of Kelly’s ideas to boost revenue for Carrington’s and put us on a par with the famous department stores up in London. Or, better still, Annie and I could actually carry a Birkin bag in the show? They could film us arriving at work or something. You never know, we might even get to keep one, especially if it’s been used and thereby can’t be sold instore – now that would be amazing. And it would mean that I could dump the fake one I bought from a street seller in Marbs. Although, I can’t see our regular customers forking out thousands for a handbag. Who can afford to do that?
Or perhaps Kelly has ideas to attract new customers too, from out of town. Maybe down from London for a weekend, or how about a special exclusive event for the glamouratti from the boats moored up in Mulberry Marina. They all seem to be flocking here since the new casino opened, much to the annoyance of the local residence committee, I have to say. My neighbour, Frank, who does something on the parish council, ran a petition for well over a year and collected nearly nine hundred names. But anyway, I’ve seen some amazing super-yachts, and I’ve often wondered why we don’t make more of this untapped flow of high-end customers. I’ll talk to Tom about it, when we’re alone. Could be my way of showing him that, actually, there are no hard feelings, and I’m keen for Kelly to work her magic and make Carrington’s magnificent again. In just the same way he is. He could go back to confiding in me and it would become like our project, chatting and dissecting Kelly’s progress together. You never know, KCTV may even do a second series. Tom did say that he’d been thinking about opening another store, perhaps, and what better way to drum up publicity than by involving the viewers – read, potential new customers – right from the start. I make a mental note to chat to Tom about this too.
Glancing at the wall clock, I see there’s only five minutes left of my lunch break. I clear my throat.
‘Oh, didn’t see you there with all this junk in the way,’ Kelly says, and I’m sure I detect a hint of frostiness in her voice. I wonder if Tom has had a go at her for making Annie and me look like fools. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve come to see Tom.’ I smile.
‘Oh he’s gone. You just missed him,’ Kelly replies, in a very airy voice.
‘Ahh, that’s right. Totes forgot,’ Zara chips in, unconvincingly, as she gives me an up-and-down look before raising a sardonic eyebrow. What is her problem?
‘Gone where? Do you know how long he’ll be? I could come back later,’ I say, deliberately keeping my voice light and breezy. I’m not giving Zara the satisfaction of seeing me rankled.
‘To Paris, of course.’
‘Paris.’ The floor sways beneath me.
‘Yep. To film the other half of the show. The exciting bit,’ Zara adds, pointedly. ‘The bit where the viewers will get to see him visiting high-end fashion houses – Paris, Milan, New York.’ She counts off the cities on her fingers. ‘Sourcing new stock lines, meeting suppliers, that kind of thing. And with a bit of luck I’ll get to join him.’
I feel as though I’m suffocating. Tom has gone! Gone a trillion miles away, or it might as well be, seeing as we’re over. How are we going to talk now? It just won’t be the same on the phone; no – some things just have to be sorted out face to face. Silence follows.
‘But he never said,’ I manage, instantly hating myself for sounding all ‘little girl lost’.
‘Maybe he was too busy focusing on his priorities,’ Zara offers, before inspecting her nails.
‘It was very last-minute, to be fair. The flight was only booked this morning.’ It’s Millie, and she gives me a sympathetic smile.
‘What’s it to you, anyway?’ Zara butts in, twiddling a diamond earring and flaring her nostrils.
‘He’s my … ’ I hesitate. What is he exactly? Before last night I thought he was my boyfriend, but now I have no idea. He never even mentioned Paris. I know he travels a lot, but since we started seeing each other he’s made sure to tell me when he’s going away. I’m stunned. How could I have got it so wrong? If he just wanted a good time, a casual fling, then why didn’t he say so? Why did he come all the way to Italy to surprise me at Sam’s wedding? Then appearing at my sun lounger wearing Daniel Craig-style trunks to show off his practically perfect body, teamed with an irresistibly cheeky grin. Why did he let me think we had a future? We had even chatted about spending Christmas together. I distinctly remember us laughing and saying how fab it would be to stay in one of those picturesque log cabins, with a roaring log fire, snuggled up together in red tartan blankets while sipping mugs of hot chocolate and looking out through frost-cornered windows as snow floats silently down from the sky. Just like in one of those soppy, old-fashioned Technicolor films, with Bing Crosby crooning in the background. It just doesn’t add up. I feel so confused.
‘Friend,’ I finish lamely.
‘And he’s also the boss around here, so he doesn’t have to answer to you.’ It’s Zara again. I give her a look. She throws me a sarcastic smile.
‘Girls. Girls. Come on. Play nicely,’ Kelly interrupts, before putting her arm around Zara and giving her shoulder a rub. ‘Honey, I can see why you’re sweet on him, and who can blame you? He’s diviiiine. Our very own Henry Cavill. Now, if I were ten years younger … ’ And the rest, I secretly think, feeling angry and hurt with Tom all over again. I can’t keep up with this rollercoaster of emotions. One minute I want him so much it aches, and the next I’m left feeling devastated.
I take a deep breath, inwardly wishing my feelings for Tom weren’t quite so obvious. I really wish I hadn’t been so stubborn now. I should have swallowed my pride and agreed to talk later when it was more convenient. Instinctively, I pull my mobile from my pocket and quickly glance at the screen, willing him to have been in touch. To explain everything. Make it good again. But nothing. Just a text message from Dad, all in shouty capitals with no full stops, but at least he’s trying. I bought him a mobile for his birthday a couple of months ago, and then he went on the silver-surfers’ course at the community centre to master the art of communicating effectively in the electronic age. He’s asking if I’ll come for a late lunch on Sunday, says he has a bit of news to share.
I glance up and my face immediately freezes. Kelly is looking directly at Zara. She was talking to her, not me. No wonder Zara is being frosty: she fancies Tom and wants him all to herself. And it explains why she’s so desperate to go to Paris. Probably thinks she’ll seduce him up the Eiffel Tower or whatever. Flaming cheek! My heart sinks.
Well, if she thinks I give up that easily, then she’s seriously mistaken. It’s taken me a long time to meet Tom. OK, he’s behaving a bit weirdly right now and, like Millie said, it was all very last-minute and I didn’t exactly give him time to say he was about to board a flight to Paris before I ran out of his office. And it’s early days and all couples have bumpy patches. But if Zara thinks she’s going to steal him away from me with her supermodel looks and endless supply of designer handbags, then she’s going to have a fight on her hands. If there’s one thing I learnt during my time in foster care, it was that you have to stand up to the likes of Zara.
I turn on my heel, and for the second time today, I leave the room as quickly and quietly as I can. Only this time, Eddie isn’t sitting outside to extend a consoling hand, and there aren’t any tears. Just a stunned realisation, deep down, that it might really be over between Tom and me. No chance of us making up. And no matter how much of a brave face I try to put on things with my fighting talk and bluster, if Tom doesn’t want to be with me, then, realistically, there isn’t much I can do about it. I can’t force him to want me. A shudder rattles right through me as a feeble sob catches in my throat.
The warm Christmassy smell of nutmeg and orange cocoons me like a comfort blanket as soon as I push open the door to Sam’s café. Instantly, I feel myself calming down. Whenever I come in here, it’s as though I’ve entered an oasis of