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 32

I’ve been standing outside the jeweller’s shop since eight a.m. Pressing my nose up to the window, like I have a million times in the last hour as I check for signs of activity, when I suddenly hear the sound of a key. The jeweller comes into view as he ambles through the shadowy shop towards me. As soon as he unbolts the door and flicks on the lights, I tear through into the shop.

‘Whoah! Where’s the fire?’

‘I need the necklace back. Have you still got it?’ I pant, pleading with my eyes for it to be here.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Oh, thank God. Here, you’ll have to spread the cost over these credit cards,’ I puff, shoving them at him. ‘Please, I have to have it straight away,’ I beg, as if getting it back absolves me of ever having sold it in the first place.

‘But I thought you preferred the money?’ he says.

‘I did, but that was then, and things have changed,’ I say, not daring to look him in the eye. I wish he would just get on with it. I didn’t sleep at all last night and my body is trembling with exhaustion. He scribbles on the pad and thrusts it towards me. ‘Hang on. But that’s more than you paid me for it,’ I say, willing the panic to subside.

‘That’s what it’s worth. If you remember, you gave me a discount because I paid you in cash,’ he says, sounding indifferent. I stare at him, unable to get my head around his logic.

‘Yes, but I didn’t give you a discount as such. You told me …’ I attempt to argue my case, but a slow cold trickle of realisation washes over me.

‘Now, if you want to buy it back for cash, then that’s different of course.’ He looks blankly, waiting for my response. I shake my head. This can’t be happening.

‘But I’m not sure the cards will cover that amount though,’ I say, in a hollow voice. I feel so foolish. The money I originally sold the necklace for just about managed to clear the store card and to take my credit cards back to zero.

‘You could finance the shortfall,’ he says, making it sound as though he’s doing me an enormous favour in ripping me off. Tears threaten, and my heart plummets. Not only am I back to square one, but I’m now worse off than I was in the first place and I’m beginning to wonder whether it’s worth it any more. I feel as if I’m drowning. I have to keep my job now, if only to stay afloat, so I nod my head. He scribbles on his pad again and pushes it towards me.

‘That’ll be twelve monthly payments.’

I brace myself before glancing down at the page. Jesus. It’s almost as much as my car loan payments. The floor sways beneath me. I steady myself against the counter.

‘Looks like I don’t have a choice,’ I say, feeling sick and momentarily wondering what would happen if I reached across, grabbed the necklace and legged it as fast as I could. But it’s a ridiculous thought; I’m simply too exhausted even to reach across the desk, let alone run at any kind of speed.

‘Maybe you could get a bank loan,’ he offers, pretending to be helpful.

‘No, I have to have the necklace back today,’ I say, sharply, shuddering at the thought of what will happen to me if I don’t hand it over. So instead I grimace and bear it while he busies himself with the paperwork for the ludicrously extortionate loan, which is probably illegal anyway, but I just don’t have the time to argue with him.

*

After weaving through the traffic on my way to Brighton, I make it into the fast lane of the motorway and push down hard on the accelerator. My head flings back against the headrest, my heart is racing and I can’t seem to stop panicking. The dialogue in my head is driving me mad, over and over, there’s just no let-up. I might have cleared the arrears and missed-payment markers from my credit file, but my mountain of debt is even bigger now. Maybe I could sell the car, but then I remember the outstanding finance figure … it’s at least two grand more than the car is worth, I can’t even afford to do that. My hands are trembling on the steering wheel now and my chest is getting tight. I feel totally overwhelmed, as if everything is going to cave in on me. Tears sting in my eyes, I bite my bottom lip and take a deep breath, desperate for air, but it’s no use, I feel consumed with panic and I don’t feel safe.

The ghastly image of my car careering into the crash barrier flashes before me, so I quickly indicate left and get myself over into the slow lane, before flicking the air con onto maximum. The icy cold breeze fans me, but my skin is still burning with trepidation. And Malikov must have got the necklace back by now. I can barely bring myself to contemplate what he will do to me. He’s bound to think I’ve double-crossed him. See it as a sign of indifference. I just don’t know any more, I can’t get a grip on reality.

I pull over into a lay-by and, after switching off the engine, I glance around the car’s interior. Creamy-coloured soft leather with tan piping. The dashboard with chrome detailing, complete with matching steering wheel, just as I specified. At the time I thought it would make me feel happy, plug the gap left by losing Mum, and then Dad disappearing … but what use is it to me now? I feel trapped. Hot angry tears trickle down my face, slow at first, but fast now, and they won’t stop. My chest heaves, up and down, until I’m sobbing hysterically. I think of Dad and what he did to us, the similarities between his behaviour and mine recently. I should talk to him. Desperation changes people; I can see that now – maybe that’s why he did it. He never really explained, but then I never asked. I vow to call him at the first opportunity.

Eventually, I manage to calm down, and after touching up my make-up, I force myself to get a grip. I make my way off the motorway and out into the countryside, and as green fields replace the hard urban concrete, the tension starts to ease slightly.

*

As I drag my wheelie suitcase across the car park towards the magnificent Regency-style beachfront hotel, I realise there’s nothing I can do right now to change anything, so I might as well try to enjoy the team-building event and put all my worries out of my head, if only for a little while. I’m in danger of driving myself insane otherwise.

I walk through the grand entrance door and take a look around the hotel reception area. On every one of the surrounding armchairs and sofas there’s a Carrington’s employee. There must be about thirty people crammed into the room, some standing, the others elbow-to-elbow on the three padded window seats. Mrs Grace is sitting in a wing chair next to the real log fire, her knitting needles click-clacking away. Lauren is hovering by the bay window saying, ‘Mummy will see you tomorrow, now be a good boy for grandma’ into her mobile, and Betty is fanning herself with a drinks menu and mumbling something about ‘flaming hot flushes’. A couple of girls from Bedding turn up, closely followed by Suzanne from the cash office, looking fabulous in a midnight-blue maxi dress and chunky silver lace-up flatforms, with pregnant Emma from Stationery sipping from an Evian bottle while being all glowy and radiant.

I spot Eddie perched on the edge of a corner unit sipping a can of Red Bull, and let out a small sigh of relief. I make my way over. He looks wired and his eyes are like saucers, flitting around the room.

‘Good to see you, Georgie Girl.’ It’s Ciaran, and he’s standing in the centre of the room, simulating a ‘lock and load’ action with an imaginary machine gun. A passing waitress throws him a look of disgust, so he drops to one knee to apologise profusely to her. I’ve not seen Ciaran as gregarious as this before. Eddie rolls his eyes, before moving along to let me sit down.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I say, turning towards him.

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he replies sarcastically, before looking away.

‘Eddie, what is it?’ I ask, wondering why he’s acting strangely. It’s unlike him to be so cold. He turns his face to mine and studies me for a moment, as if he can’t make his mind up whether to say anything. I wait for him to tell me, but he just shrugs instead.

‘Oh, it’s nothing.’

‘There is something, isn’t there?’ I ask, feeling uneasy.

‘No, honestly … I’m just thinking this is going to be a long weekend.’ He glares in Ciaran’s direction, but I’m not convinced. Oh God, maybe he knows something. Of course. He’s working for The Heff and Maxine now. He’s bound to know what she has in store for the ground floor.

‘Eddie, if you know anything, you would tell me, wouldn’t you … even if it was bad news?’ I ask, in a low voice.

‘Sure … but I don’t – stop being so paranoid.’ I manage a smile, but inside the feeling of unease is picking up speed again. I try to shove the worry from my head, but instead it just sits there gnawing away.

I can feel Eddie’s thigh twitching against mine.

‘Are you sure everything’s OK?’ I turn to face Eddie, and he bites his lip.

‘Yes, fine,’ he snaps. ‘I need another drink.’ He jumps up and stalks off towards the bar. My heart sinks.

‘What’s going on with him?’ Ciaran throws himself down next to me.

‘I don’t know, but Eddie is really uptight, and it’s not like him,’ I reply. He must know something, I feel sure. The uneasy feeling threatens again.

‘Maybe the stress of working for that ballbuster Maxine is really getting to him,’ Ciaran says, sounding concerned.

‘Maybe,’ I reply, distractedly. I think about work … and James. God, I wish he was here, and then I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness that our friendship has been ruined by a romance that barely got off the starting blocks. Maybe there’s a chance to fix it when I get back. I cling on to this thought as Melissa the self-appointed organiser takes to the floor.

‘Now, if you could all be quiet for a second, you’ll see that on the front of the T-shirt is your name, but the important bit is on the back, that old adage that we all know and lurrrrrve …’ She pauses for a second and sticks her arms out, as if she’s about to start conducting an orchestra.

We all shout back in unison with her, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ Melissa is standing in the middle of the lounge clutching her T-shirt with both hands so we can see the slogan. She starts throwing the shirts out one by one. Mrs Grace stuffs hers into her shopper, not even bothering to look at it, and mine is the tiniest scrap of cotton Lycra mix I think I’ve ever seen.

‘Where did you find this one, Melissa, in Childrenswear?’ I yell, but she’s distracted by the door opening. ‘Ahh, nice of you to join us, lads. Only an hour late,’ Melissa says as two guys from Menswear saunter in, followed by a bloke from Home Electricals, two security guards and Charles, looking cool in a big woolly Rasta hat and leather jacket. They do lots of high fives and fist thumps before stacking their holdalls up in a mountain by the door. She hands them their T-shirts.

Melissa and one of the security guards are having a pretend boxing match when Amy, Carrington’s HR manager, walks in wearing an orange tabard and holding a clipboard.

‘OK, is everyone here now?’ She calls our names out, ticking them off as we answer. My heart sinks when she inadvertently calls James’s name and there’s a short silence followed by a monotone, ‘He changed sessions. My mistake’ from Eddie, who has just returned from the bar with another Red Bull. Turns out Maxine delegated the task of divvying up the names for each session to him and he forgot to scrub James off the list. ‘Great. Here’s a schedule for each of you. Early start tomorrow morning, nine sharp, here in reception. Tonight you can do your own thing … all part of the board’s aim for you to have some downtime and build teams.’ She grins. ‘Studies have shown that employees who play together, work hard together … so play nicely! I’m in room 109 should you need anything. I’ll hand you over now to DeWayne and Vince from “Train to Gain”. They’ll be co-ordinating the event for us.’

A couple of overly enthusiastic guys, wearing camouflage trousers and extra-tight muscle tops with whistles on ropes around their necks, and an assortment of camping-type paraphernalia slung about their bodies, bounce into the centre of the room.

‘What’s that whistle for?’ Mrs Grace pipes up, pointing at Vince with one of her knitting needles.

‘Oh, err … just in case we need to get everyone’s attention,’ he replies, looking a bit fazed.

‘Hmmm. I’m here to have a nice rest, not wriggle commando-style under one of those filthy nets you boot-camp boys are so fond of. Not with my hip playing up the way it is,’ she huffs. I catch her eye and she gives me a wink before getting back to her knitting.

‘Don’t worry, err …’ Vince pauses.

‘Mrs Grace to you,’ she sniffs.

‘Yes, Mrs Grace, we won’t be doing anything too arduous. We’ll be spending most of the time in the hotel conference room … with the occasional break-out session in the hotel garden.’ There’s a collective groan from the Bedding girls. ‘But we’ll fill you in tomorrow morning. See you all then.’ They both wave before throwing their hands up in the air and clapping furiously above their heads as they practically march off towards the door.

‘Crap! I thought it would be tug-of-war and sudden death games. You know, like proper team building … where one team wins and the other one is destroyed!’ Melissa says, before making a wanker sign towards the door. ‘Nobbers!’ she heckles. ‘Looks like we’ll just have to make the best of it. But in the meantime you heard what Amy said – teams that play hard and all that … sooo, it’s off to the dance floor.’ She makes a big Elvis-style circle with her right arm. ‘Let’s check out the rooms and meet back here later. We can go to the pier. Something for everyone on there,’ she bellows.

‘Oh, not for me dear. I’m not missing Strictly. And I’m looking forward to an early night with my dinner cooked for me, for a change,’ Mrs Grace says.

‘I’ll join you,’ Betty puffs, wiping her top lip with a tissue.

‘But I’ve booked us a room in the karaoke bar at the end of the pier. It’s going to be a scream.’ Melissa rubs her hands together as if she can’t wait to get started.

‘You youngsters will have much more fun without us old biddies holding you up.’ Mrs Grace is already stowing her knitting inside her shopper and reaching for the room service menu.

‘OK. Well everyone else has to come then. Be there or be square, as they say.’

*

My room is in a converted old carriage block through a walkway at the back of the main hotel, so after dropping my room card into the slot of the lock, I push the door open and make my way into the bedroom with its beautifully designed array of chocolate, baby blue and caramel-coloured soft furniture. Kicking my ballet pumps, top and skinny jeans off, I lie back on the bed and my mind starts wandering. I feel sad. This damn revamp. And damn Maxine, stirring things up and distorting the facts. She probably did it on purpose, delighting in telling James how well I’ve been cultivating Malikov’s business.

Thinking of Malikov makes me cringe. Well, Maxine is welcome to him. I just hate it that she has another secret on me. I vow to talk to James as soon as I get back. I have to try again to make him see that I didn’t do it on purpose. That he can trust me. I have to at least try.

Swinging my legs down onto the floor, I get up and go over to my suitcase and grab my toiletry bag. I push the bathroom door open and the lights come on automatically. I spot the hospitality box hidden behind a brochure advertising a variety of special Valentine-themed getaways. It’s black lacquered wood and crammed full of goodies. The special monogrammed toiletries smell divine, fruity like peaches and cream with a twist of citrus. There’s even a plastic case of assorted nail enamels that would look great on my dressing table at home. I wonder if anyone would notice if they disappeared into my suitcase. At the very bottom, discreetly placed under a packet of strong mints, is a box of extra-pleasure condoms. Hmm, I won’t be needing those. My throat tightens and the sadness over James returns.

I wander back out of the bathroom and scan the room. There’s an impressive minibar stocked with chocolate, various different nut selections and every alcoholic beverage one could desire. The sight of three red mini-tubes of Pringles makes me weaken and I lift out a tub and peel back the silver foil. Savouring the taste, I walk over to the other side of the room. There’s a huge wardrobe almost covering the length of one wall. I pull open the doors with my free hand, one, two, three … they’re all the same. Rows of wooden hangers mingled in with a few pastel-pink satin-covered soft ones. There’s an ironing board and a few spare blankets. I grab at the fourth door. It’s another bedroom. Of course, the adjoining room. James must have forgotten to cancel it.

I can’t resist having a peek inside and, seeing as the others are all over in the main part of the hotel, I decide to risk it. The room is a mirror image of mine, only with a different colour scheme, emerald green and chocolate brown. I tiptoe over to the bed and gaze down at it, thinking of what might have been if James was here. After peeping over my shoulder towards the door to check nobody is coming, I sit down. I pop another Pringle into my mouth and swing my legs over until I’m lying down. I gaze up at the ceiling; the crunching noise in my ears is deafening against the silence of the room. I close my eyes and let my mind drift off for a second, wishing our friendship wasn’t ruined.

‘What are you doing?’ My eyes snap open with panic, and the Pringles cascade down onto the floor as I throw myself up into a standing position.

‘Jesus, you scared the living daylights out of me,’ I screech.

I’m standing by the side of the bed in my oldest, greyest bra, which many years ago used to be white, and my extra-comfortable-for-travelling, big red-and-white cow-print knickers that have the words ‘Cheeky Cow’ emblazoned across the back. Tom is standing right in front of me.

I clutch the Pringles tube to my chest like a miniature comfort blanket. My heart is pounding and panic is swirling through me like a baby tsunami.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he replies, managing to look amused and concerned all at the same time. I open my mouth but the words won’t come out. I have to get back to my room. I drop the Pringles tube and leg it as fast as I can, slamming the adjoining door behind me.

Back in my room, and I’m trembling all over with the shock and shame of the too-close encounter. I pull off the manky underwear and ram it into the rubbish bin before flinging open the door to the minibar and grabbing two Jack Daniel’s miniatures. I run into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Feeling mortified, I guzzle one whiskey after the other, fling an enormous white fluffy towel around my body and punch out Sam’s number.

‘What’s the matter?’ In between hiccups I describe the moment of horror to her. ‘OH MY GOD. OH MY ACTUAL GOD …’ She keeps shrieking it over and over. ‘He’s there. How exciting … well, he’ll certainly take your mind off James,’ she giggles. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but look, keep calm, it’s not that bad.’

Not that bad? It’s a total embarrassment, off the scale even by my standards.

‘It’s horrendous,’ I manage to say, dramatically, before letting out another ricochet of hiccups. I put my phone down beside the bath and, pinching my nose, I hold my breath for a count of five in a desperate attempt to steady my breathing.

‘Are you still there?’ Sam’s voice trills out from the phone. I pick it back up.

‘Yes, just trying to clear these bloody hiccups.’ I hiccup again.

‘Oh dear, it must be bad,’ Sam giggles, remembering how this happened at school whenever I got totally overwhelmed.

‘Bloody right it is. I have to spend the whole night here with him in the next room thinking I’m some kind of lunatic stalker woman with a fetish for themed knickers,’ I say, and burst into a fit of nervous laughter, punctuated by more hiccups. Sam is laughing too, and for a moment neither of us can talk. I can’t believe I’ve made such a show of myself in front of him – yet again. ‘Oh God,’ I groan, as fresh waves of mortification wash over me.

Sam is the first to recover.

‘Right! Fetish woman, get yourself together, and if Tom says anything about, the … err, encounter,’ she pauses momentarily to have another chuckle, ‘then, like I always tell you, just laugh it off.’

‘Laugh it off?’ I say, incredulously. ‘Oh Tom, I just love prancing around in other people’s bedrooms in my manky underwear, it’s such a hoot.’ We both chortle again, with me venturing into hysteria territory.

‘Well, you could always pretend you don’t know anything about it. Like you were sleepwalking or something.’ There’s a short silence. ‘I know! Tell him you have narcolepsy.’ We both crack up laughing again.

‘But I was still in his bloody bedroom and I shouted at him for startling me, so that’s not going to work, is it?’

‘Well, just brave it out. But don’t – whatever you do – apologise. He probably couldn’t believe his luck in any case.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous. He’s probably on the phone to Maxine right now, telling her what an idiot I am, and to bin me as soon as she’s got enough sales commission out of me.’

‘Hardly. Stop being so paranoid.’

‘I can’t. Ever since she turned up, my nerves have been all over the place.’ I let out a feeble laugh.

‘Well, you deserve a bit of fun then … and it was only a couple of dates with James. And I have to say that he wasn’t exactly slow in condemning you, was he?’ I mull over what she’s said, and I know that she has a point. I’m just not sure I’m quite ready to hear it.

‘Oh, I don’t know, part of me thinks that James just needs more time, he’s bound to be suspicious and unwilling to trust after what he’s been through with his wife cheating, but Tom … well, he’s sooo hot, but he’s shagging Maxine.’ I pause to fantasise about him for a bit, he really is gorgeous. ‘But whenever he and I are alone there’s a spark … something. I don’t know what the game is.’ There’s a silence while I try and work it out. ‘Listen to me, like I even stand a chance with him,’ I say, rapidly coming to my senses. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t say much about my loyalty if I just turn my attentions to Tom now.’

‘But you don’t owe James anything, and so what if Maxine and Tom have got some stupid game going on? Personally I don’t think so. No, I think you’re letting your paranoia get the better of you. You fancy the pants off him, so just go for it. Grab him with both hands … one on each bum cheek,’ she urges. ‘You never know, he could be your Valentine date, imagine that?’ And for a brief moment I try, but the thought is just so ridiculous I can’t even seem to get an image of it in my head.

‘Have you finally gone mad?’ I laugh, trying to change the subject.

‘Well, think about it at least. Anyway, how do you know he’s shagging Maxine? I’ll ask Nathan.’ And before I can shout ‘NOOO!’ I hear her muffled voice quizzing him. My insides churn – what if it gets back to Tom that I’ve been asking about him? The shame of it. ‘Right, Nathan says that as far as he knows he’s not a player. A true gentleman, apparently. But then he only knows him from the club … but he agrees with me, and I say just go for it.’

‘Stop it. I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation,’ I say, wishing I’d never mentioned it.

‘Remember what I said about James, and I was right then, wasn’t I?’

‘Yes. But that was totally different. He was happily married, or so I thought, and besides he asked me out. And we’ve been friends for ages.’

‘OK. So next time you’re alone with Tom … well, just try flirting a bit.’ There’s a scratchy sound, as if Sam has dropped the phone, but then I hear her telling Nathan that it’s ‘girls’ talk’. ‘Sorry about that, I don’t want him hearing my seduction secrets,’ she laughs.

‘So are you having a good weekend?’ I ask, keen to change the subject.

‘Faab-u-lous.’ I hear Sam squealing, followed by a squelchy sound that I guess to be Nathan’s lips. ‘Georgie, I have to go. But try to have fun. And remember … one on each cheek!’

The line goes dead. For a few minutes I ponder on everything Sam said. The idea is ludicrous. But perhaps I am just being paranoid – even Eddie seems to think so. I allow myself a moment to indulge in fantasising about Tom, before dragging myself back to reality. He’s probably in his room right now, laughing his head off.