Читать книгу Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s - Alexandra Brown, Lindsey Kelk - Страница 12

‘Three cheers for Ciaran, and Tina of course.’ I’m in the canteen and Tina has just announced her engagement. After an initial stunned silence – they’ve only been seeing each other for a few months – we’re all necking plastic cups of Asda buck’s fizz, even though it’s only lunchtime.

The radio has been switched off and Ciaran is standing in the middle of the floor. ‘Guys, I’m overwhelmed. Not only because she said yes …’ he pauses momentarily to glance at Tina, who’s grinning like the cat that’s got the whole damn dairy. And it’s no wonder. Ciaran hired a suite at a posh hotel in London and they spent the weekend there so he could propose, so Lauren told me. I guess this is what Ciaran’s been up to, then, planning the proposal. Sam will be thrilled. As queen of hearts, she loves a good wedding, even if the bride is not her most favourite person.

As we all smile at Tina, and the girls from Lingerie start cooing over the rock that’s clinging to her finger like a fridge magnet, someone shouts, ‘Yeah, only because the diamond is the size of a sugar lump,’ at which everybody except Tina laughs. James is standing next to me. His cup is empty so I make my way over to the bench table at the far end of the canteen to find another bottle. As I turn I almost bump straight into him.

‘Looks like we had the same idea,’ he says, holding up his plastic cup. I quickly turn back to the table to wrestle the cork from the bottle. Seeing me struggling, he reaches his hand over mine and effortlessly eases the cork free. A froth of white bubbles cascades down the rim of the bottle and I suddenly feel the effects of the daytime alcohol.

‘Georgie, stay for a moment,’ James says. But our names are being called from over by the salad bar and the moment changes. For a brief second I’m not sure if I imagined the last few seconds, but when I turn around James has gone off to join the others.

‘And you will all come to my hen do, won’t you girls? It’s going to be a-mazing. Ciaran said I can have whatever I want,’ Tina smiles, gazing up at him. ‘I’ve opted for a day in the Carrington’s spa. I’ve already spoken to Caroline, the manager, and she said if the board are OK with it, then she’s happy to open up on a Sunday.’

‘Cor. Can I come?’ shouts Gareth, one of the security guys.

‘No you can’t,’ Tina snaps. ‘I’m off to get the engagement cake.’ She tilts her cheek out at Ciaran for a kiss, and he duly obliges before heading over towards me.

We’re all chatting and laughing when Tina starts descending the staircase at the end of the floor. Her spray-tanned face, which I can’t help thinking makes her look like she’s just run naked through a Ronseal factory, has a smile spread across it, but as her eyes meet mine, the smile fades ever so slightly and her eyes narrow. I quickly nudge Ciaran, who has my upturned hand in his, pretending to have inherited a palmistry gift from his old Irish granny.

There’s a huge crashing sound. Everybody turns in unison to see Tina tumbling down the last step of the staircase to land in a heap at the bottom. Victoria sponge cake is splattered all over the banisters and splodges of strawberry jam are everywhere. It’s even ricocheted up the walls so the whole area looks like a scene from Casualty. I run over to help her in case she’s seriously hurt herself, but just as I crouch down and reach my hand out to her she hisses in a tight voice.

‘Get off me. I’ve won. He’s mine now.’ She yanks her arm away. Her words hit me like a hard slap. I don’t believe it. She really thinks we’re in some kind of competition and Ciaran is the prize. I open my mouth to protest but the words won’t come out. Then she quickly follows with a much softer, ‘Oh I’m fine, silly me. I just slipped on the stairs. If you could just help me up, darling,’ and I realise that Ciaran is standing right behind me.

‘God Tina. Are you OK?’ Ciaran asks, the concern catching in his voice. I stand up.

‘It’s this new carpet – not only a waste of money but a damn liability as well,’ I offer.

‘Thanks Georgie,’ Ciaran says, as he helps Tina up to her feet. She looks at me over his shoulder.

‘Actually, I think the carpet was a very good idea. I could have seriously damaged myself if the landing hadn’t been so soft,’ she sniffs self-righteously. And with that she leans into Ciaran and starts off towards her Lingerie friends, hobbling as though her life depended on it. ‘Oh! I almost forgot,’ she stops short. ‘You’ll need to call the in-store cleaners and get them to come and deal with this mess,’ she barks in my direction, as if I’m the hired help.

‘Sorry,’ Ciaran mouths over his shoulder. I shake my head, wondering what he sees in her, when James reappears at my side. He hands me a drink.

‘You OK?’

‘Sure. I’m fine,’ I reply, shrugging my shoulders. We both lean back against the table and his fingertips brush mine as our hands touch the surface, and I suddenly feel distracted and self-conscious, as if everybody is watching us. Mrs Grace catches my eye and gives me a discreet knowing look before smiling kindly. And I know I didn’t imagine it this time.

Somebody pops open another bottle of buck’s fizz and the cork performs a spectacular arc that just misses the light above, but lands bang on target. The doors at the end of the canteen spring open and The Heff appears just as the cork makes its descent to land slap on top of his head.

‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’ The Heff booms as he bats the cork away. Everybody stops talking. Eddie appears at his side; he has a black clipboard pressed to his chest. And he’s doing his best to look efficient but he keeps staring at his shoes. ‘Good. Because, before you all rush off I have some very important news to share. Then you can all return to your sections and send up whoever is on the rota for the next lunch session … without telling them what I’m about to say. Is that clear?’

We all mutter, ‘yes’ in reply. Like that’s really going to happen. One of the Footwear girls is already surreptitiously fingering her phone, poised to send a text. ‘Right. As you all know, Carrington’s has seen a decline in sales of late and I think it is fair to say that unless something is done pronto’ – ‘Like buy more carpet,’ someone mutters behind me – ‘we’re in serious danger of entering a terminal decline. So to help us revitalise the store, it is my pleasure to announce that Carrington’s has today, at twelve noon, secured the services of the country’s finest retail guru.’ The Heff puffs his chest out, as if he’s just, single-handedly, negotiated peace in the Middle East. A collective gasp circuits the canteen.

‘She will be assessing the viability of each department with a view to rationalisation. Of course this may alter our staffing requirements.’ There’s another sharp intake of breath as the news sinks in and we realise what his announcement means. ‘Eddie here has all the details,’ The Heff continues, and my mind is working overtime. Everyone knows rationalising really means downsizing, which means fewer staff.

I guess in the current climate it was inevitable, with so many shops going to the wall. Tension starts to creep down from my shoulders, slowly trickling around to clutch my heart. If I lose my job then I might as well kiss goodbye to everything. Everyone knows how hard it is to find a new job these days. And besides, I love working for Carrington’s. My happy memories with Mum are here.

‘Make a note of your meeting time, and it goes without saying that you will all extend a warm welcome to Maxine who will be working here as of tomorrow.’ My head feels as if it’s bobbing around under water, I can’t think straight. I turn towards James and see that his face has paled. He doesn’t look back at me. Instead he bows his head slightly and mumbles something that I can’t quite hear. Eddie is handing out pieces of paper to us all as The Heff turns around and strides back towards the glass doors.

Immediately, there’s a noise. Everyone is talking, and Eddie is surrounded by people all asking him why he didn’t say something.

‘I didn’t know. Jesus, I only found out myself an hour ago and I’ve been working my fingers to stumps typing out these meeting times at breakneck speed, thanks to that Burberry-clad tapeworm host, Maxine.’ He spits the word ‘Burberry’ like it’s a rancid piece of cheese that he’s just been force-fed. ‘Honestly, if she thinks I’m doubling up as her BA as well, then she can dream on up into her own skinny arse.’ Eddie grabs a plastic cup from one of the tables and downs it in one, before crushing it in the palm of his hand and letting out a dramatic gasp.

So much for The Heff leaving then. This is worse – much worse. Eddie’s face has suddenly turned a violent rhubarb-red colour and there’s a hunted look in his eyes, the line of which I follow and immediately see why. The Heff has returned back through the doors and standing next to him is a very tall, absolutely stunning and exceedingly skinny woman. I’m pretty certain my hands could span her waist. She’s wearing a clinging crimson dress that wouldn’t look out of place on Joan Holloway in an episode of Mad Men, carrying a matching real Hermès Birkin and standing on five-inch blush patent Loubs to balance out her silicone-enhanced super-bust. And if that wasn’t enough, she has perfect, big, flame-red hair.

I manage to stick a smile across my face as I surreptitiously push a lock of my own limp spaniel’s ear hair back into place before folding my arms across my B-cup boobs. She spreads her red pencil-lined mouth into a dazzling beauty pageant-style smile that I notice doesn’t reach her eyes that are bulging like a pair of Buddhas’ bellies. No, instead, they are fixed firmly on Eddie, who has now adopted a strange facial contortion that he attempts to hide by busying himself inside his clipboard.

‘For those of you who haven’t met her before, this is Maxine,’ The Heff booms, and attempts a little clap that he quickly halts on realising that nobody else is joining in. We all mutter words of welcome that sound distinctly hollow. I wonder what her surname is. Or maybe she’s too important to have one.

‘And this is Tom Rossi …’ and we all glance towards the doors again.

For a glimmer of a second my heart feels as though it might have stopped beating. I feel light-headed. I steady myself against the table and realise my mouth is actually hanging open. I quickly close it and pray none of the others noticed. I see what can only be described as pure unadulterated sex striding towards us. Oh my actual God. This man is a vision. He’s wearing a gorgeous suit that I’d say has been stitched lovingly by hand in Italy or somewhere equally seductive. It’s the perfect shade of ink-blue and frames a crisp white shirt, the collar of which is undone to reveal a teaser of his black curly-haired and very firm tanned chest that has just the right hint of sheen. His eyes are the darkest brown and nestling in sumptuous eyelashes that make me want to lick them right here and now. I can feel my cheeks warming and my stomach flipping. The last time I felt like this was when I first clapped eyes on Henry Cavill when he turned towards the camera in The Count of Monte Cristo. Every woman in the cinema, and some men too, let out a little gasp of pleasure. I was only a teenager at the time, and raging with hormones that feel as though they’ve just made a very sudden and momentous return.

‘He’s joining us from next Monday,’ The Heff continues. I quickly pull myself together, remembering I’m at work and that this man probably dates the likes of supermodels and Made in Chelsea girls, and only then if they are really lucky.

‘Pleased to meet you all,’ Tom says, with the hint of a Downton accent (upstairs, naturally) and the sensual precision of a Ferrari. I glance over and notice that Eddie is positively drooling. He’s actually licking his lips lasciviously. But there’s no way this man, sorry, this delicious Adonis is gay, because if he is then I think I might quite possibly die. Right here next to the help-yourself salad bar.