All week, the regular customers have been instore, dressed up in their best gear hoping to get their faces on camera. Mr and Mrs Peabody even turned up on Sunday, and Kelly let them in to mingle as background shoppers. And a reporter from the Mulberry Echo popped instore yesterday hoping to get an exclusive about the TV show, but one of Kelly’s minions appeared from behind the Missoni mannequin and shooed her away. Apparently, Kelly doesn’t do local rags, much preferring big glossy sleb magazines with three-page photoshoots. Serena, one of the Clarins concession girls, and absolutely stunning, did GQ after the pilot and got to keep the Calvin Klein jewellery collection she modelled. I wonder if I’ll get to do one – I’m still holding out for a free diet delivery service, especially as my tiny freezer is now jammed with a turkey that serves 10–12 people (I didn’t read the label properly) and one hundred and forty-eight cocktail sausages. Tesco had them in the ‘buy one box get two free’ deal. And my fridge is brimming with buck’s fizz for the festive period – it was such a bargain that I’d have been a fool not to, a case of six bottles for only £9 – I got two. So even if I did want to stock up on healthy food to cook from scratch, I’ve got nowhere to store it.
Eddie and Sam are here, and we’ve just polished off an enormous pepperoni pizza while waiting for Kelly Cooper Come Instore to start. Sam and Eddie are lounging side by side on the sofa, with Mr Cheeks kneading Sam’s thigh. I’m snuggled in the beanbag next to the radiator, wearing my fleecy leopard-print onesie and Ugg boots, and I’m still freezing.
‘Ooh, it’s soo exciting,’ Eddie says, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. ‘You know, Claire could be watching right now, scanning her flatscreen searching for the next reality TV star to manage – yours truly, natch.’ He pulls a compact mirror out of his man-bag and preens for a bit.
‘You know, I think Dad knew Claire. She’s Peter Andre’s manager, right?’ Sam says, casually, and I remember Alfie had lots of celebrity friends, so it’s highly likely.
‘Whaaaat? Faints. You mean to tell me that you’ve been sitting on this highly prized piece of information and didn’t even think to mention it?’ Eddie is outraged.
‘Sorry, didn’t realise it was important.’ Sam shrugs.
‘Important! This revelation could change my whole life. Can you call her?’ Eddie asks, leaning forward.
‘What now?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t know her. And I don’t have her phone number.’ Sam shakes her head and Eddie slings the mirror back in his bag before sidling into her.
‘But you could get it for your very best GBF, couldn’t you? Have I ever told you that I love you, and how your hair is looking sooo luscious these days, darling, and you’re going to be such a fabulous yummy mummy,’ Eddie purrs, working it to the max as he strokes Sam’s arm with a wicked glint in his eyes.
‘Stop it, you big schmoozer.’ Sam laughs. ‘I could ask Dad’s old PA, I guess. What’s it worth?’ She slurps the last of her orange juice through a pink bendy straw.
‘Err … a free stint in your delightful café!’ Eddie immediately offers.
‘Blimey, you must be keen. Not like you to volunteer for extra work, Ed,’ I interject, before swallowing an enormous mouthful of buck’s fizz. Thought it best to make a start if I’m to work my way through all of it before New Year’s Eve, when I’ll need the space for a bottle or two of champagne. I pour a generous measure into Eddie’s flute too.
‘Ha-ha.’ He sticks his tongue out.
‘Washing up?’ Sam asks hopefully, and Eddie winces.
‘I was thinking of something more … customer facing! Seeing as I’m such a wonderful raconteur, as you know … ’ He pauses for maximum impact. ‘So you might as well utilise my key skill, darlings.’ He flashes us both a look as we stifle a snigger. ‘Front of house, stirring drinks, that kind of thing.’ He makes pleading puppy-dog eyes at Sam and speeds up the stroking.
‘God, you’re incorrigible. I’ll see what I can do,’ she says, yanking her arm away. Eddie plants a kiss on her cheek and Sam laughs.
‘You won’t regret it.’
‘I think I already am.’ Sam rolls her eyes.
‘Will you two pack it in, the show is about to start,’ I say, taking the TV remote and turning the volume up. I grab a cushion to hide behind – just in case. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach and I can’t stop shivering, but I’m not so sure it’s the winter weather now as it’s actually roasting in here. I guess it must be nerves. Eddie throws himself upright so he’s perched on the edge of the sofa.
A funky version of Dolly Parton’s ‘Working Nine To Five’ starts playing and, as he whoops, Eddie practically leaps across the room, he’s that excited.
‘Oh my God. I just knew this was going to be sensational. Kelly said as much when we were filming in the spa. She even gave me a speaking part,’ Eddie gushes.
‘What do you mean a “speaking part” – aren’t you all talking while you’re being filmed then?’ Sam asks, stating the obvious.
‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but given my natural flair for the limelight – Kelly’s actual words … ’ He pauses to strike a pose in front of the balcony patio doors, and I try not to laugh. ‘Yes, Kelly upgraded me to “staged spontaneity”.’ He makes quote signs with his fingers. ‘So, I got to act out a completely fabricated scenario. The whole crew were very impressed with my ability to … ad lib,’ he finishes with a flourish. Sam and I stare at him for a few seconds before clapping enthusiastically and then turning back to the TV.
Sam reaches her hand out to grip mine, and there on the screen is Kelly, standing on the pavement in front of the main entrance to Carrington’s, with her arms folded, talking about olde worlde charm and how it has no place in the modern retail world, and if Carrington’s wants to thrive and be part of the future then we really must up our game. And she’s the woman to show us how. I knew it! There’ll be glass lifts replacing the wooden escalators before we know it, and the cherry-wood panelling will be ripped out to make way for tiles and chrome. She’s going to sterilise Carrington’s. Oh God. Maybe us being on Kelly Cooper Come Instore isn’t such a good idea after all, and I so wish Tom was here so I could make him see sense before it’s too late.
I grab my phone, and without hesitation I press to call his number, one last time. I PM’d him on Facebook days ago which he’s ignored, I even tried Skypeing him but that request was ignored too. I’m going to try again, if not for our fledgling romance, then for Carrington’s, before it’s too late. The number rings out. Sam and Eddie stare at me. Eddie swipes the remote from the coffee table, pauses the programme and frantically mouths.
‘What the hell are you doing? We’re going to miss the start.’
I’m just about to hang up when the international ringing tone stops. Tom’s voicemail doesn’t kick in this time. I hold my breath. Silence follows.
‘Hello, Tom?’ I eventually manage. Sam is shaking her head.
‘Hang up,’ she whispers quickly, and tries to take the phone from me. It ends up being suspended midway between the two of us when a voice talks out into the open air of my lounge.
‘He is busy.’ It’s a woman’s voice. With a French accent. Sultry and breathy-sounding. Sam wrenches the phone from my hand and quickly presses the button to end the call.
‘What