Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s (21 page)

I pull over into a lay-by and, after switching off the engine, I glance around the car’s interior. Creamy-coloured soft leather with tan piping. The dashboard with chrome detailing, complete with matching steering wheel, just as I specified. At the time I thought it would make me feel happy, plug the gap left by losing Mum, and then Dad disappearing … but what use is it to me n
ow? I feel trapped. Hot angry tears trickle down my face, slow at first, but fast now, and they won’t stop. My chest heaves, up and down, until I’m sobbing hysterically. I think of Dad and what he did to us, the similarities between his behaviour and mine recently. I should talk to him. Desperation changes people; I can see that now – maybe that’s why he did it. He never really explained, but then I never asked. I vow to call him at the first opportunity.

Eventually, I manage to calm down, and after touching up my make-up, I force myself to get a grip. I make my way off the motorway and out into the countryside, and as green fields replace the hard urban concrete, the tension starts to ease slightly.

*

As I drag my wheelie suitcase across the car park towards the magnificent Regency-style beachfront hotel, I realise there’s nothing I can do right now to change anything, so I might as well try to enjoy the team-building event and put all my worries out of my head, if only for a little while. I’m in danger of driving myself insane otherwise.

I walk through the grand entrance door and take a look around the hotel reception area. On every one of the surrounding armchairs and sofas there’s a Carrington’s employee. There must be about thirty people crammed into the room, some standing, the others elbow-to-elbow on the three padded window seats. Mrs Grace is sitting in a wing chair next to the real log fire, her knitting needles click-clacking away. Lauren is hovering by the bay window saying, ‘Mummy will see you tomorrow, now be a good boy for grandma’ into her mobile, and Betty is fanning herself with a drinks menu and mumbling something about ‘flaming hot flushes’. A couple of girls from Bedding turn up, closely followed by Suzanne from the cash office, looking fabulous in a midnight-blue maxi dress and chunky silver lace-up flatforms, with pregnant Emma from Stationery sipping from an Evian bottle while being all glowy and radiant.

I spot Eddie perched on the edge of a corner unit sipping a can of Red Bull, and let out a small sigh of relief. I make my way over. He looks wired and his eyes are like saucers, flitting around the room.

‘Good to see you, Georgie Girl.’ It’s Ciaran, and he’s standing in the centre of the room, simulating a ‘lock and load’ action with an imaginary machine gun. A passing waitress throws him a look of disgust, so he drops to one knee to apologise profusely to her. I’ve not seen Ciaran as gregarious as this before. Eddie rolls his eyes, before moving along to let me sit down.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I say, turning towards him.

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he replies sarcastically, before looking away.

‘Eddie, what is it?’ I ask, wondering why he’s acting strangely. It’s unlike him to be so cold. He turns his face to mine and studies me for a moment, as if he can’t make his mind up whether to say anything. I wait for him to tell me, but he just shrugs instead.

‘Oh, it’s nothing.’

‘There is something, isn’t there?’ I ask, feeling uneasy.

‘No, honestly … I’m just thinking this is going to be a long weekend.’ He glares in Ciaran’s direction, but I’m not convinced. Oh God, maybe he knows something. Of course. He’s working for The Heff
and
Maxine now. He’s bound to know what she has in store for the ground floor.

‘Eddie, if you know anything, you would tell me, wouldn’t you … even if it was bad news?’ I ask, in a low voice.

‘Sure … but I don’t – stop being so paranoid.’ I manage a smile, but inside the feeling of unease is picking up speed again. I try to shove the worry from my head, but instead it just sits there gnawing away.

I can feel Eddie’s thigh twitching against mine.

‘Are you sure everything’s OK?’ I turn to face Eddie, and he bites his lip.

‘Yes, fine,’ he snaps. ‘I need another drink.’ He jumps up and stalks off towards the bar. My heart sinks.

‘What’s going on with him?’ Ciaran throws himself down next to me.

‘I don’t know, but Eddie is really uptight, and it’s not like him,’ I reply. He must know something, I feel sure. The uneasy feeling threatens again.

‘Maybe the stress of working for that ballbuster Maxine is really getting to him,’ Ciaran says, sounding concerned.

‘Maybe,’ I reply, distractedly. I think about work … and James. God, I wish he was here, and then I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness that our friendship has been ruined by a romance that barely got off the starting blocks. Maybe there’s a chance to fix it when I get back. I cling on to this thought as Melissa the self-appointed organiser takes to the floor.

‘Now, if you could all be quiet for a second, you’ll see that on the front of the T-shirt is your name, but the important bit is on the back, that old adage that we all know and
lurrrrrve
…’ She pauses for a second and sticks her arms out, as if she’s about to start conducting an orchestra.

We all shout back in unison with her, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ Melissa is standing in the middle of the lounge clutching her T-shirt with both hands so we can see the slogan. She starts throwing the shirts out one by one. Mrs Grace stuffs hers into her shopper, not even bothering to look at it, and mine is the tiniest scrap of cotton Lycra mix I think I’ve ever seen.

‘Where did you find this one, Melissa, in Childrenswear?’ I yell, but she’s distracted by the door opening. ‘Ahh, nice of you to join us, lads. Only an hour late,’ Melissa says as two guys from Menswear saunter in, followed by a bloke from Home Electricals, two security guards and Charles, looking cool in a big woolly Rasta hat and leather jacket. They do lots of high fives and fist thumps before stacking their holdalls up in a mountain by the door. She hands them their T-shirts.

Melissa and one of the security guards are having a pretend boxing match when Amy, Carrington’s HR manager, walks in wearing an orange tabard and holding a clipboard.

‘OK, is everyone here now?’ She calls our names out, ticking them off as we answer. My heart sinks when she inadvertently calls James’s name and there’s a short silence followed by a monotone, ‘He changed sessions. My mistake’ from Eddie, who has just returned from the bar with another Red Bull. Turns out Maxine delegated the task of divvying up the names for each session to him and he forgot to scrub James off the list. ‘Great. Here’s a schedule for each of you. Early start tomorrow morning, nine sharp, here in reception. Tonight you can do your own thing … all part of the board’s aim for you to have some downtime and build teams.’ She grins. ‘Studies have shown that employees who play together, work hard together … so play nicely! I’m in room 109 should you need anything. I’ll hand you over now to DeWayne and Vince from “Train to Gain”. They’ll be co-ordinating the event for us.’

A couple of overly enthusiastic guys, wearing camouflage trousers and extra-tight muscle tops with whistles on ropes around their necks, and an assortment of camping-type paraphernalia slung about their bodies, bounce into the centre of the room.

‘What’s that whistle for?’ Mrs Grace pipes up, pointing at Vince with one of her knitting needles.

‘Oh, err … just in case we need to get everyone’s attention,’ he replies, looking a bit fazed.

‘Hmmm. I’m here to have a nice rest, not wriggle commando-style under one of those filthy nets you boot-camp boys are so fond of. Not with my hip playing up the way it is,’ she huffs. I catch her eye and she gives me a wink before getting back to her knitting.

‘Don’t worry, err …’ Vince pauses.

‘Mrs Grace to you,’ she sniffs.

‘Yes, Mrs Grace, we won’t be doing anything too arduous. We’ll be spending most of the time in the hotel conference room … with the occasional break-out session in the hotel garden.’ There’s a collective groan from the Bedding girls. ‘But we’ll fill you in tomorrow morning. See you all then.’ They both wave before throwing their hands up in the air and clapping furiously above their heads as they practically march off towards the door.

‘Crap! I thought it would be tug-of-war and sudden death games. You know, like proper team building … where one team wins and the other one is
destroye
d
!’ Melissa says, before making a wanker sign towards the door. ‘Nobbers!’ she heckles. ‘Looks like we’ll just have to make the best of it. But in the meantime you heard what Amy said – teams that play hard and all that … sooo, it’s off to the dance floor.’ She makes a big Elvis-style circle with her right arm. ‘Let’s check out the rooms and meet back here later. We can go to the pier. Something for everyone on there,’ she bellows.

‘Oh, not for me dear. I’m not missing
Strictly
. And I’m looking forward to an early night with my dinner cooked for me, for a change,’ Mrs Grace says.

‘I’ll join you,’ Betty puffs, wiping her top lip with a tissue.

‘But I’ve booked us a room in the karaoke bar at the end of the pier. It’s going to be a scream.’ Melissa rubs her hands together as if she can’t wait to get started.

‘You youngsters will have much more fun without us old biddies holding you up.’ Mrs Grace is already stowing her knitting inside her shopper and reaching for the room service menu.

‘OK. Well everyone else has to come then. Be there or be square, as they say.’

*

My room is in a converted old carriage block through a walkway at the back of the main hotel, so after dropping my room card into the slot of the lock, I push the door open and make my way into the bedroom with its beautifully designed array of chocolate, baby blue and caramel-coloured soft furniture. Kicking my ballet pumps, top and skinny jeans off, I lie back on the bed and my mind starts wandering. I feel sad. This damn revamp. And damn Maxine, stirring things up and distorting the facts. She probably did it on purpose, delighting in telling James how well I’ve been cultivating Malikov’s business.

Thinking of Malikov makes me cringe. Well, Maxine is welcome to him. I just hate it that she has another secret on me. I vow to talk to James as soon as I get back. I have to try again to make him see that I didn’t do it on purpose. That he can trust me. I have to at least try.

Swinging my legs down onto the floor, I get up and go over to my suitcase and grab my toiletry bag. I push the bathroom door open and the lights come on automatically. I spot the hospitality box hidden behind a brochure advertising a variety of special Valentine-themed getaways. It’s black lacquered wood and crammed full of goodies. The special monogrammed toiletries smell divine, fruity like peaches and cream with a twist of citrus. There’s even a plastic case of assorted nail enamels that would look great on my dressing table at home. I wonder if anyone would notice if they disappeared into my suitcase. At the very bottom, discreetly placed under a packet of strong mints, is a box of extra-pleasure condoms. Hmm, I won’t be needing those. My throat tightens and the sadness over James returns.

I wander back out of the bathroom and scan the
room. There’s an impressive minibar stocked with choc
olate, various different nut selections and every alcoholic beverage one could desire. The sight of three red mini-tubes of Pringles makes me weaken and I lift out a tub and peel back the silver foil. Savouring the taste, I walk over to the other side of the room. There’s a huge wardrobe almost covering the length of one wall. I pull open the doors with my free hand, one, two, three … they’re all the same. Rows of wooden hangers mingled in with a few pastel-pink satin-covered soft ones. There’s an ironing board and a few spare blankets. I grab at the fourth door. It’s another bedroom. Of course, the adjoining room. James must have forgotten to cancel it.

I can’t resist having a peek inside and, seeing as the others are all over in the main part of the hotel, I decide to risk it. The room is a mirror image of mine, only with a different colour scheme, emerald green and chocolate brown. I tiptoe over to the bed and gaze down at it, thinking of what might have been if James was here. After peeping over my shoulder towards the door to check nobody is coming, I sit down. I pop another Pringle into my mouth and swing my legs over until I’m lying down. I gaze up at the ceiling; the crunching noise in my ears is deafening against the silence of the room. I close my eyes and let my mind drift off for a second, wishing our friendship wasn’t ruined.

‘What are you doing?’ My eyes snap open with panic, and the Pringles cascade down onto the floor as I throw myself up into a standing position.

‘Jesus, you scared the living daylights out of me,’ I screech.

I’m standing by the side of the bed in my oldest, greyest bra, which many years ago used to be white, and my extra-comfortable-for-travelling, big red-and-white cow-print knickers that have the words ‘
Cheeky Cow
’
emblazoned across the back. Tom is standing right in front of me.

I clutch the Pringles tube to my chest like a miniature comfort blanket. My heart is pounding and panic is swirling through me like a baby tsunami.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he replies, managing to look amused and concerned all at the same time. I open my mouth but the words won’t come out. I have to get back to my room. I drop the Pringles tube and leg it as fast as I can, slamming the adjoining door behind me.

Back in my room, and I’m trembling all over with the shock and shame of the too-close encounter. I pull off the manky underwear and ram it into the rubbish bin before flinging open the door to the minibar and grabbing two Jack Daniel’s miniatures. I run into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Feeling mortified, I guzzle one whiskey after the other, fling an enormous white fluffy towel around my body and punch out Sam’s number.

‘What’s the matter?’ In between hiccups I describe the moment of horror to her. ‘OH MY GOD. OH MY ACTUAL GOD …’ She keeps shrieking it over and over. ‘He’s there. How exciting … well, he’ll certainly take your mind off James,’ she giggles. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but look, keep calm, it’s not that bad.’