“That sounds like fun,” I say, instantly forgiving him for the lack of communication. To be honest, Sam and I have been so busy with running and Christmas shopping that this hasn’t been anything like the major deal it would once have been.
“Anyway,” Drake says eventually, once we’ve exhausted conversation about the staff at Ickenham and his adventures in Park Lane, “I was just wondering whether or not you were still going to the company bash this weekend? There’s something I really want to run by you and I think it would be better in person than over the phone.”
I know that a few minutes ago I was contemplating giving the party a miss but now? I’d sooner dance naked through Oxford Street. What on earth can he want to talk to me about? I mustn’t get my hopes up.
“Of course!” I say.
“That’s great! I’m thrilled that you’ll be there. We really need a good catch up.” He pauses for a nanosecond, his voice low and intimate. “I’ve missed you, Ellie. The people at the new office are fine but they don’t really know how to have fun like we all did in Ickenham.”
I think of Imogen, her mean comments and how she had put Drake on the spot. No, she didn’t look like she could have fun even if you wrote her a manual. Nick and Rick can be a pain, Vicky is a menace and Sam distracts me far too much, but work is generally a lot of fun. So I haven’t been promoted yet and I still dream about selling the sports cars, but at least I work with people who make me smile. Poor Drake.
“I’ll talk to you properly on Saturday,” Drake promises. “Take care, Ellie. I’ll see you at Pendleton Manor.”
I end the call and stare at my iPhone in total delight. Suddenly I’m floating on air and ready to shop until I can’t carry any more bags.
“Right, Sam, “ I say, as I shove the phone away. “Are you ready to hit Oxford Street? I feel the need to shop!”
But there’s no reply, only silence. Looking up from my bag I realize that Sam is nowhere to be seen. I glance around the designer department just in case he’s lurking underneath a clothes rail but there’s no sign of him anywhere. Neither is in in the top floor Starbucks or downstairs sniffing the aftershaves in Jo Malone.
Sam, for reasons known only to himself, has vanished.
Chapter 10
By the time Friday arrives I’m just about over the disappointment of losing my dream dress and have managed to convince myself that a glittery black one from Next will do the trick. I should be singing the Hallelujah Chorus that I can fit into anything from Next,
but because the shopping trip ended on such an odd note with Sam vanishing it’s been hard to feel very enthusiastic. Even knowing Drake’s looking forward to seeing me doesn’t hold quite the same excitement. I didn’t even join in decorating the Broom! Broom!
office or contribute to the Secret Santa. For the first time that I can remember I can’t summon any enthusiasm for Christmas. I have no idea what has happened to me. Maybe I’m coming down with something?
Bah humbug. Just call me Ebenezer Scrooge. I really hope I get into the festive spirit soon.
Sam’s apologized for bailing on me but whenever I try to find out why, he’s incredibly cagey and avoids answering the question with a skill politicians would envy. To be honest he’s been behaving in a really weird way ever since our trip to Oxford Street. He cancelled our last training session, didn’t turn up for the works lunch in the Coach and today he’s apparently far too busy in the workshop to join us for the boss’s festive announcement. Quite what he’s up to is anyone’s guess; we haven’t sold a car for days. I’ve sent him a couple of texts but he hasn’t replied, which isn’t like him at all. Usually we play text tennis for hours. Perhaps he’s missing Lucy more than he lets on? I know I really miss him. Mum keeps asking where he’s got to and I am at a total loss for an answer. Things feel weird and I really hope he returns to normal soon.
“Switch that computer off and come and have a drink,” Nick orders me, or at least as much as a twenty two year old with skin like pizza can order me. He’s wearing a paper hat and already has several drinks under his belt. Actually, does he have a belt on? It’s dress down Friday and Nick is wearing baggy jeans slung so low that I can see his pants. I resist the urge to tell him to pull his trousers up. God, I’m getting old.
There’s a party atmosphere here at Broom! Broom!
today because it’s a half day and the last working day before Christmas Eve. The office and showroom are festooned with streamers and tinsel, cheap fizzy plonk is being sloshed into plastic cups and the entire contents of Mr Kipling’s mince pie factory circulating on paper plates. So far I have resisted but without Sam to keep me on the straight and narrow my resolve is starting to weaken…
I shut my computer down and join everyone at the reception area where I sip wine so rough I could file my nails with it and listen to the chatter. Everyone is on a high now and filled with excited anticipation about tonight’s party. I wish I felt more excited but instead I just feel flat. Maybe this is the come down from reaching my goals? I guess I just thought that when I was slimmer I’d feel happier, but it hasn’t worked out like that at all. I’m still me, Ellie Phant, only in a slimmer body and wearing skinny jeans. I’m just as good at my job as I always was and I’m just the same friend to Sam as I’ve always been too. So why is he being so strange? Why isn’t he coming for a drink?
I’m just on the brink of heading into the workshop, grabbing Sam by the throat and demanding an explanation when a loud clearing of throat and clapping of hands announces that our boss is about to make a speech. He’s parked himself right between me and the door, which is a bit of menace because I can’t escape. Death by management speak it is then! Digging myself in for the long haul, I slosh some more white wine into my cup.
“Merry Christmas, team!” booms Charlie. He’s even redder in the face than normal, courtesy of all the booze. “I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for all your hard work this year. It’s been a bumper one for us, in spite of the economic climate, and I hope that next year is even better.”
There’s a ripple of applause and congratulations. I wish he’d get on with it. I really want to catch Sam before we close for the afternoon.
“Now tonight, as you all know, is our big celebration,” the boss continues, “but before we all leave to get ready for that – or even more drunk in the case of Rick and Nick – I’ve one final announcement to make. You’ve all been wondering what was going to happen regarding Drake’s position and as you know we’ve been waiting to see how the sales figures pan out before coming to a decision.”
I do know. I’ve asked Charlie several times about promotion and he’s dodged the issue skillfully. I even rewrote my CV and a covering letter to say why I should be considered for Drake’s job, but so far so silent. He probably shredded it instantly.
“Anyway, gang, I’m happy to tell you that we’ve decided to promote a member of our team here to fill it.”
Suddenly all eyes are on him. Vicky pauses in mid nail paint, the brush hovering between gore red talon and bottle, Rick and Nick put their beers down and stitch conscientious expressions to their faces and even the receptionists look hopeful.
“I’ve decided to appoint the post of Luxury Brand Salesperson to a member of the team who’s constantly shown professionalism, dedication and enthusiasm,” says Charlie. “Someone who is undoubtedly the type of person whose attitude and image fit the ethos of our company.”
Here we go again. This is the bit where he’ll say that Vicky has the job, we’ll all have to be pretend to be surprised and then she’ll lord it over us as usual. Excuse me if I switch off for a bit and go back to day-dreaming about Drake…
“Ellie! Ellie!” Charlie’s boom is on a par with the 747s taking off down the road at Heathrow. “Don’t be shy! Come up here and shake my hand.”
Eh? Roused from the best bit of my dream, the part where Drake takes my hand and leads me to the mistletoe, I look up and find that everyone is staring at me and clapping. Everyone except Vicky, that is, who just looks furious.
“Go on!” hisses Rick, giving me a little push. “He wants to congratulate you. Boss!”
I stare at him. “What?”
“You’ve got Drake’s job,” Nick explains slowly and as though I am very, very thick. “You’ve been promoted, Ellie!”
As though in a very weird dream, I join Charlie. Only when he shakes my hand so hard that my wrist is nearly sprained do I realize this really is happening. Oh. My. God. I have been given Drake’s sales role! After all this time of plugging away and hoping desperately to be noticed.
Good-bye Micras, hello BMWs!
I wonder what changed?
Then it dawns on me: absolutely nothing has changed, or not the things that count anyway. I’m the hard working and good sales woman that I’ve always been. My customers feel as valued as they always did and I have earned the company the large sums that have become a badge of personal pride. The only thing that’s changed is my appearance. Now I’m a bit slimmer and fitter, I’m considered suitable for the role, the role that I was just as qualified to fill when I was heavier and so unfit I couldn’t run a bath. Being slimmer doesn’t make me a better person or saleswoman. It just makes me – slimmer.
What’s going on? I have the body I’ve always wanted and now the job too, but instead of turning cartwheels I’m hardly able to summon the enthusiasm to accept. I can afford to have a fantastic Christmas now and a really happy new year on my new salary. All I need is to see Drake this evening and I’ll have everything I’ve dreamed of. Come on, Ellie, smile.
And I do smile and shake hands and thank everybody when they congratulate me, but it feels hollow. If I wasn’t good enough when I was overweight then I shouldn’t be good enough now. It’s actually really insulting.
Finally the excitement dies down and we all return to our desks to pack away for the Christmas break. Once the computers are unplugged, answerphones switched on and the showroom locked up, we all head to the Coach for more pre-party celebrations. I’m just about to secure the back door and join the others when Sam appears from the darkness of the workshop. He’s dressed in jeans, scuffed CAT boots and a battered leather jacket and my heart trampolines into my mouth. I’d thought he was long gone.
“You made jump out of my skin!” I exclaim, my hand on my chest. Yep, there’s my heart playing squash against my rib cage.
“Sorry. I just wanted to catch you on your own before you leave.”
I stare at him, concerned. He looks tired though today. Blue shadows smudge his eyes and his skin is taut over his high cheekbones.
“Are you OK? Rick and Nick were going to have a quick drink in the Coach before getting ready for the party. Aren’t you coming?”
Sam shrugs. “Just not in the mood, I guess. Well done on the job, by the way. I always knew you could do it.”
“You’re the only one then,” I sigh. “Nobody else thought I was anywhere near capable of selling the luxury cars until I lost weight.”
He digs his hands deep into his pockets and regards me thoughtfully.
“Losing weight isn’t quite what we thought, is it?”
This is so true and I nod.
“You’re way too good for this place,” Sam remarks. “Why don’t you look for something else?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe before I didn’t have the guts to try? Things feel so different now though. Mum is happier, I’m free of Luke and I actually feel I can do anything.”
“Of course you can! Ellie, you can do anything you put your mind to, haven’t you already proved that over the last few weeks?”
I nod. He’s right.
“And I’ve been thinking the same,” Sam continues. His face is serious as he says this, the green eyes dark with thought. “It’s time to move on and make a change from being here and being the person I used to be. “
I stare at him. I’ve known Sam a long time and I can tell when he’s on the brink of saying something important.
“I’ve handed in my notice,” he says. “I’m going to go back to college and study fitness and nutrition, make a real change. I’d like to go into teaching if I can.”
“You’re leaving?” I echo.
He nods. “This is my last day here.”
I can’t speak. Normally I chat so much you could use my vocal cords to power the national grid, but now I’m robbed of language. Sam has resigned? He’s leaving the company? No wonder he’s been so preoccupied. But why didn’t he tell me? I thought we told each other everything?
“So I guess that’s it,” Sam says when I don’t reply. “New jobs and new starts for both of us.”
“I’ll miss you,” I whisper, dangerously close to tears. “You’re my best friend.”
He looks away. “Yeah. Me too. Look El, I’m no good at this. Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the party? We can catch up then.”
The party? I’d nearly forgotten about that.
“I wanted you to have this now. It was meant to be a surprise for tonight. Open it when I’m gone.” He reaches into his rucksack and pulls out a parcel wrapped in white tissue paper and lovingly tied with yellow ribbons. He places it into my arms and smiles, a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Happy Christmas, Ellie Summers. I hope all your Christmas wishes come true.”
And then he’s gone, out into the fading light of the December afternoon. The lengthening shadows swallow him up and although I stare after him for what feels like ages, he has vanished.
The parcel is in my arms, soft and rustling. Slowly realization starts to dawn. Is this what I think I it is? Slowly, and with shaking hands I unwrap it and when I see that I am right, I gasp, almost unable to believe it.
In my hands, surrounded by gossamer soft tissue paper, is my beautiful green dress. I close my eyes and open them slowly, but it makes no difference. It’s still here.
Sam has bought my dream dress for me.
Chapter 11
“Thanks so much! Keep the change and have a lovely Christmas!”
My taxi pulls away, scrunching across the immaculate gravel drive that leads up to Pendleton Manor, and I huddle inside my furry wrap, drinking in the wonderful festive scene before me. Although I’ve arrived in a rather battered Ford Mondeo, driven by a garrulous cockney named Chas, rather than sweeping up in a stagecoach I’m still feeling deliciously Lizzie Bennet-like in my wonderful green velvet gown and with my hair all piled up on the crown of my head. Throw a beautiful mansion into the mix, a string quartet playing on the terrace and scores of beautifully dressed people and I could be on my way to the Netherfield Ball. All that’s missing is my Mr Darcy.