hair and I bite down hard on my bottom lip. Swallowing, I taste blood, metallic against the mint of the lip gloss.
‘James, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ For a brief moment, his face softens, but then quickly clouds over again.
‘I’ll spell it out for you, shall I?’ he says, sarcastically. Then he moves away from the fireplace and, standing opposite me, I see his eyes are glimmering with rage. ‘I thought I could trust you,’ he shouts, his face glowering down at mine.
‘You can.’ I try to sound calm as I rack my brain searching for a clue as to what’s happened.
‘Well, I used to think so, but it turns out that you’re just like the rest of them.’ The insinuation is sickening.
‘What do mean? I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m like Rebecca.’
‘Don’t bring her into it,’ he says, defensively, and far too quickly. So, he still holds a candle for her then. So, I was right … he does need more time.
‘Please, just tell me what’s happened.’ I can hear my own heart beating.
‘Like you don’t know. You’ve been playing me all along, probably thinking that you’ll just reel me in and steal my job from under me … and grab yourself a nice Valentine’s Day present too, while you’re at it. Was that your little plan?’ he says, sarcastically. I’ve never seen him like this before. The silence that follows is excruciating.
‘James, that’s not true. You were the one who asked me out, remember?’ I say, softly, in a vain attempt to try and unravel what’s happened.
‘Yeah, like a fool, don’t remind me.’
I feel the anger rising inside me now, and I can’t help retaliating. ‘Well I’m sorry if the memory is so ghastly for you,’ I reply, my voice trembling. Then I notice his shoulders drop and his face changes.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. Georgie, I can’t do this. Us. I’m sorry … it’s just too soon,’ he says, calming down. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to leave.
A sudden inexplicable sense of relief rushes through me, but I still want to know what I’m supposed to have done wrong.
‘James, you can’t just storm in here making accusations and then waltz right out again. I know it must be hard getting divorced but …’ I reach out to grab his arm and catch the back of his sweatshirt instead. He stops and turns towards me, a look of utter contempt on his face.
‘You have no idea! Now get your thieving hands off me.’ I stare at him, the tears stinging my cheeks. Thieving! The word is like a knife stabbing into my stomach. ‘Just like your father.’ I reel backwards in shock. I grab hold of the hall table as if it’s an emergency buoy. James reaches out and touches my arm and I’m sure I spot a brief flicker of concern dart through his eyes, but it evaporates before I can be sure.
‘But I thought you understood …’ My voice is low, a whisper almost.
‘Why, because I kept your little secret? Like a fool.’ He looks away, snatching his hand back.
‘So what is it exactly that I’m supposed to have stolen, James?’ My voice sounds cold now, masking the churn of emotions that are swirling around inside me. He reaches for the lock on the front door and pulls it open. He turns to face me.
‘Malikov. Ring any bells?’ My hand flies to my throat. Oh God. The necklace. He knows. Malikov must have gone back on his request for privacy and told him.
‘James, please. I can explain,’ I say, the words barely audible.
‘Georgie, you know the rules,’ he adds, suddenly sounding all businesslike and distant. My body is trembling, with fear of his anger and of losing everything I’ve worked so hard for.
‘I know,’ I murmur, hanging my head in shame.
‘Whaat? Did you think you’d just keep all of the commission for yourself and I wouldn’t find out?’ There’s a silence as I drag myself up to speed. So this isn’t about the necklace, after all.
‘God, is that what this is all about? James, I’m sorry, I meant to tell you that Malikov had bought more bags,’ I say, desperate for him to see that he’s got it all wrong. Hoping I can salvage something. Make it good between us again.
‘So why didn’t you then? He was my customer originally, what happened to us sharing the sales commission?’ Silence follows.
‘I tried to …’ I pause, suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortable. I contemplate telling him everything. I search his eyes. They’re full of rage, mixed with disgust, and I have my answer. I know that I can’t risk it. ‘Before we went for that drink, remember? And you said you didn’t want to talk about work and with everything going on …’ As the words come out I know they sound lame and I feel like a pathetic idiot. I should have made damn sure I remembered so he could have claimed his half of the commission. I hate myself.
‘Don’t make me laugh. Malikov won’t even take my calls any more,’ he says, sounding sarcastic again. He shakes his head at me and a wave of nausea washes through me.
‘But I can fix it. All you need to do is add half to your sales sheet,’ I plead. It’s not worth falling out with him over it, but he interrupts.
‘God, you are so clueless. Maxine has already made me aware of what a fantastic customer experience you’re giving Malikov. No, it’s too late for that. We’re finished.’
Something inside me snaps.
‘But it’s OK for you to gossip behind my back with your ex-girlfriend, Maxine,’ I snipe, not really thinking or caring what I say. ‘Don’t tell me that you didn’t know she’d bring up my personal business and quite possibly use it to get rid of me?’
‘Is that what you really think?’ shaking his head at me in disbelief. But before I can answer, he’s gone.
The door bounces back against the frame before slamming shut and I sink down into a heap behind it. I feel wretched. I just wish everything could go back to how it was pre-Maxine. I haven’t slept properly for ages, and the constant feeling of paranoia is like a cancer spreading through every part of me. I was so stupid to think that selling the necklace to clear my debts would mean getting a proper night’s sleep. The insomnia is worse now than ever.
I manage to drag myself up and into the bedroom. My nails catch as I pull at the dress, and a ripping sound resonates around the room. I hurl the dress across the floor and kick off the Gina shoes, which slam against the mirror. I tear at my underwear; the giggly phone call with Sam seems an age ago. I feel numb. So much for letting myself dream of actually having a date for the wedding. At this rate, I’m going to end up a lonely old bag with just cats for company.
22
I arrive at work and manage to dump my coat in the staff room and make it into the lift unnoticed. I’ve only travelled two floors before it shudders to a halt and The Heff steps in. He takes one look at my blotchy, tear-stained face before turning to face the doors. Probably petrified that I’m going to break down and get all emotional on him if he talks to me. As soon as the lift reaches the shop floor, he steps aside and feigns fascination with his mobile to avoid saying goodbye.
I make a beeline to my counter. My eyes feel raw. I peer at my reflection in the black screen of the PC and can just make out my eyes. They look like small stones peeping out from a pair of overly engorged mushrooms. No wonder Walter was scared to be alone with me.
After James’s horrible exit on Saturday evening, I spent the rest of Sunday and Monday alone with two bottles of rosé to keep me company whilst I wallowed in tears. But there is one tiny consolation: I’ve lost five pounds in two days. So, after a pep talk