Miracle on Regent Street (48 page)

‘Well, Sebastian Hardy isn’t in charge any more; his son Rupert is. And unlike his father, he has some family loyalty and sense of history . . .’

‘Aaah, but loyalty doesn’t make money, darling!’ he laughs.

I grasp my tea cup for support and to stop me tearing my hair out with frustration. I don’t know why I bother, but I feel the need to defend Hardy’s to my father.

‘Hardy’s can’t close and it won’t,’ I say firmly, putting my tea cup back on its saucer. ‘It’s a store with history and a heart. Londoners love it and
so do the staff. We all think that, with a proper chance, this place can be great again. We’re already busier than we’ve been for years, the departments have been updated and
we’re taking way more money than before . . .’

‘More of nothing isn’t a lot, though, is it, darling?’ Dad responds smoothly. That comment hurt, mostly because he’s right. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he
continues more softly. ‘You can try and convince me all you like but you’re a romantic, just like your mother. And romance doesn’t get you anywhere in this life.’

‘But surely you must have some emotional connection to this place?’ I say. ‘It’s part of the reason I love it here so much. I mean, you and Mum fell in love under this
roof!’ I hope that by reminding him of what Hardy’s has brought him – a loving wife, a wonderful family – it’ll help Dad see how important this place is to so many
other people, too.

He leans over and squeezes my hand. ‘Of course it’s important, darling. But life moves on. You can’t live with memories forever and history can’t buy you a retirement
plan. So if you’re still working here out of some misguided sense of romance about my and your mother’s relationship, well, then I . . .’ He is distracted by his bleeping phone
and doesn’t finish his sentence.

‘Well then what?’ I ask impatiently and he looks up at me blankly as if he’s already forgotten our conversation, already ensconced in sending a text, a small smile hovering
over his face.

‘Well, then what?’ I repeat impatiently, and Dad looks up.

‘Er? What were we talking about? Oh, yes, your misplaced sense of romance when it comes to business. What I was going to say was if that’s the case then maybe the stockroom is the
best place for you.’ Dad smiles at me widely, clearly unaware he has just mortally offended me. ‘Not everything in life can be some big ideal, Eve darling, and you’d do well to
remember that. And so would your mother.’ He drains his cup and puts it back down on the saucer with a loud clatter, so that everyone in the tearoom turns to look at us, including Lily. Then
he stands up and throws on his coat.

‘Right, gotta go,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead as he wraps his cashmere scarf around his neck and puts his leather gloves on. ‘We must do this again
sometime.’

I turn my head, fold my arms and stare sullenly into the distance as he strides off.

Seconds later, I feel a warm hand rest delicately on my shoulder and I look up to see Lily gazing sympathetically down at me. She pulls a chair up and perches on it.

‘I’m so sorry about him, Lily,’ I say, my eyes filling with tears suddenly.

She waves her hand. ‘Shush now, you don’t have to apologize. Parents are always a bit embarrassing.’

‘A bit?’ I shake my head.

‘Well, dear, if it’s any consolation, you’re nothing like him.’

I smile tearfully. ‘I’m just so fed up of his views. Just because I don’t have a fancy house like Delilah, a rich husband or work in some high-powered job, he looks down on my
job, my relationships, everything. And he’s not the only one . . .’

‘What do you mean?’ Lily says.

I sigh as I think about Carly and all the other staff who pour out their troubles to me. ‘Half the people here still don’t know me, or know what I can do. Carly even took the glory
for the makeovers. No one would ever suspect me. They think I’m worthless except as a sounding board to their problems.’

‘So maybe it’s time you told them,’ Lily says simply.

‘What do you mean?’ I twist the rim of my tea cup so that the brown liquid left at the bottom swooshes around like a whirlpool.

‘Who you are, what you do.’ She stands up. ‘Unless, that is, you actually prefer being invisible? Maybe you think that’s all you deserve? Perhaps you’d rather slink
through life without anyone bothering you. After all, it’s much easier, isn’t it?’ Lily tilts her head and strokes my arm. ‘Hmm?’

I shrug and stare at the leaves of tea.

‘Or is it?’ she adds and with a final squeeze of my arm, she walks off.

Wednesday 14 December

11 Shopping Days Until Christmas

‘H
i, Felix,’ I say glumly as I walk through the staff entrance. I am feeling distinctly Wednesday-ish and uncharacteristically
unChristmassy, despite the glorious spectacle of lights and decorations that greeted me as I cycled into town this morning. Even the prospect of transforming Carly’s department is not making
me feel better. Everything feels like such an effort and I’m not sure I have the energy any more. Designers is way out of my league. I know nothing about designer clothes, and if Carly
can’t make it work then how the hell can I? But without it I know Hardy’s cannot compete. One designer outfit sale could match the entire takings of some of the smaller departments.

‘Evie!’ Felix bounds up to me and thrusts a latte into my hands as I smile weakly at him. ‘I took the liberty of getting you a coffee first. I’ve been thinking up ideas
for Designers all night and wanted to show some things to you,’ he says excitedly, his sharp blue eyes glittering like icicles.

I trudge after Felix reluctantly. It’s so sweet of him to get excited but I’m really not in the mood today. I just want to get on with it. I can’t fake enthusiasm for some
ideas that I’ll never use from an old man who hasn’t worked on the shop floor in thirty-odd years and who considers pattern clashing bow-ties to be fashionable. I feel mean and
dispirited, and I don’t want my mood to rub off on Felix, but right now I wish I could go back to doing this all on my own.

‘Now,’ he says, spreading out a large, rolled-up piece of paper over his desk and tugging on my arm to draw me in closer. ‘I’ve sketched out my ideas. I haven’t
done this for a while so I may be a little rusty . . .’

‘What do you mean, you haven’t done this for a while?’

‘Oh, myself and Walter junior did a rather successful store makeover back in 1974, which I had a great deal of creative input in,’ Felix says proudly. ‘Of course, things were
different back then but you inspired me to revisit some of my own ideas all those years ago. After all, if they worked then, they could still work now. With a special Evie twist, of course!’
he adds with a wink. ‘I don’t pretend to understand modern fashion, oh, no, or know how to marry old and new together to make something fresh and, er, funky? Is that right?’ I
laugh at Felix’s expression and he joins in. ‘Hey, I can be down with the kids too, you know, love. I know all the street talk.’

‘That’s more than I do, Felix,’ I say, feeling brighter. I suddenly find myself compelled to look closer at the drawings. ‘These are really good, Felix!’ I’m
unable to hide the surprise in my voice. ‘I love what you’ve done with the till area. It looks really glamorous and, oh – what are those, over where the changing rooms
are?’

‘They’re vintage screens,’ Felix says. ‘I know we’ve got some in the store somewhere and I thought we could do something like this with them.’ He pulls out a
new issue of
Living etc
magazine and shows me a reader’s glamorous bedroom. I raise my eyebrow at him.

‘What?’ he says defensively. ‘I like a bit of home decoration, you know. Maisie always said I was a DIY mastermind. I just thought instead of covering the screens with fabric,
which would be expensive and time-consuming, we could just quickly wallpaper them and then put them in different spots in the department. We could drape nice clothes over them as if customers have
been getting changed behind them. But – and this is my pièce de résistance
–
we could turn the changing rooms into a sort of VIP closet, where the most elegant
designer dresses and shoes are displayed. I reckon it’d bring a real sense of luxury to the department. It could be like that walk-in closet in that programme you women always bang on about,
you know, the one with the women who all like shoes and sex and talk about them all the time – especially that blonde one who looks like a drag queen.’

‘You mean
Sex and the City
?’ I say, mouth agape.

‘My Maisie used to love that show. Not that I ever watched it, of course,’ he adds gruffly, clearing his throat. ‘The clothes that Carrie Bagshott woman wore were way too
crazy, and the way that Mr Huge messed her around? No sensible woman would ever stand for that. My Maisie never would, that’s for sure . . .’

I gape in wonder at Felix as I look from him to his sketches and then back again. Will my friends never cease to amaze me? These ideas are wonderful, way better than anything I came up with last
night. I was too busy thinking about Joel, then Carly, then worrying about Delilah, who I could hear crying in her room again because Will wasn’t home. Then I drifted off to sleep with just
my dad’s comment reverberating in my head. I ended up throwing away most of my drawings when I woke up, vowing to wing it when I came in. But now Felix has reignited my imagination and I know
that, with his help, this makeover could be amazing.

I throw my arms around him. ‘Felix, these are brilliant ideas! But do you think we can really get all this done this morning?’

‘’Course we can, darling. I’ve already got Jan Baptysta started on knocking the changing rooms through into a single walk-in room. I hope you don’t mind?’ he adds
bashfully. ‘But I knew you’d like that idea. Every store and girl should have one!’ he adds in a faux camp voice.

I laugh again and drag him out of his office. ‘Come on then, we’d better work fast so you’re not missed in security!’

‘Aah, sod security,’ Felix chuckles. ‘Most of the time I just nap, anyway. In three years I’ve never seen anyone come here when the store is shut. To be honest, before
you started all this, they barely came when the bloody place was open!’

We walk into the store laughing companionably, suddenly able to find humour at Hardy’s sad situation. Maybe it’s because we finally have a glimmer of hope.

We’re just greeting the rest of gang, who are all hard at work, when Sam bursts in.

‘Evie!’ he gasps. ‘I was hoping you’d already be here. I had to come by so I could show you these!’ He is holding armfuls of prints, which he now thrusts at me.
‘I’ve cancelled my other deliveries this morning so I can take these to the local newspapers. What do you think?’

I flick through the scenes that Sam captured from our makeover the other morning, until I feel a crowd of people around me. Felix, Lily, Jan Baptysta and the rest of the gang are all
‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over my shoulder.

‘What do you think?’ Sam repeats more urgently. ‘I hope I’ve captured the spirit of the makeover sessions without revealing who anyone is. ‘I thought these
–’ he points at a series of six shots of us transforming the handbag department, ‘would make a great reportage sequence – and this – ’ he pulls out a photo that
shows me with my back to the camera and in complete darkness against the brightness of the store, with blurry figures rushing around me – ‘is a great central action shot.’