Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s. Alexandra BrownЧитать онлайн книгу.
very kind. And yes, I suppose I was,’ she replies in a dreamy voice, as if casting her mind back. She pats my hand and smiles before leaving.
The shop floor is really quiet, so I choose a selection of our very best bags for the Russian to browse through and take them up the back stairs to the personal shopping suite before bombing back down to my till. Carrington’s is a bit of a maze. The underground corridors down in the basement go on forever and there’s even one that runs all the way to the old music hall at the other end of Lovelace Walk, a few streets away. Rumour has it that the original Mr H. Carrington, aka Dirty Harry, had the corridor built especially as a discreet way to ‘visit’ showgirls, then pay them in kind by inviting them back for secret late-night shopping sprees. Sort of like a free trolley dash in return for sex I suppose. Mrs Grace told me all about it.
Once back, I discreetly tilt the computer screen and decide to Google Malikov while indulging in some online window shopping. I tap the screen to bring up the Carrington’s Home Shopping site. As I select the home furnishings icon, Eddie sidles up to my counter.
‘God I’m bored,’ he says, pulling a sulky face. ‘The Heff has gone off somewhere, said he won’t be back until the end of the day, so I’ve got nothing to do. You know he can be so selfish sometimes.’
‘There must be something you can find to busy yourself with,’ I say, distractedly, as I hover the cursor over the ‘Get the Look’ tab.
‘Nope. Nothing …’ Eddie pauses and stares into the middle distance for a bit before announcing, ‘I know! Let’s go to Patagonia and flirt with cowboys.’ He widens his eyes and crosses his arms.
Refusing to be distracted, I click the mouse and take a look at a colonial-style bedroom.
‘What do you think of this?’ I ask, tapping the screen.
‘Boring!’ he says, dismissively. ‘And look at the price tag – more than two thousand pounds. Even with our staff discount card it’s still extortionate. Sweet Jeeeesus … I’d want my whole flat and my next-door neighbour’s refurbished for that amount.’
‘Oh me too, this stuff is way outside my budget.’
‘So why are you looking then?’
‘Well there’s no harm in taking a peek.’
‘Of course there isn’t, but tell me something – why are you up to your eyes in debt?’ he says, placing the tip of his little finger at the side of his mouth and pulling a quizzical face.
‘You know why – it was hard when I came out of care, I just wanted somewhere nice to live like everyone else and got sucked in by all those adverts dishing out 125 per cent mortgages like free newspapers at the station,’ I say, remembering the sticky cold lino and thin faded towels at Nanny Jean’s house, while Kimberley kept all the big fluffy pink ones in her bedroom. And the bank didn’t hesitate in giving me the mortgage, even though any idiot knew I really couldn’t afford the payments without achieving record sales commission every month for ever and ever and ever. Those were the days when designer handbags were a must-have and my sales commission skyrocketed as a result. I just wish I’d known back then that the boom would eventually bust.
‘OK, calm down, you know you didn’t even take a breath then. And I’m sorry, didn’t mean to upset you and bring it all back.’ I pull a face, thinking about the grubby bedsit I wound up in after I was shunted from the care system, with my whole world stuffed inside a couple of black sacks and a jaded social worker to guide me. I was on my own, and the only way to eke out my junior sales assistant’s salary and make ends meet was by living on credit cards and personal loans.
‘Now, where were we?’ I ask Eddie.
‘You were just about to buy something,’ he laughs.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I say, clicking to close the Internet browser.
‘Oh, I’m only joking, kiddo.’ Eddie pats my arm.
‘So, has Smith rung yet?’ I ask, swiftly sidestepping the focus away from my mountainous debt problem. Eddie’s the only one who knows about it. He was with me when my debit card got declined in Starbucks one time – it was the day before payday and I was mortified. But Eddie swiftly stepped in and defused the situation by handing the barista a fiver before giving me a hug and a bite of his skinny peach muffin. I ended up telling him everything over a scalding chai tea latte, right back from the start.
‘Not a whiff,’ Eddie says, looking despondent. He scans the shop floor and after making sure regular customers, Mr and Mrs Peabody, can’t hear as they wave at me on their way over to the escalator, he leans in close and whispers, ‘Do you think I should call him? Only I don’t want to look desperate or anything.’ He nervously plucks at the skin on his neck. ‘It’s driving me mad, what do you think I should do?’
‘Mmmm, tricky one. Maybe hold out until tomorrow, if you can. Let him know what he’s missing,’ I say, feeling sorry for him having to endure the ‘will he or won’t he call?’ agony. He doesn’t have much luck with men, and I really thought he’d met a keeper this time.
‘But what if it’s too late? All I want to know is if he still feels the same way. I’m just not sure any more.’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’ I ask, keeping my voice low.
He shrugs before answering.
‘Weell … not coming to the party for starters, when he’d promised to. And I still haven’t heard from him with an explanation. It just doesn’t look very positive for a successful Valentine’s Day, does it?’
‘I suppose not,’ I reply, unsure of what else to say. ‘But like you said earlier in the lift, it’s his loss,’ I add, brightly.
‘Hmmm, guess I was just being ballsy.’ Eddie pulls a face.
‘But you definitely don’t want to be chasing after him. Nothing worse than hankering after unrequited love on February the fourteenth,’ I say. There’s a silence, and I can see that Eddie is pondering on what to do for the best.
‘Yes, you’re absolutely right. Why should I chase after him? He can put his little hoofs into gear and trot after me for a change,’ he smirks, changing tack again.
‘What are you two up to?’ Ciaran appears from behind the Lulu Guinness bag display.
‘Nothing much. Why?’ Eddie replies.
‘No reason. You just look very cosy, huddled together there, that’s all.’
‘We were just indulging in some online window shopping therapy,’ Eddie replies, swiftly. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Well don’t be spending too much.’ Ciaran wags a finger before winking at me.
‘We’ll spend what we like, somebody has to keep the economy going,’ Eddie says, abruptly, and then turns to me. ‘Don’t they honeybunch?’ in a much nicer voice. Ciaran looks towards the ceiling before checking his watch. ‘Anyway, what are you doing down here again? Seems like you can’t keep away,’ Eddie sniffs, glancing in my direction, as if I’m the reason Ciaran’s hanging around. But that’s ridiculous.
‘Meeting Tina. And here she is.’ He glances over towards the staff door where Tina is standing with her hands on her hips. After Ciaran leaves I turn to Eddie.
‘What was that all about? You know we’re not actually buying anything. It’s just a bit of fun looking.’
‘Oh nothing. I’m on a come-down, and him, with his fake “bad boy” thing going on and his shovel-carrying troll … well they just get on my nerves,’ he says quietly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s obvious she’s only after his inheritance, if he ever gets it! Last I heard his fabulously wealthy parents weren’t overly impressed with him working as a mere waiter in a café.’ He crosses