Читать книгу 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, Lindsey Kelk - Страница 15

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. Packed bus with the windows jammed shut and the fan heaters pumped up to max … it was like being in a sauna with all your clothes on,’ I say, dumping my bag on the floor.

‘Ew.’ Sam places the cocktail on the hall table and gives me a hug. ‘Well, you’re here now. Come in and say hello to Dad, he’s just leaving.’

Alfie appears, wearing a soft grey cashmere V-neck over a pale pink shirt. He smells of his usual Aramis and has the same blond hair and twinkly blue eyes as Sam.

‘Georgie! How are you, sweetheart?’ he says, stepping forward and enveloping me in a huge bear hug.

‘Dad, be careful,’ Sam yells. ‘You’re practically crushing her.’

‘Don’t be silly. Everyone loves a big hug now and again.’ Alfie releases me and takes a step back.

‘I’m good thanks,’ I say, not wanting to get into what’s happening at work and spoil the evening before it’s even started.

‘I’m pleased to hear it, and I have to say you’re looking mighty fine these days, young lady.’ Alfie looks me up and down before smiling appreciatively.

‘Daaad, stop flirting.’ Sam gives Alfie a gentle nudge and we all laugh.

‘Well, I better be off. Leave you two girls to it. Samantha’s such a bore when she gets going,’ he winks at me.

‘Love you too, Daddy,’ Sam teases.

‘Here, have a good night.’ Alfie pulls a roll of £20 notes from his pocket. ‘And make sure you take taxis. No walking the streets.’

‘Oh Dad, put it away,’ Sam says, waving a hand.

‘I insist.’ He splits the notes in two. ‘Here.’ He hands half to me and half to Sam. ‘And no arguments. From either of you,’ he says, pretending to be stern as he wags his index finger between us both. I glance at Sam, feeling a bit awkward and waiting for her cue as Alfie presses the notes into my hand.

‘OK. If you insist.’ Sam grins at me as she reaches up to give Alfie a kiss.

‘Thank you,’ I say, knowing from previous experience there’s absolutely no point in arguing with Alfie. I was sixteen when he first tried to give me money one Christmas. I refused, of course, only to find it inside my coat pocket when it was time to return to Nanny Jean’s. I hid it inside a book in my locker at school, and later used it to buy a duvet when I moved to the bedsit.

‘My pleasure. Have fun girls,’ Alfie says, pulling the door open.

Once we’ve finished waving goodbye and Alfie’s roared off in his Aston Martin, I reach inside my handbag, pull out a little gift bag and swing it in front of Sam. Her eyes light up like a child’s. I’m so pleased I could get it for her.

‘Happy Birthday lovely.’ I lean forward, and give her a big birthday kiss on each cheek. She peers into the bag.

‘Thank you honey.’ She lifts out the box. As she opens it she lets out a little squeal.

‘It’s gorgeous, how did you know that I’ve always wanted one of these?’ she says, holding the rainbow crystal Shamballa bracelet against her wrist.

‘Lucky guess. Or maybe it was the trillion hints you’ve been dropping.’ I can’t help teasing her. She’s like a big kid when it comes to birthdays, and not just her own. On my last birthday, she thoroughly spoilt me with a weekend in Barcelona that she had meant to be a surprise, but that she just couldn’t resist telling me about beforehand.

‘Was it really that many times? I’m so sorry, how boring,’ she says, handing me the cocktail. I take the mini rose-pink macaroon from the side of the glass and take a bite before quickly slurping a big mouthful of liquid through the silver bendy straw as we walk along the hallway and into the kitchen.

‘Mmm, what’s in this? It’s heavenly,’ I say, my mouth full of the luscious concoction.

‘It’s a secret recipe. Do you like it?’

‘Like it? I love it.’ I laugh, letting the liquid linger in my mouth. ‘I’m ravenous. I’ve only had a Wispa since breakfast time.’

‘There’s a lasagne in the oven if you want some, with no garlic in it of course. Just in case you pull. I’m determined to find you a Valentine’s date,’ Sam says, with a cheeky grin as I swing myself up onto the granite-topped breakfast bar and kick off my wedges.

‘Oh go on then, just a little bit though, not one of your monster helpings,’ I reply, hoping she ignores my half-hearted instruction. Sam is a fantastic cook. The year she spent at the culinary school in Paris was definitely worth it, even if she didn’t think so at the time. She spent months begging Alfie to let her go on a round-the-world cruise instead, but he was having none of it; said if she was serious about cooking then she needed to learn properly, luckily for me and my rumbling tummy.

‘Don’t tell me, another diet. Georgie, why do you bother? You know they don’t work. And I bet Wispas aren’t allowed.’ She snorts at me with disapproval. It’s OK for her, she’s one of those lucky people who really can eat whatever they want and stay slim.

‘Well, I lost six pounds doing No Carbs Before Marbs,’ I say, swinging my legs and flexing my crumpled toes.

‘So why are you doing another diet then? It’s not like you even need to lose weight. I’d love to have your gorgeous hourglass figure. Very Marilyn Monroe. Oooh, it’s the bombshell, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ I smile coyly.

‘Well I hope so. And are you are all set for tonight? Nathan said he’ll see us there … with a few friends,’ Sam says, quickly changing the subject.

‘What did I say about trying to fix me up?’ I ask, pretending to be cross.

‘I don’t know, couldn’t hear … remember?’ Sam replies, flippantly.

‘Well I hope his friends are an improvement on the last batch of that – whatever his name was – guy you were seeing before Nathan.’

‘Trust me, if they have a fraction of the hotness that Nathan exudes, then you’ll have no complaint, that’s for sure.’

‘Cor, I’m not sure I can wait.’ We both laugh. I already feel more cheerful, looking forward to a good evening out. ‘And thanks for picking up my dress for tonight. I can’t believe I forgot to bring it with me this morning.’ I’d been in such a mad rush when I got up that I dashed out with only my shoes, make-up and Velcro rollers, so I had to make a mercy call to Sam and plead with her to bomb over to my flat on the other side of town.

‘No problem. That’s what BFFs are for. Follow me.’ I grab the bowl of lasagne from the worktop and take a forkful – it tastes divine. I then follow Sam as she runs off into her baby-blue-coloured dressing room with Sylvester, her chubby cat named after his striking resemblance to the cartoon version, springing along behind her.

As I enter the room I see Sam standing by one of her wardrobes. She’s beaming.

‘This is your gown for this evening, madam,’ she says, sounding like a camp fashion stylist. My gaze follows her outstretched arm towards the wardrobe door as she flings it open to reveal a vintage halter-neck investment dress hanging on the inside of the door.

‘Where did you find this?’ I ask, running my hand down the silky material.

‘In the back of your wardrobe, screwed up in a ball. It still had the price tag on it. Honestly, this dress is gorgeous,’ Sam says, indignantly.

‘Oh Sam, you shouldn’t have. I can’t wear it, I’ll never get into it,’ I whine, with trepidation, as the memory of trying to squeeze into it comes flooding back. ‘Besides, it’ll smell all musty, won’t it, having been scrunched up in the wardrobe for years,’ I add, panic mounting at the thought of wedging my curvy bits into the ultra-clingy dress.

‘I got it cleaned for you. So don’t worry about that.’ Sam waves her hand dismissively.

‘But where’s my dress? The one I planned to wear tonight? It was hanging on the back of the bathroom door,’ I say. ‘So I wouldn’t forget it,’ I then add, lamely.

‘Oh, that old rag. Trust me, this dress is reeeem,’ she says, in her best TOWIE voice, as she gestures her hand in a circular movement over the front of the dress. ‘Just try it … with this miracle suit thing.’ And she pulls a surgical-looking square of Lycra from behind her back and dangles it in front of me. Grabbing the pork-chop-coloured monstrosity from her, I scrutinise it. I think it is what is laughably called a ‘body-shaper’. It’s minuscule but I decide to give it a go. I don’t have much choice, unless I want to go clubbing in my black top and trouser work combo, complete with Carrington’s name badge, the pin of which has bent somehow, making it impossible to remove.

‘Right, out of the room, I want to see if I can wedge myself into this. Which I imagine is going to be some feat, which I’d rather not attempt with you standing there.’

‘Fantastic,’ Sam shrieks, and claps her hands together. ‘Just shout if you need a hand,’ she adds.

‘No thank you, now shoo,’ I say, flapping my hand at her.

‘OK, OK, I’m going.’ Sam backs out of the room and closes the dressing room door behind her.

After managing to shoehorn myself into the dress, I call Sam back into the room.

‘Bloody hell Georgie! You look fantastic, very curvaceous and sexy. And that dress really brings out your blue eyes and glowing complexion,’ she shrieks. I feel a bit constricted, though, as the suit is an underwired all-in-one corset that vacuums everything in.

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Absolutely.’ Sam grins.

‘Thanks, honey. Just need to get my shoes now.’ I head off to the hallway.

‘Hang on. Try these. They’ll be perfect with that dress.’ From underneath the scarlet chaise longue, Sam brings out her new Gina sandals. They are absolutely exquisite, with little diamanté stones running across the strappy ankle and toe parts of the delicate shoes.

‘Oh Sam I can’t. They’re your new ones, you haven’t even worn them yet,’ I say, instantly touched by her generosity.

‘Please, have them, I’ve got loads … and besides, I’m not really sure they’re me,’ she says, crossing her slim legs and leaning back on the chaise longue.

‘But I can’t,’ I say, desperately trying not to eye up the sandals.

‘I insist.’

‘Sam, I can’t. Really. You could always take them back if you don’t like them.’ They must have cost a fortune.

‘Oh, it’s not that I don’t like them. I just think they’d suit you better. And I’ll be offended if you don’t take them,’ she laughs. I look again.

‘Are you definitely sure? They really are beautiful,’ I say, not wanting to offend her but secretly wondering if she ever had any intention of keeping them for herself.

‘Yes.’

I give her a huge hug.

‘In that case, thank you my GBF.’ Sam raises an eyebrow.

‘Gorgeous best friend of course,’ I explain, smiling and making a mental note to send her a proper thank-you card. I slip my foot into the right sandal. Twiddling my ankle in the mirror I feel a little shiver of excitement. Not bad at all – my stomach is almost flat and my best feature, my arms with their light sprinkling of freckles on the shoulders, can be seen quite nicely. Always highlight your best asset, isn’t that what Gok says? Sam has certainly come up trumps this time.

‘Right, so are we ready then?’ I grab my clutch bag and Sam stands up and smooths down her Hervé Léger bandage dress in nude. She’s teamed it with a pair of blush patent Kate Kuba wedges and fuchsia-framed geek glasses that almost cover her tiny elfin face. Her curly hair is bobbing around her shoulders and the Shamballa bracelet is sparkling on her wrist. She looks stunning.

‘Come on, we’d better go before we spontaneously combust with the glamour of it all.’ I slip my arm through hers. We’re both chatting and giggling as we head off into the night.