“Would you like to take it?” she asks.
My conscience tugs at the hem of the dress. It is both expensive and elaborate, so there won’t be many occasions when I could wear it. But Kate and Deacon get complimentary tickets to a posh ball run by the hospital every year. It would be perfect for that.
“What shoes do you have?” I ask.
As it turns out, not only do they have great shoes, but also stoles and handbags. I leave the shop with parcels tucked under each arm, my face flushed with guilty pleasure.
“Hi Isabel, can you get me a beer?” Deacon asks, when I arrive at the Beach House for dinner.
“Nice to see you too,” I mutter, opening the fridge. “Anyone else?”
“Yes, please,” Kate says.
As I shut the fridge, I notice a familiar cream coloured invitation card pinned to the door.
“You’re going to the Christmas ball then?” I say, casually placing the beers down on the table.
“Yeah,” says Kate, twisting hers open. “I’m taking Rhett as my plus one.”
I look expectantly at Deacon.
“How about you?”
“Actually,” he says, “I thought I’d ask Alicia this year. You don’t mind, do you?”
Chapter Seven
“Hi everyone!” Alicia calls, as she skips through the door. “Oh, hi Isabel!”
She slides into the empty seat next to Deacon and it takes every ounce of my strength not to kick it out from under her. My stomach churns as he casually rests his arm on the back of her chair. The jealous wolf inside me has reared its ugly head.
“You’re really OK about Deacon taking Alicia to the ball?” Kate asks when I give her a lift home.
“Course, it’s no big deal,” I lie. “I’ve got another party that night anyway.”
“Great – you should come round to my house so we can get ready together.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, come on! We can open a bottle of wine and put on some music to get us in the party mood. Besides, I might need fashion advice.”
She’s got me there. One year, she tried to wear legwarmers under her cocktail dress, claiming her legs were cold. I definitely need to quality check her outfit before she sets foot outside the door.
“Well, OK.” I reluctantly agree. “I’ll get ready at yours.”
“If I hear Jive Bunny one more time, I’m going to ram a Christmas tree down someone’s throat!” Jon the security man tries to shield his ears, but it’s impossible to block out the sound.
That’s one of the many joys of working at Robertson’s at this time of year, they bombard us with diabolical Christmas music all day long. I’ve tried talking to Sonya about it, but apparently it’s a head office directive. We have to play Christmas music to get the customers in the spending mood. And so we do – all day long. I’ve heard the American government used the same technique on prisoners in Guantanamo Bay. I bet it was effective.
The Christmas shopping season has begun in earnest, but not as ferociously here as at Filbert’s, where the kiddies are queuing round the corner to see Santa.
Sonya rushes up to me, her face flushed.
“Isabel! I need a favour.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve just caught the elves conducting themselves in… er…”
“Un-elfly behaviour?” I supply.
She nods. “I’ve had to send them both back to the agency, so I was wondering if you could take over, just till they send someone else? Santa can’t cope on his own.”
“Surely there’s someone else who could do it?”
Sonya tugs at the hair at the back of her head. “Isabel, I’m asking you. I don’t want any more screw ups, I just want to know that it’s under control.”
“Well, OK.” I reluctantly agree, “But I don’t really have to wear a costume do I?”
“It’s in the office.”
It is a long, long afternoon. Stu comes over to leer at me in my ridiculously short belted tunic and curly toed shoes.
“There’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” he croons, in a terrible faux Irish accent.
“That’s leprechauns, you ignorant bastard,” I hiss. “Oh, sorry!” My hand flies to my mouth as I remember too late that I’m surrounded by small children. Their mothers look at each other and shake their heads in consternation.
The promised replacement elves never materialise, so I have to prop up Santa all afternoon. Finally, at five o’clock, I stalk off to the toilets to change, feeling hot, sweaty and irritable. The cheap, tacky green tights leave an inky stain as I peel them from my legs, and my feet hurt from being squished into those stupid shoes. I wriggle thankfully into my normal clothes, bundling the hated costume into a ball and contemplate flushing it down the loo.
Sonya couldn’t be more apologetic, but her apologies don’t make up for my humiliation. Bernie Greengrass’ business card feels like a brick in my handbag as I stomp out of the store. Just one phone call and I could be out of here and onto something better. The idea of telling Stu where to go appeals more and more by the minute, but I don’t feel good about deserting Sonya. I’m not sure how she’d cope without me. I picture her tearing what remains of her hair out. But one way or the other, I’ve got to make up my mind and soon. Bernie doesn’t strike me as a patient man, and I have a feeling his offer comes with an expiry date.
My gorgeous green dress watches with melancholy, as I pack my bag to go to Kate’s on Saturday night. But no one is going to be wearing fancy dresses where I’m going. Jeans and a jumper are my best bet, jazzed up with a pair of kitten heels. I wasn’t lying when I said I had a party to go to. Stu’s having a Christmas get-together at his house for all the staff. I hadn’t in a million years intended to go but now I feel like I have to, to prove to my friends that I’m fine about Deacon taking Alicia to the ball.
Kate answers the door in a navy blue trouser suit.
“How do I look?” she asks.
“Like you’re going to a job interview. Why don’t you wear the purple dress you got for your birthday?”
“But none of my shoes match.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got some options in my bag.”
If I’m missing the ball, then I’m damn well not letting her go dressed like an estate agent. I follow her upstairs to her room, then take a sharp intake of breath.
Alicia is standing in front of the dresser, styling her hair.
“Hello, Isabel!” she calls, gleefully.
I glare at Kate.
“You didn’t say she was going to be here,” I hiss.
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t…”
“Well, then.”
While Kate slips into her purple dress, I tip the shoes out onto the bed and arrange them in neat pairs.
“I think the red ones,” she says, uncertainly.
“No, the pink.” Alicia chips in.
Kate looks at me. I want to disagree, but Alicia is right.
“Definitely the pink.”
“Aren’t you getting dressed up?” Kate asks me as she applies her make up. Alicia leans over and wipes off the clown-like blusher, just like I normally would. In fact, she’s doing everything I normally do, pouring the wine, turning up the radio and singing along – badly. I feel like I’ve been superseded.
“No, it’s not that kind of party,” I say, pulling my hair into a simple ponytail. I can’t be bothered to do anything else with it. I’m just not in the mood.
The doorbell rings.
“Can you get that?” she pleads, “I’m not quite ready.”
“Course.”