LITMIR.BIZ

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when Michael Bublé starts singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ on the radio. Kelly had an old stockroom cleared out and furnished with a row of chairs, mirrors and little changing cubicles. Every surface is crammed with cosmetics, packs of fashion tape, hair paraphernalia and continental breakfast platters, piled high with pastries and fruit, courtesy of Sam’s café. An enormous clothes rail runs the length of the room, crammed with virtually all of Womenswear’s stock, and an assortment of divine heels from Footwear. And I’m sure I spotted a pair of red lacquer-soled Louboutins nestling at the back – I sooo hope I get to wear them.

      ‘See you later, Georgie,’ Annie says, as Millie arrives to take her off somewhere.

      ‘Yes, will do, and good luck,’ I call out over my shoulder.

      My mobile buzzes with the arrival of a text message. I quickly check the screen, hoping it’s from Tom, but it isn’t. I sag in disappointment on seeing that it’s another message from Dad. Not that I don’t like hearing from Dad, I do. I really do. Our relationship is great now and he’s really getting the hang of texting; he wants to know if I prefer carrots, cauliflower cheese or both with my roast dinner later on. I still don’t know the news he wants to share – he wouldn’t say when we spoke on the phone yesterday, said it’s best kept until he sees me – but it must be something important if he’s actually cooking. It’s not his forte. I tap out a reply and end it with a kiss followed by a heart icon – Dad will love it, inserting icons into a message is next on his agenda to master.

      My finger hovers over the text message stream between Tom and me, and as I read the last four that I sent to him on Monday evening, right after seeing myself on TV, I cringe all over again. And like I have a trillion times – at least – since then, I ponder on sending him one last text.

      After my chat with Sam in the café, I’ve tried calling Tom, several times in fact, but his number does an international ringing tone before going straight to voicemail, leaving me wondering if he’s actually avoiding me on purpose. I’m reluctant to leave a voice message for fear of umming and ahhing or generally making a fool of myself by sounding desperate. I’m not sure I could bear it if he didn’t call back. I decide to go ahead and text him instead. I’ve typed out:

       Hi Tom hope you arrived safel

      when Eddie appears, so I quickly delete it and shove the phone inside my pocket instead.

      ‘Heeeey sexy ladeeeee … ’ Eddie sings, doing a lasso movement in the air and shaking his hips in proper gangnam style. Pussy is tucked under his free arm and she’s wearing a Wonder Woman outfit complete with tiny red cape. I stroke her ear and she nuzzles into the palm of my hand as Eddie leans down to kiss my cheek.

      ‘Thank you,’ I say, doing a quick swing of my hair.

      ‘Oooh, get you, very red carpet and swishy. Has Kelly forgotten that we’re inside a department store located in a dull little seaside town?’ he sniffs, giving Pussy a treat from a tiny plastic barrel attached to her lead.

      ‘Maybe, but I’m not complaining.’ I grin and turn back to face the mirror.

      ‘Good. So no more tantrums about being a dramality star.’ He squeezes my shoulder and smiles over my head in the mirror.

      ‘Who, me?’ I laugh, waving a hand in the air as if to shoo him away. And Mulberry-On-Sea isn’t dull.’ I pull a pretend indignant face. I love living here.

      ‘Ha-ha. Well, it’s hardly Hollywood now, is it?’ Eddie quips. ‘Anyway, what do you think of my look? Dapper and debonair, yes?’ He does a twirl to show off another new suit. ‘Ciaran reckons I look like Gary Barlow channelling lord of the manor at Glastonbury. In the VIP area, obvs – I don’t do mud.’ He curls his top lip.

      ‘Hmm,’ I nod. ‘Well I can see why Ciaran thinks that. You look very suave in tweed, but are those green Hunter wellies really necessary?’ Eddie pulls a face. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard from Tom yet?’ I add, changing the subject.

      ‘No sugar. Like I said when you asked me yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, only emails – work-related ones. And no, I can’t ask why he hasn’t been in contact with you. More than my job’s worth. He made it very clear after that time you asked me to find out about his favourite aftershave, right at the start when you wanted to get him a little present. He was very insistent on the importance of our relationship remaining professional. I’m his BA, not his GBF.’ Eddie rolls his eyes. ‘And y’all know how gloriously masterful and proper he can be,’ he adds in an American accent as he flings the back of his left hand against his forehead like a lovestruck Southern belle in a back-and-white movie epic.

      ‘Hmm. Well you must at least know when he’s coming back. As his BA, won’t you have booked the flight?’ I say, giving my hair a quick pat.

      ‘Oh no, KCTV take care of all that now. And with Tom away, I’m to be Kelly’s go-to man while they’re filming instore, so I’ll be cutting back on my Carrington’s work – Kelly needs me more.’ He pauses to preen for a bit.

      ‘I see.’

      ‘He did mention that he was hoping to be back in a week or two, though.’ My heart sinks at this news. I’ve really missed Tom and it’s only been five days since I last saw him. I can’t imagine another week, or possibly two, without him. ‘But it depends – he’s hoping to get his filming in the can, as it were up front. The plan is to then spread his scenes out over all of the weekly episodes, so the viewers think he’s travelling for the duration of the series. I heard Kelly chatting about it to one of her flunkies.’

      ‘Oh right.’ But before I can probe him further, Zara appears by the clothes rail, wearing a brown peplum dress. Eddie swivels his head to follow my eye line.

      ‘Ew, what’s she come as? A pork pie!’ he blurts out, before helping himself to a croissant. He pulls one claw off and stuffs it into his mouth.

      ‘Eddie! Whisper voice, she might hear you,’ I say, not wanting to antagonise her. She already hates me. The ghastly image from the internet, of her draped all over Tom, flashes inside my head, followed by an overwhelming sense of relief – at least she’s still here and not in Paris! Small mercies, and all that, I suppose.

      ‘Good,’ he huffs, before giving Pussy a tiny bite of his croissant. ‘That girl is driving me insane.’

      ‘Why? What’s she done?’ I crease my forehead.

      ‘What hasn’t she done, more like? Parading around the executive floor with her Swarovski-encrusted mobile welded to her ear while I do all the work running after Kelly and her entourage. Not that I mind, of course, Kelly is a proper ledge, but honestly – comes to something when her own daughter can’t even be bothered to pick out a Christmas present for her. Had me calling all over the place in search of something suitable for a “mean old mare” – her words, not mine.’

      ‘Ahh, such a shame,’ I say, thinking how exciting it would be to be able to go Christmas shopping for Mum. She loved all the build-up, marking off the days on her kitchen calendar, and she always got teary on opening her present from me. I make a note to visit her grave soon; perhaps Dad and I could go together. I’d like that.

      ‘Oh purlease, cry me a fucking river. That girl is up to something, I’m convinced of it.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I mean, numerous international calls from the landline in Tom’s office. The bill arrived on Friday and it was nearly treble what it usually is. Flaming cheek, and it’s not like she’s so hard up for cash that she can’t afford to pay for her own personal phone calls. Kelly gave her two thousand pounds the other day, in fifties. Just like that!’ He clicks his fingers in the air. ‘All because she wanted to pamper herself ahead of today’s filming. Excuse me! But where do you know around here that charges money like that for a mani and pedi with a bit of a shoulder rub thrown in? Nowhere, that’s where! I mean, what are they using? Crushed diamond dust!’ Eddie flops

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