‘Rescued her?’
‘That’s right. From the Carrington’s pet spa,’ he says.
‘Pet spa?’
‘Yes! Angel, why do you keep repeating everything I say?’ Eddie tilts his head to one side and pulls an exaggerated curious face.
‘Hazard a guess. Maybe it’s because … I have no bloody idea what you’re going on about,’ I say, flinching as my voice jumps up several octaves. ‘It’s like I’ve stumbled into some weird dream sequence. A nightmare even.’
‘Oh don’t be so dramatic. I know you have a tendency to put two and two together and come up with five billion, but honestly darling … ’ He shrugs.
‘Ha! You’re a fine one to talk.’
‘Shush. I’m a queen. It’s my job.’ Eddie does kissy lips and tweaks my cheek. ‘Besides, it’s your most adorable foible.’
‘What do you mean? I don’t have foibles.’ I shake my head and pull a face.
‘Yes you do.’
‘No I don’t.’ Eddie puts his arm around my shoulders and gives them a quick squeeze.
‘Oh, you look so indignant. But that’s why I love you,’ he says. I stick my tongue out and Eddie laughs. ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh yes … about the spa, apparently it was one of Kelly’s genius ideas to boost revenue. That dingy hairdressing salon next door has been cleared out and transformed into Carrington’s very own pet boudoir … just like at Harrods.’ He drops his arm and makes impressive eyes. ‘There’s an adorable doggy exercise area, cute wardrobe accessories section and even an assortment of puppies and kittens to actually buy. I took one look at Pussy and thought enough!’ He flings up a palm. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of her cooped up in a pokey little cage all day long waiting for some RHONY wannabe with a penchant for baby-pink marabou puff mules to buy her and call her Viennetta or something equally ludicrous.’ He clenches his jaw in horror and I raise an eyebrow. ‘You should see it in there, the transformation is incredible; must have been like one of those interior design programmes where Melinda turns up with a flash mob of decorators and practically does out a whole house in like … under three minutes,’ he gasps in a very stagey voice, having obviously elevated himself to first-name terms with all the celebrities now.
‘Slight exaggeration.’
‘Whatevs! But I’m surprised you didn’t spot the difference on your way into work.’
‘I guess I had other things on my mind,’ I mutter, wondering how they managed the makeover in such record time. It was still a hairdresser’s when I left work on Saturday evening. ‘Look, I have to see Tom before this whole place goes nuts.’
Pulling my coat off and dumping my bag down on Eddie’s desk, I step around the enormous silver and purple themed Christmas tree, narrowly missing the mountainous pile of fake wrapped presents underneath, and head towards Tom’s office.
‘But you can’t go in there.’ Eddie does a running bodyslam at the door before pinning a hand on each side of the frame.
‘Try and stop me,’ I say, attempting to fling him out of my way by prising free the fingers of his right hand. He quickly caves in and turns around to face me.
‘Really. Georgie, please, you don’t want to go in there. Trust me. Not like this. Calm down first. Here. Open.’ Performing a spectacular pincer move, Eddie grabs my jaw between his thumb and index finger, and without thinking I open my mouth just as he squirts two puffs of Bach Flower Remedy onto my tongue. In a desperate attempt to get rid of the flowery perfume taste that’s swirling around my mouth, I quickly retrieve Mrs Grace’s pear drop from my pocket, shove it in my mouth and crunch it up furiously, almost biting my tongue in the process. ‘Oh dear. Here … ’ And Eddie grabs up a canary yellow paper fan from his desk and starts batting it around in front of my face. ‘For stress, sweetie. For stress.’
‘Will you just stop it?’ I say, pushing the fan away and almost choking as the remainder of the pear drop propels down my throat. I cough really hard. Eddie jumps behind me and slings his arms around my boobs.
‘Get off me,’ I say, untangling myself from his clutch. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ I turn around to face him.
‘Spoilsport!’ He sticks his bottom lip out. ‘I’ve been dying to do the Heimlich manoeuvre ever since I went on that course. There’s just no fun in being a Carrington’s designated first-aider if all I’m doing is dishing out plasters for boring old paper cuts.’
‘Well I’m sorry to disappoint,’ I say, straightening my uniform of V-neck black top, trousers and gold Carrington’s name badge.
‘Oh please don’t make a fuss. It’s sooo not a good vibe. And Kelly is adorable. I think you’re going to love her.’ I raise my eyebrows. He must be having a laugh. ‘Yes, I took the liberty of tactfully mentioning the … ’ he pauses, does a furtive left-then-right look before mouthing, ‘“shop girl” comment. And you know what, she just threw her head back and roared. Actually roared with laughter. She didn’t mean anything by it. She said it’s all part of the show, set up purely to entertain the audience, and she knows that you’re a fabulous sales person in real life,’ he gushes, like some deluded groupie.
‘Eddie, are you totally bonkers? That Ronald McDonald lookalike made a complete fool of Annie and me,’ I bellow. ‘And why does everyone keep on implying that the show isn’t real life? We’re real people with real lives working in a traditional department store. Get over it.’ I let out a big puff of air before smoothing down my hair.
‘Oooh. Harsh,’ Eddie whispers into my face, giving me a daggers look.
‘No. Reality. So stick that in your dramality pipe and smoke it,’ I say, suddenly desperate for a cigarette, even though I gave up smoking years ago. I only ever had a few on a Saturday night out anyway, not what I’d class as being a proper smoker, but I could really really do with a full-tar Benson right now.
‘OK. Calm down. Of course we are, but who wants to plod on with their real life when they can have a much more fabulous pretend one crammed full of staged spontaneity?’ Eddie says, clapping his hands together. And I give up.
Pushing past him into Tom’s office, I stop short and instantly want to die. Kelly is standing right in front of me with her Lord Kitchener pointy finger sticking out and a massive grin spread across her face. And I bet she’s heard everything.
‘Hi, I’m Ronald McDonald,’ she says, immediately confirming my fear and not missing a beat. ‘And you must be Georgie, the star of the show! Oh oh oh, oh oh ohhhh …’ she sings, whipping up her other hand and flicking it backwards and forwards, just like Beyoncé does in the ‘Single Ladies’ video. I stare goggle-eyed and speechless as she then turns to the side, tilts her body forward slightly, bends her elbows and starts pumping her arms up and down, left then right, in sequence with her alternating legs.’
Cuckoo! And she must know the whole dance routine. Sam was right, this woman is an utter fruit loop. Her big curls are flailing around. I jump back, suddenly conscious that she could whip my eye out without a moment’s notice if I’m not careful.
‘Err, yes. Um, sorry about that,’ I eventually manage to speak. ‘I, err … came to see Tom.’ I do a desperate scan of the room, but he’s not here. Kelly throws her arms around me, almost winding me in the process, before pulling back to study me.
‘Chillaaax,’ she says, in a kind of ‘far-out’, dreamy voice on seeing my tense face.