Christmas at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown
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After placing the bag in a soft white drawstring dust bag, and cocooning it in a puff of our signature powder-blue tissue, I tie it all up with an enormous navy satin ribbon and hand the guy his credit card back. I stow the bag in a giant gift box, sprinkle in a handful of silver snowflake confetti and close the lid, before carefully sliding it into one of our special Christmas-themed paper carrier bags. I twirl a length of red gingham ribbon around the handles.
‘Thanks a million.’ He takes the bag and hoists Declan up onto his shoulders.
Once they’ve headed off towards the escalator, Hannah darts in front of my face.
‘Cor! Wish I had a husband like that – talk about thoughtful, and great with kids of course. And you are soo gooood. I can see why Kelly’s earmarked you for a starring role. You’re a natural sales woman, no coaching requirements for you!’ she gushes, practically hyperventilating with sheer excitement. I stare at her, wondering if she’s for real.
‘That’s because I am actually a sales woman. It’s my job, in real life,’ I say, stating the obvious.
‘Yes, yes, of course you are, but well … you know what I mean.’ She does a little giggle. ‘Now, Leo wants to check a few things with you and then we’re good to roll. Friday afternoon, the quietest time in store I’ve been told, there’ll be a short briefing, a run-through of the “scenario”. Not too much, natch.’ She giggles again. ‘We want the show to be as authentic as possible.’
‘But I’m not in the show,’ I say, busying myself with updating my sales sheet.
‘Of course you are. You’re going to be a star,’ she says, giving me a blank face, and quite clearly unable to comprehend my reluctance. She’s obviously used to people begging for airtime.
‘Nope, not me.’ I put my sales sheet away and start stacking the ring trays on top of each other in preparation for giving the glass counter a good buffing over. I like everything to look pristine, as there’s nothing worse than a messy point-of-sale area.
‘But you have to be. Kelly wants you. And she always gets what she wants. She’s the boss, she owns the production company, KCTV.’
‘Well, not this time. And she doesn’t own me. Anyway, it’s not the law,’ I say, probably a little too petulantly as I fold my arms to underline the point.
‘It practically is.’ Pursing her lips, Hannah grips the chart tighter and tries to stare me out.
‘What do you mean?’ I cave in first and glance at the floor before looking back at her face which is now a rhubarb-red colour.
‘Check your employment contract. It’s all covered in there. I’ll be back.’ And she marches off, closely followed by Leo, who has to do a gentle jog to keep up with her as he attempts to juggle the sound paraphernalia about his body at the same time.
So it’s true. Hannah was right. I managed to hold out until my lunch break to check. And after waving off regular customers, Mr and Mrs Peabody, who never actually buy anything, they just like to come instore for a chat and to share pictures of their grandchildren who live in California, I’m in Amy’s office with a copy of my employment contract on the desk in front of me.
‘It’s a wonderful opportunity for Carrington’s,’ Amy says, diplomatically. She’s standing next to me, wearing a taupe Ted Baker trouser suit and pointing to sub-section nineteen, clause a hundred trillion, or whatever. It says Carrington’s can use promotional material made within the store, read: FILM ME! And do what they like with it, or words to that effect. I stopped reading after a while. But it’s right there on the back page, just above my signature, glaring like it’s giving me the finger and yelling out ‘hahahaha sucker!’
But who reads every single line of an employment contract? Not me, obviously. I was only fifteen when I got it and just thrilled to have a Saturday job paying me actual money to work in my favourite place. I still remember signing the contract, attempting a proper grown-up swirl with my new fountain pen. A gift from Alfie, he had sent it for my birthday. The pen came in a black velvet box, nestling inside on a bed of lilac satin, and I thought it was the best present I’d ever had. I glance again at my now girlish-looking signature. Georgina Hart. All twirly and written with a flourish. I even drew a little heart motif above my surname.
Getting the Saturday job was like a dream come true, somewhere I belonged. A welcome escape from my foster carer, Nanny Jean’s house, and her bullying birth daughter, Kimberley. A year older than me, Kimberley would parade around the sitting room in a multitude of new outfits complete with mismatched accessories, bought from Topshop with a generous monthly allowance. I wanted the same. And if Nanny Jean wasn’t going to be fair, then a Saturday job was the perfect solution. My own money. To do with what I liked. And Carrington’s was a place where I could remember being with Mum. Kind of like a spiritual connection. Comforting. It was as if she was there standing right in front of me, oohing and ahhing as she admired a handbag spotted in a glossy magazine that she had flicked through whilst waiting to see her consultant at the hospital. I would be standing next to her, egging her on to buy it. Of course, I’ve learnt now that I don’t have to be inside Carrington’s to remember Mum – she’s all around me, wherever I am – but still … Carrington’s on TV, broadcast to the whole world, potentially. Well, it changes everything. Everything I grew up with. It’s as though it won’t be my special place any more.
‘So I have no choice then? And I can’t have one of those blurry things to block out my face?’ I say, cringing slightly. I feel foolish now after making such a fuss and being sniffy with Hannah, saying I wasn’t doing it, when in actual fact I have no choice. I agreed to it, albeit without actually knowing. But there is an upside if I have to be part of the show – I guess a free new wardrobe, and the other perks that Annie was so excited about, aren’t to be sniffed at.
‘Not really. But if you’re adamant about being excluded from this exciting initiative, then I could organise a transfer for you to another department. Home Electricals, for example?’ she says, sounding corporate and robotic. ‘They won’t be featuring in Kelly Cooper Come Instore.’ My heart sinks. Relegated to the basement. Like Annie said, there’s no glamour down there – and, besides, I love working in Women’s Accessories. ‘Have a think about it. I’m sure I could find someone to cover for you with the amount of staff I’ve had in here already today, all of them begging to be in the show.’
‘Oh right.’
‘But I do understand if you’re reluctant. The board were very specific that staff shouldn’t be put under pressure to take part, if they really don’t want to. We’re not in the nature of forcing employees to do things against their will.’
‘So why did they let Annie and me be portrayed as useless then?’
‘Err, yes. Good point.’ Her cheeks flush as she points an index finger in the air. ‘And I’m very sorry about that. It won’t happen again,’ she says, giving me the impression that somebody more senior than her has asked this exact same question, and more than likely had a word with Kelly and KCTV. Well good! So they should. Carrington’s prides itself on providing an exceptional service. Yes, sales have dwindled recently, but there’s a recession on, so it’s to be expected. And it’s not as if we’re the only shop suffering. And of course, a high-profile, prime-time TV show with a retail guru to help us turn things around will be good for business, but still, there’s no need to make us look like complete Muppets.
‘Definitely?’ I say, an idea hatching inside my head.
‘Yes, definitely. You have my word. You’re very good at what you do, so it really would be a shame if we didn’t show you off.’ She tilts her head to the side and smiles sweetly.
‘Hmm, well in that case, I suppose it might be OK,’ I say, letting the idea grow some more. This could actually be an amazing opportunity to show the