Cupcakes at Carrington’s (Carringtons Department Store 1) (32 page)

‘Ciaran, it makes no difference,’ I say. ‘You’re a mate. That’s all that matters.’ I move closer to Ciaran and throw my arms around his stiff shoulders, knowing first-hand what it feels like to be judged by other people’s perceptions of you. Eddie looks up at me.

‘Thank you,’ he mouths, and I notice his body is totally relaxed now. He’s not twitching any more. Then something occurs to me.

‘Hang on a minute – you let me take crap from Tina deliberately, didn’t you? You must have heard the rumours about Ciaran fancying me. Everyone thought that was the reason he hung around the shop floor all the time.’ I look over at Ciaran and Eddie.

‘It’s all my fault,’ Ciaran starts. ‘I’m so sorry, Georgie, I really am. Eddie begged me to come clean with you. And I tried, several times – that’s why I was on the shop floor so much – but there just never seemed like a right moment. I hated letting you be our smokescreen, but when Tina got it into her head you were after me, well … I guess it just seemed easier to let you be the object of her attention. And then I worried that if you knew the truth about me and Eddie, then you might inadvertently let it slip to Tina, if she pushed you hard enough. And God knows she’s enough to push anyone over the edge.’ He manages a wry smile. ‘I was determined to tell you that night Sam’s dad died.’ Ciaran looks at me, his eyes begging for forgiveness.

If only he knew. Tina’s threat still rings in my ears. I pull myself back to the moment. I can’t tell him yet. This isn’t the time, or the place.

‘I remember.’ I nod. ‘And I’m not being funny, but maybe we should have guessed.’ I shrug my shoulders and they frown at me.

‘
Weell
, you know … your penchant for a nice pink fondant fancy.’ I smirk to lighten the mood, and they both grin. Eddie jumps up to give me a big squeeze.

‘I blooming love you,’ he says, before straightening his jacket and pulling a flouncy face.

‘And I’m just tired of pretending. All that finger
-pistolling
t
o try and prove my alpha-male status … OK, so I just made up a word,’ Ciaran shrugs, before firing a feeble finger-pistol one last time. We all laugh. ‘But you know what I mean.’ And we certainly do.

I
t’s Tuesday morning and from the beaming smile stretched across Eddie’s face, it’s obvious he’s overflowing with happiness. His eyes are sparkling, a total contrast to my bloodshot turquoise ones as I peer into the lift mirror to inspect them.

‘Thanks for coming in today … after everything
that’s happened over the weekend,’ I say, quickly smudging on some concealer in an attempt to disguise the puffy circles that are hanging like parachutes under my eyes.

‘No problem, honey pie, it’s the least I could do. Are you all set for the meeting?’ he smiles, encouragingly. I called Eddie yesterday, after he and Ciaran sent flowers by way of apology for letting me be their unknowing decoy. I ended up telling him about the promotion and how I’d been stewing over my options. I’ve not slept since the night before the wedding. I’m exhausted, but I know what I’ve got to do, and to lend some moral support Eddie’s kindly offered to sit in on the meeting with James and Tom. I just have to convince Maxine I need him there.

‘Just about,’ I reply, inhaling hard through my nose and out through my mouth. I can’t wait to get it over and done with. ‘How’s Ciaran?’ I ask, tentatively. I’m keeping Tina’s demand to myself for now.

‘He’ll be fine. His parents are still talking to him, just about … guess it’s going to take time. He’s taken this week off to try and sort things out with Tina. He still feels terrible about it all,’ Eddie sighs. ‘But it’s not as though she was wearing wings throughout … but he insists on shouldering all of the blame.’ He rolls his eyes, and I manage a smirk. Poor Ciaran, I dread to think what hoops she’ll have him jumping through now.

‘OK, see you later,’ I say, as the lift pings.

‘Can’t wait. Just call if you need to,’ he says, blowing me a kiss as I wrench the lift door closed.

I make my way straight into the staff room to call Maxine.

‘Yes,’ she purrs after the first ring.

‘Maxine, I’ve made my decision, and I’d like to use your office to let James and Tom know.’ I pause, letting the words sink in.

‘Awesome. Be my guest,’ she says, enthusiastically. ‘I’ll sit in … just in case they take it badly,’ she quickly adds. Unable to resist the opportunity to gloat, more like. So predictable.

‘Sure, and I was thinking it might be a good idea to have Eddie there to take notes, with it being such a sensitive meeting. I don’t want to contravene any employment rules,’ I say, willing her to agree. I’m not sure I can do it without him there and I tried calling Amy yesterday, but she’s on a training course in London and her assistant, Zoe, said to do whatever Maxine asked as Walter would have authorised it in any case.

‘Good idea. What time?’

‘Is four o’clock OK?’ I ask, thinking that will leave me plenty of time to get over to Hanley Cross and back. ‘I’ve got to pop out before th—’ But she cuts in.

‘Yes, yes whatever,’ she says, rudely, as if details are mere trivia, and she’s not to be bothered with them.

‘See you there then.’

‘Perfect. And then we can finish up early and celebrate after you’ve done the deed.’ She hangs up. I glance at my watch. Not long to go until I get what I want.

*

On turning into the road of the dreary sink estate on the outskirts of Mulberry-On-Sea, a rush of sadness washes over me. I glance at my watch, knowing I need to keep an eye on the time. I reach the entrance door to the block of flats and, after finding the correct number, I jam my finger on the buzzer. But before the intercom jumps into action, the door swings open and he comes out to meet me.

‘Oh darling, it’s so lovely to see you. I’m thrilled you came.’ It’s Dad, and I’m shocked at how old he looks – properly old, like he’s someone’s granddad, and not the vibrant man that I remember swinging me around and around in the garden all those years ago. His hair, which used to be thick and black, is now thin and dappled with grey, and he has a hint of a stoop. I feel awkward. It’s been so long. He senses it, I’m sure, and places a reassuring arm around me before giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze.

‘Come in, are you hungry? I’ve made your favourite … chicken salad sandwiches with chocolate teacakes. Although, come to think of it, you’ve probably grown out of the teacakes by now,’ he chuckles, attempting to lighten the mood and put me at ease.

‘It sounds perfect, and I still love teacakes,’ I say, wondering how long it’s been since I last had one. Mum used to pack them for me to take to school. I’m surprised he’s remembered. We turn and walk towards the block when a very shiny black Labrador comes bounding over, her whole body wriggling with excitement. ‘Hey, who are you?’

‘Georgie, meet Dusty,’ he says, clicking his fingers at her. She sits immediately, her tail sweeping the floor expectantly.

‘She’s gorgeous, and so well behaved,’ I say, grateful for the distraction. I stroke her under the chin and she thanks me by nuzzling her face into the palm of my hand.

‘And great company too … aren’t you girl?’ he replies, and I’m sure I detect a hint of loneliness.

*

Sitting around the chipped Formica table in Dad’s tired little studio flat, we’ve already chatted about the weather, the neighbours and the state of the economy. Dusty has licked my hand, several times, in attempt at procuring a teacake, before eventually giving up and falling asleep curled up at my feet. Now she’s snoring, her paws twitching as she dreams of running free in a massive meadow, no doubt. I bend down to stroke her ear, before glancing at my watch. Only three hours to go before the meeting. A wave of anxiety pulls inside me, I hope I’ve made the right decision. I think of James and Tom and what their reactions will be when I break the news.

‘Do you need to go? Of course you have to get back to work,’ he says.

‘I do, but I’m OK for a bit longer. I, err … I, just want to make sure we can—’ I stop, and pick at the crust of a sandwich, unsure of what to say next.

‘Shall I make it easy, sweetheart?’ It’s Dad who plucks up the courage to steer the conversation in the direction that we both know it needs to go in. I nod, before taking another sip of the milky tea. Just how I like it. He remembered that too. ‘I was overjoyed when you called on Saturday, elated when you said you wanted to sort things out. I can’t begin to tell you how happy,’ he starts, slowly, as if he’s treading carefully. Searching for the right words to say. I smile, and glance down at Dusty, before looking over in his direction. He has every right to be fed up with me. For years I’ve snubbed him, avoided his calls, and pretended he doesn’t exist, but he’s never once retaliated. He’s never given up. It’s strange, but in a way I have Tina to thank for helping me put things into perspective. When she stood there in that hotel room, sneering, trying to make me feel ashamed, just like Kimberley and her school friends did all those years ago, I realised I was no better. I’ve blamed Dad, and for what? To make him feel ashamed, just as Tina tried with me.

Sam was right. I can forgive him. And I’m tired of being angry. With him. With the multiple sclerosis. With the care system. After everything that’s happened, with the necklace, the games at work, my careless tweet … it’s made me realise that he’s only human: we’re all capable of doing things we wouldn’t normally do when put under extreme pressure, just like me selling the necklace when I knew it was wrong, I’m sure Dad knew it was wrong when he took out the loan in my name to pay off his gambling debts. And he must have been desperate to take the chances he did at work, I know that now. That’s why I called him from the wedding. That … and, well, what Sam said in the club that night has been playing on my mind. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him, like it did to Alfie, and things were still horrible between us. I’ve not even given him a chance to explain how it was for him all those years ago.

‘I’ve missed you so much, but I completely understand why, well … why things have been so difficult since … since Mum died. You were all alone and there was nothing I could do from inside the prison to stop them taking you.’ Dad pauses, and I take another sip of tea. His eyes flick to my trembling hand as I place the cup back down on the table. ‘There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of her, still, after all these years. And I know I was to blame. And for you ending up in care. I let you both down so badly.’ He turns away. I bite my lip, and push my nails into the palm of my hand to stem the tears. It’s the same for me, but I never stopped to think he missed her too. He looks as if he has the whole world balanced across the back of his shoulders. He lost his wife, his childhood sweetheart. Attending her funeral handcuffed to a prison warder, stripped of his dignity too. He lost everything, including me. And for all this time I’ve told myself he deserved it, that it was his own fault.

‘Dad, please … pneumonia killed her, not you. The MS made her so weak. I know that now.’ But it was easier, I suppose, to blame him. I couldn’t bring myself to accept any part of my anger was – or could be – directed at Mum and the illness.

A silent tear trickles down his creased cheek as he draws a breath, pushing his shoulders back to open up his chest. I reach my hand over to his and it’s as if he’s finally been given permission to stop torturing himself with guilt. And something changes in me too. I don’t feel scared any more. By forgiving him, I’ve thrown off the feeling of stigma that’s clung to me for so long. I’ve taken back the power that I gave away – to the likes of Maxine, Tina, those spiteful little girls in the playground, and at the foster home where I didn’t really fit in or belong – the very moment I made Dad my guilty secret and blamed him for everything that happened to me.

‘Stupid old man …’ he mutters, wiping his face with a wodge of kitchen roll. ‘How about another cup of tea?’

‘Yes please.’ I can tell he’s keen to busy himself. He pats my shoulder on his way over towards the kettle. ‘I know darling. I know it was the illness, I do … but what I did destroyed her too. She was so proud of me, you both were. That’s the irony I suppose. I used to think being a good husband and father for you was all about money.’

‘You were so much more than that, Dad. Remember the fun we used to have in the park, and on holiday? You must remember the time I covered you in leaves and Mum pretended to …’ My voice trembles before trailing off. It feels strange talking about Mum. Nobody knew her like Dad and I did, yet we’ve never spoken about her. Dad’s tried to on the odd occasion when I’ve inadvertently taken his call, but it’s as if I’ve wanted to keep her memory all to myself.

‘But money gives you choice, darling. You know that. Look how well you’ve done for yourself.’ He pauses. I glance away, if only he knew. ‘And nice holidays. Cars. A decent education. I wanted you to have everything … everything I didn’t have when I was growing up. I guess I just didn’t know when to stop. I think of the promotion and the choices it could give me, Louise in HR confirmed a salary increase, and I know exactly what he means.

Silence follows.

‘Do you miss those things?’ I ask, as he places a steaming cup down in front of me. He shakes his head, before reaching into his pocket for a dog treat. Dusty, now wide awake, wiggles her body in anticipation. With a flick of his hand, she obeys immediately and sits, tilts her head back and catches the treat. I’m impressed, he’s obviously spent hours training her and the bond between them is touching.

‘No. I have everything I need right here,’ he starts, looking first at me and then at Dusty. ‘In many ways prison saved me. Banking isn’t glamorous, you start off thinking it is, when you’re young and cocky. But it soon sucks you in until you think you’re invincible. You become arrogant. Convinced you’re untouchable and better than everyone else,’ he looks away, ‘and that’s when the stakes become too high. You want more and more, like a drug … only it’s never enough. There’s always a monkey further up the tree than you.’

I look away. I’ve taken risks, and what for? So I can swing in the trees with the monkeys? To plug the void of inadequacy that comes from being bullied? To ease the pain of being all alone? Shake off the stigma of being ‘in care’?