think we’ve seen enough,’ she says, squeezing me tight.
‘Well, that settles it then. If Mr Carrington can go on dream dates and hook up with exes, then why shouldn’t you?’ Eddie huffs indignantly, before putting his arms around me as well to make a group hug. He pulls back to look me in the eye and Sam does too. ‘Let him see you whooping it up for a change.’
Sam nods in agreement.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, find yourself another man and flaunt him honey. F-L-A-U-N-T! It’s the only way.’ Eddie states.
‘Like I said before Eddie, that’s not my style – I’m not just going to flit between Tom and James. Besides, James is seeing someone.’
‘No he isn’t, that’s old news – Vicky is back with her ex. Flashing an engagement ring around too, she was, in the staff canteen just the other day.’
‘That’s nice,’ I murmur, feeling like a sad old sack all of a sudden. Vicky is years younger than I am. And Sam’s married, Eddie is settled down, and now even Dad seems to have found himself someone new. What’s wrong with me that I can’t even find a decent steady boyfriend and keep hold of him?
‘Anyway, it doesn’t have to be James if you don’t want to go there again. It can be anyone. Think of the end-of-show wrap party – you really don’t want to turn up all on your Bridget Jones, not when Tom might have the Brazilian goddess in tow, or worse still, that man-stealer, Zara!’ Eddie purses his lips. ‘I knew she was up to no good.’
I down the last of my drink and press my fingernails into the palm of my hand to stem the tears that are threatening, knowing that Zara isn’t really a ‘man–stealer’ as Eddie says. Tom has a mind of his own; he must have at least wanted to be ‘stolen,’ to be with someone else, I can’t imagine she forced him to be with her against his will. So, it really looks like we’re over, then. Properly over. I don’t believe it. I had been holding out for it to be just a horrible misunderstanding, heat of the moment brought about circumstance, and giving him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t take my calls – telling myself he was just busy working and travelling. No time to himself. But I guess, deep down, I knew it was a fabrication. He wanted to call it a day, and now he’s moved on – or, more accurately, backwards … to his childhood sweetheart, with a beautiful Brazilian goddess on the side.
It’s Thursday and Annie is at the laser clinic, so I’m here behind the counter on my own and I can’t stop thinking about last night’s show. After Sam and Eddie left, I watched it again. And again. And again. I’m obsessed! I searched for clues to the seriousness of their relationship – scanning Tom’s face; I even freeze-framed a couple of shots of them on the horse just to see the look in Tom’s eyes – but I really can’t be sure if he’s into her or not. It’s driving me insane. And if he is, then why is Zara in New York? Tom must have invited her, or at least know she’s there; he could have put a stop to it, but he hasn’t, so he’s obviously fine with it. Happy about it, most likely. They could have been planning it for weeks – no wonder she was offish with me in his office … She already had her sights on him and didn’t want me hanging around, getting in her way. And then it dawns on me! I can’t believe I didn’t see it – of course, it all makes sense now, that’s why he was so quick to call it a day, to make way for Zara! I just made it easier for him by being so cross about my embarrassing debut on TV. I take a deep breath in a desperate attempt to stop my mind from spinning out of control with all the horrible possibilities.
And I feel like I’m in a goldfish bowl, with everyone watching me. There was a group of girls huddled by the staff entrance this morning when I arrived at work, one of them asked for my autograph and wanted to know a) where my new boots were from. She didn’t look impressed when I said River Island, and that they were a bargain in last winter’s sale, and b) is it true that Eddie is my GBF? And if so, then I’m the luckiest girl alive, apparently, and can I tell him that she’s set up a fan page for him on Facebook, and it already has four hundred and ninety-three ‘Likes’.
When I eventually made it to the staff room and changed the fleece-lined boots for my usual New Look heels, I overheard someone behind the lockers giggling about the bookmaker’s over the road from Carrington’s. Apparently, they’re taking bets on who Mr Carrington, aka Tom, will turn up with at the end-of-show wrap party – Valentina or Zara. No mention of me! Of course, they stopped talking when they realised I was there. I feel like such a fool, with people whispering and skulking around me.
I’m rearranging the Michael Kors display when Eddie appears; poking his head through the back of the open shelf unit, in between an oversized clutch and a signature monogrammed tote.
‘Cheer up, dollface. I have news,’ he says, quickly repositioning the bags back into place before darting around to stand opposite me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re going on a date! It’s all organised.’ Eddie looks charged.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I head back to my counter and start shoving cocktail rings into their rightful slots in the tray – ‘I wish the customers wouldn’t mess around with them,’ I mutter angrily to myself, then suddenly feel paranoid that KCTV might have a lip reader watching me. You never know. I remember the row of little TV monitors in Tom’s office. It’s like being in a giant bubble, or a series of Big Brother without the audition or psychiatric evaluation first.
‘Oh don’t be like that, there’s nothing wrong with diving straight back into the dating pool to get you over a messy split.’
‘Do you have to sound like a trashy tabloid? Besides, I might not want to get “over a messy split”, as you so dramatically put it.’ I stop sorting the rings to look him in the eye.
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because … well, just because,’ I say, feeling confused and unsure. I don’t really know what to think any more. I’ve got so many things whizzing around inside my head. ‘Anyway, I can’t talk now, customers to serve.’ I nod towards a loved-up couple, holding hands and sharing a joke, as they browse through the purses. A dart of longing shoots through me; they look so cosy and happy in love, and looking forward to a romantic Christmas together. And I still can’t believe that that was me, too, not so very long ago.
‘OK. But you must come and see me later. It’s vital.’ Eddie gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and heads towards the staff lift.
‘Maybe,’ I call out, as I walk towards the couple.
Later, on my lunch break, I push open the door to the anteroom outside Tom’s office. Eddie isn’t at his desk, but he can’t be far away, as Pussy is lying on her bed under the desk, dressed up in a Little Bo-Peep outfit. I decide to wait. She stretches majestically and then nuzzles my leg before spinning in a circle on seeing me. I scoop her up and snuggle in, grateful for a cuddle.
I’m hovering by the Christmas tree when I hear voices in Tom’s office. The door is ajar. I sidle closer and peep through the gap. Kelly is sitting at Tom’s desk, as if she owns the place – she even has her jingle-jangly feet up next to a laptop in front of her. I think she must be on a Skype call as there’s a female voice coming from the laptop, saying something about a hotel with underground parking. I wonder if Kelly is lining up her next series. Perhaps when she’s done with Carrington’s, she plans on filming in a hotel. But just as I lean in closer, the door slams shut. I instinctively clutch Pussy to me and jump back before ducking behind the tree out of sight, wishing my cheeks would stop burning. How embarrassing if Kelly actually caught me snooping. I wonder if she would insist on me being sacked, just like those people from the cruise ship in her last series.
‘Oh there you are.’ Eddie comes into the anteroom, bottom first, pushing the door open, and carrying a plate with two enormous cream horns on. ‘Hope you’re hungry. I’ve been all over looking