Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s (59 page)

I’m at home with Mr Cheeks keeping me company, and pondering on whether to torture myself by watching this week’s episode of
Kelly Cooper Come Instore –
not sure if I want to see Tom and Zara together, when the intercom on the outside door buzzes. I press to see who it is.

‘Only me, sweetcheeks! I come bearing gifts.’ It’s Eddie, and he’s waving a cake box up to the camera outside. I buzz to let him in and head into the kitchen for a bottle of buck’s fizz and promptly realise, to my shame, that it’s the last one. I guess I have been putting it away recently. I vow to clean up my act and drink more tea instead. And cook proper food too while I’m at it – my fridge and freezer are crammed now with festive food bargains. I even got a whole smoked salmon the other day for a third of what they usually cost. With some blinis, crème fraîche and dill, it will make a lovely starter, and certainly a nice step up from last year’s prawn ring. I figured that Sam may not be up to hosting a full-on Christmas lunch this year, so I might as well get prepared to invite them all here instead – Sam, Nathan, Dad, Nancy; it’ll be a squeeze, but I’m sure they won’t mind.

I’ve just rinsed two flutes, when Eddie appears, out of breath, with the cake box balanced regally on an upturned palm and Pussy trotting along behind him – she’s wearing a festive red knitted polo-neck jumper with a white snowflake pattern on. Mr Cheeks takes one look at her before bolting through the cat flap. Eddie manages to drag himself up onto a stool by the breakfast bar while Pussy charges around my kitchen, sniffing and inspecting everything before settling at my feet.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ I laugh.

‘I’m utterly exhausted. Like properly actually knackered.’ He yawns dramatically. ‘It’s the wedding plans. Who knew romance could be
sooo
demanding?’

‘What do you mean? I thought KCTV were organising it all.’

‘They are, but for some unfathomable reason, I insisted on being consulted on all the minutiae, figuring this way they can’t mess it up or make me and Ciaran look ridic.’ He huffs. ‘So now I’ve got that totes whiny production girl, Hannah, in my ear all day long, banging on about canapés and suchlike. I said who cares, just feed them already!’ he adds, rolling his eyes and sounding like some kind of Hollywood A-list diva.

‘And what about the cowboys? And Liza Minnelli?’ I say, pouring him a generous measure of buck’s fizz, figuring from the state of him that he could sure do with it.

‘Oh Kel loves the cowboy idea, has got a troop or whatever they call them … ’ He pauses to ponder while I smile inwardly at how he’s quite obviously BFFs with Kelly now, if he’s being this familiar. ‘A herd, perhaps. Anyway, they’re coming in from the Nevada desert – she knows someone who knows someone who knows someone – so they’ll be turning up and looking hot. Yee-ha!’ He slaps his thigh, Doris Day-style. ‘Topless, natch. But between you and me, I’ve got an inkling that Kel wants to break into the American TV market; hence she’s putting on such an extravagant show. She’s just like a female Simon Cowell.’ And I swear his adulation of her intensifies. His eyes have gone all misty. ‘But sadly, Liza can’t make it,’ he purses his lips. ‘Other commitments, apparently.’

‘You mean KCTV actually asked her?’ I’m flabbergasted. ‘I thought you were joking.’

‘Oh no darling. Kel knows
eeeeeveryone,
’ he says, sweeping a palm through the air, but something’s not right, I can sense it. On the surface it’s as if he’s talking about his dream wedding, yet his eyes look sad which is unlike Eddie. It’s like he’s playing a part. Yes, he can be a bit queeny, but he’s not normally this OTT, not when it comes to serious things like weddings and stuff.

‘What’s up?’ I ask, figuring it best to cut to the chase.

‘What do you mean?’ he says, inspecting his nails.

‘Come on Eddie, how long have we been friends? I say, gently.

‘Years.’

‘
Exactly
. So I can tell when you’re putting on a brave face. It’s the wedding, isn’t it?’ I ask, secretly praying that Ciaran isn’t having second thoughts.

‘
Weell
,’ he starts. ‘OK. I hold my hands up … You were right.’ He crosses his arms. ‘It’s all the fluff.’

‘Fluff?’

‘Yes fluff. I got carried away and now I don’t know how to change it. Topless cowboys, who am I kidding? I mean, it’s just
sooo
not me.’ I manage to stifle a smile.

‘I’m sure if you talk to Kelly—’

‘I’ve tried. But it’s no use. I’m scared Georgie.’

‘Scared of what?’ I ask, gently.

‘That we’ll look like a circus act … ’ he replies, miserably.

‘Well then, I’ll talk to her. Or, if she won’t listen to me, then we’ll just contact the cowboys direct to explain,’ I say, feeling protective of my friend.

‘We can’t do that.’

‘Yes we can. Don’t worry. I’ll help you. We’ll scale it down somehow and get you the wedding of your dreams. I promise,’ I add boldly, inwardly hoping I can pull if off. First chance I get, I’ll have a word with Hannah and take it from there. I’m not letting my best friend dread his own wedding. I can’t let that happen, so I’m going to make damn sure I do everything I can to sort it out for him.

‘Thank you darling, it’s such a relief to have you on board.’ He gives me a kiss. ‘Now, let’s grab a muffin and plant ourselves in front of your box. I want to see my performance, if only to take my mind off the wedding,’ he says, perking up a bit.

Pondering on how I can best sort out their wedding, I follow Eddie into the lounge and assume my usual seat on the beanbag, gesturing for him to take the sofa as my guest. Eddie flips open the cake box and offers it to me. I gasp. Inside are two massive chocolate muffins slathered in twinkly white peaks of icing with cute miniature reindeers perched on top.

‘Well, it is nearly Christmas.’ Eddie hands a cake to me. I smile and bite into the delicious creamy mixture that ends up on my cheeks and the tip of my nose. ‘Mm-mmm, this is good.’

‘They’re from Sam’s café. I popped in on the off chance of seeing how she was, if she was back at work yet … ’ He stops to dip his finger in the icing and offers it to Pussy, who laps it up before licking her little lips in approval and nuzzling into him.

‘Yes, she seemed to be picking up a bit when I talked to her this morning. Was she there in the café when you called in?’ I ask, plucking a tissue from a box on the coffee table to wipe my face.

‘She sure was, but out back in the kitchen; said she doesn’t want to be around the customers yet, especially that pregnant Jenny from Greggs, the one who’s about to pop any day now. And who can blame her? I imagine it must feel as if everywhere she looks there are reminders – pregnant women, babies in prams. You can’t walk down the street without seeing children. And Sam is so sweet. Life can be so cruel sometimes.’ Eddie sighs and fiddles with Pussy’s collar.

‘How did she seem when you saw her?’ I ask because I’ve been really worried about her. She’s so quiet.

‘OK. She was baking – said it helps, that she finds it cathartic. Hence these beauts … she forced them on me.’ He grins before taking a huge bite of his muffin. ‘Mmm, exquisite,’ he manages, in between chewing. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly ten, why?’ I ask.

‘The show of course! Flick the TV on, petal.’ Eddie flaps a hand in my direction.

‘Oh, do we have to?’

‘Yes, we do … why wouldn’t we?’ He gives me a look.

‘You know very well why.’ I will my cheeks to stop flaming.

‘
Toooom?
Oh babycakes, you need to move on. I know he’s probably the hottest man on earth, after my Ciaran, of course, but it’s just not good for you hankering after a lost love. Anyway, I thought you had hooked up with that country singer.’

‘Well, yes, Dan and I are friends but—’

‘With benefits, saucy girl,’ Eddie quips, giving me a big wink, and not missing a beat.

‘Not exactly.’

‘Boring!’

‘Stop it. I’m not “hankering”, as you say, I err … just don’t want to see Zara strutting her stuff,’ I mutter into my muffin.

‘Good. Then let’s get on with the show.’ He grabs the remote control and hands it to me. ‘Face your demons, darling. You’re twice the woman she’ll ever be; besides, I don’t think she’s in this week’s episode. Or if she is, then she isn’t with Tom in New York.’

‘Really. How come?’

‘Well, how can she be? Didn’t you and Sam spot her in a restaurant, and then she was in my office slagging off her shaman, something about him being out of order after suggesting she try a Tantric massage to ease her stress.’

‘A what?’ I ask, wondering what she has to be stressed about. She’s getting engaged to Tom – hardly stressful; bliss, more like.

‘Oh does it really matter? Ignore her. She’s nobody. Kelly’s the dream-maker,’ he sniffs.

‘Eddie! You are so fickle … ’

‘Not at all, darling. It’s just business. Show business! Now, finish your cake and settle down.’

Doing as I’m told, I swallow the last of my drink and polish off my muffin as the funky ‘Working Nine To Five’ theme tune starts. I brace myself, just in case Zara and Tom appear on the screen actually kissing or something. KCTV could have kept back footage from a previous week to air tonight. They don’t necessarily show stuff in sequence as it happens. I haven’t actually seen them together yet, not properly, and even though I know in my head that he’s moved on, I’m not sure my heart truly accepts it.

‘Oooh, here we go.’ Eddie appears on the screen, he’s wearing tight black skating trousers and a sparkly silver top. He’s got a microphone in his left hand and he’s asking shoppers, aka the actors, if they’re having a good time on the Carrington’s ice rink. He even does a little twirl before skating over to the other side of the rink to talk to a girl in a swishy red velvet mini Santa dress.

‘Wow! Why didn’t you say that you’d been elevated to presenter?’

‘I wanted to surprise you.’ He beams, pushing the muffin aside and pulling Pussy onto his lap.

‘But what will Zara think? Isn’t that her job?’

‘Well not any more,’ he says in a singsong voice.

Next up is a shot of the cash office with Lauren, Doris and Suzanne being talked through some new computerised cashing-up process that Kelly wants them to adopt, while the voiceover guy does a spiel about how Carrington’s will reap the results once we’ve embraced the modern technological age. Cue a shot of Mrs Grace in her stockroom showing the viewers a selection of vintage gowns, still hanging in cellophane covers with the old-fashioned swirly 1950s Carrington’s logo on. Next on screen is James, escorting a customer through to the Personal Shopping suite, which by the looks of it has had a spectacular makeover – it’s now adorned in sumptuous swathes of velvet cascading from an enormous chandelier in the centre of the room. A decadent plum brocade chaise longue has replaced the old white circular sofa and a row of giant mani/pedi chairs have been installed along one wall so customers can be pampered as they peruse our A/W collection. There’s even a little elevated runway and a model is strutting up and down in an exquisite Oscar de la Renta embellished tulle dress. Since when did we stock Oscar de la Renta? Wow! But I can’t see any of our regular customers forking out over five thousand pounds for a dress, although I guess that’s the point – to attract the glamouratti from the marina and send the locals down to the superstore on the industrial estate instead. It makes me feel excited, but a bit sad, as if it’s the start of the end of an era. Kelly is certainly upping Carrington’s game. Next we’ll be selling Prada and being told what shade of lipstick we have to wear to work.

‘Quick. Look, did you see that?’ Eddie bellows, making Pussy jump. She springs off his lap and dashes over to join me. I scoop her up and stroke her little furry head. She settles down, nuzzling her nose into the inside of my elbow.

‘What? I missed it.’

‘Zara. Right there, skating around in the background. It was definitely her – hmm, why didn’t she let us all know she was around for filming; not like her to be camera shy.’ I peer at the screen and there she is, all bouncy big hair and sparkly eyes. She’s breathtakingly beautiful. And she’s wearing a proper minuscule fuchsia satin skating leotard with white leather skates.

‘You’re right,’ I say, giving my hair extensions a quick bouff. ‘And what’s she doing?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s freaky whatever it is … it looks like some kind of weird solo dance, a sort of freeform expression thingy. Ew.’ Eddie winces. ‘And what’s with the flailing arms and the dying swan finale?’

‘Maybe it’s her Boléro impression,’ I offer, trying to be charitable. She looks ridiculous.

‘
Weell
, I think it’s weird that she’s even here in Mulberry-On-Sea.’ Eddie sniffs.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Why isn’t she with her “fiancé”?’ he says, making sarcastic quote signs with his fingers.

‘Oh I don’t know Ed, and to be honest I’d rather not think about it,’ I say, relaxing back into the beanbag.

After the ad break, the voiceover guy is back and he’s talking about a reindeer safari and the birthplace of Santa and sourcing authentic Christmas goods for Carrington’s to stock next year. Now there’s a log cabin on the screen, with twinkly lights at the windows and steam coming from the chimney. It’s like something from a fairytale. We’re going inside now, and it’s enchanting, a real log fire in an enormous inglenook surround beside a sumptuously soft sheepskin rug. It’s the perfect setting for a romantic Christmas.

‘What’s this?’ I ask Eddie. He shrugs.

‘No idea. Kel hasn’t mentioned other locations. Looks divine though, doesn’t it?’

‘It sure does. All Christmassy and magical,’ I say, finishing the last of my buck’s fizz.

A giant wooden sleigh comes into focus, and it’s being pulled though a snow-laden forest by a pack of huskies with jingle bells on their harnesses. As the sleigh gathers speed, powdery fine snow whisks all around, giving us the illusion of being inside a giant snow globe. As the snow settles, a bubbling hot tub emerges on screen. My heart flutters. My cheeks flush. My thighs tingle. It’s Tom. And he’s topless, his beautifully honed chest glistening in the golden glow of a trillion flickering paper lanterns swaying in the night air. Steam pumps all around him as he leans back and reaches out a muscular arm to take a pewter jug from the deck. I bite my bottom lip, willing my whole body to stop burning with desire. It’s insane. Even though I know we’re over, I just can’t help myself. I’m consumed with lust. I make a mental note to call Dan first thing tomorrow morning; I can’t continue to go on dates with him when I still feel this way about another man. It’s just not right.