Ice Creams at Carrington’s (16 page)
‘One
proper
American cheeseburger for a cute Brit chick,’ Don winks, trying to imitate an English accent, and my jaw drops as he slides the plate towards me. The burger is gargantuan, easily an inch-thick beef patty with two rashers of bacon, lettuce, tomato, pickle, onion, melted cheese, mustard, mayo and ketchup, all piled up in between a big sliced sourdough bun with sesame seeds on top and held together with a stick the length of a skewer. Easily. It has a stars and stripes flag on the end. And, if that wasn’t enough, next to the burger is a tin bucket crammed with skinny fries smothered in rock salt with a side dip of mustard mayo. Mm-mmm. I can’t wait to get stuck in, but where to start? I opt for a fry and quickly pop one into my mouth. Delicious. Crispy, with a hint of salt and pepper.
‘Thank you, and blimey, I didn’t realise it would be quite so massive,’ I say, reaching over to the chrome napkin dispenser and helping myself to a wedge – I’m going to need them for the burger. I’m not even sure my jaw will fit around it. Don is chuckling, his shoulders jigging up and down as he turns back to tend the griddle. I take another slurp of the milkshake and carve the burger in half – it’s the only way.
Before I get stuck in, I take a quick look at my phone and see that I have an email from Annie, sent some time ago.
Hi Georgie Girl!
You’re probably on the flight now, but this is just to say that everything for the regatta is ticking along very nicely. Nothing to worry about. I’ve got the project plan and I found the notebooks and pens in my locker. I popped into work just now to check on things and schedule a #TeamCarringtons meeting
for Monday – I’ve put a big notice on the pin board in the staff room, so the others see it FIRST THING. I plan on being super-efficient while you’re away; even though everything is organised, you never can be too careful.
Lauren texted me earlier asking about the ice-cream factory visit, but don’t worry AT ALL. I will sort it, I fancy a day trip so I will take her and Jack and go sample a few flavours. I know the flavours have already been chosen but I think I should taste every single one just to make sure they are up to scratch, we don’t want to be dishing up anything dodgy.
Now go and have an amazeballing time in the Big Appleland and know that your best girl Annie is on it all lol!!!!!!
Love and hugs from
Me XOXOXOXO
I laugh. Ah, that’s so kind of her. And she wasn’t even working today, but she still went into Carrington’s – she really has come into her own recently; no longer the young, inexperienced sales assistant who always hid in the alcove behind the counter if a tricky customer came instore, but a brilliantly organised supervisor. Hurrah! And it just goes to show that it is possible to delegate and trust others to follow through on things … I’ve been a bit of a control freak in the past when it comes to making sure stuff is done at work. I feel relieved knowing she’s got everything in hand, and that Lauren’s little boy, Jack, won’t miss out after all. I smile contentedly to myself as I put my phone into my bag and flick open a napkin on my lap in preparation for getting stuck into this beast of a burger.
I’m licking the mustard, mayo and ketchup mixture off my fingertips when the door suddenly swings open. And I don’t believe it.
‘Eddie!’ I scream, waving my arms around like an idiot. ‘But I thought you weren’t arriving until Monday. And how did you know I’d be here in Don’s Diner?’ I jump down from the bar stool and practically do a running body-slam towards him.
‘Change of plans, flower.’ Eddie hugs me back before disentangling himself and straightening his navy Jack Wills jacket. He follows me back to the bar and lounges against the stool next to mine. ‘Kel told me. You know how close we are – she made me a star, after all.’ He shakes his head and actually laughs out loud at his own giant diva-ness – ahh, so he’s taking himself less seriously now; nice – before surreptitiously leaning around me to eye up one of the cops, who eyes him right back. So, nothing wrong with Eddie’s gaydar then, I see. I roll my eyes, and whisper, ‘Stop flirting.’
Eddie mouths, ‘But he started it,’ and smiles naughtily before doing a fake cough to clear his throat. ‘So, as I was saying,’ he continues back in his normal voice. ‘Kel gave me the number of Gaspard’s PA, who told me where she’d organised for you to stay, and the concierge guy pointed me this way. So, boom! The party starts right now, a whole two days … well, a day and a bit, earlier.’
‘Fab. I’m so pleased you’re here too. I know we’re both going to be working, but at least we can keep each other company for the rest of the time.’
‘Honey, I’m not working – I’m here on
vacation
, as we say over here.’
‘Oh, but I thought that’s why you couldn’t come back to Mulberry for the summer, because you had to work …’ I frown.
‘Hmm, to be honest, I just didn’t fancy it in the end. It feels a bit suffocating sometimes, too small-town for me. Like being in a goldfish bowl. And then when Kel told me about the plan to help out her old friend Gaspard by making you his muse, and in turn give you the adventure of a lifetime – you know how fond she is of you – well, I thought why not? I need a break and I know where I’d rather be … Mulberry or New York City? Let me ponder on that difficult conundrum for a moment.’ And he puts a little finger to the corner of his mouth before pulling a face. ‘No contest. Especially as I get to spend two weeks with my bestie.’ He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug.
‘So, where’s Ciaran? And Pussy?’
‘Oh, they’re here too. Well, Pussy is with the dog-sitter right now – we’ve taken a condo at the Plaza, overlooking Central Park. It’s only a few blocks from here so we’re practically neighbours for the duration.’
‘Brilliant,’ I say, all goggle-eyed and slightly overwhelmed, thinking, oh how times have changed. I remember when Eddie was Walter’s, aka the Heff’s BA, back in the day at Carrington’s, and moaned about absolutely everything. With hindsight he was always destined for a more glamorous existence. ‘Will Ciaran be coming out to play too?’
‘Of course, he’s in the car.’ Eddie motions towards the window where a sleek black town car is waiting. ‘Fancy coming to a pool party?’
‘What, now?’ I ask, glancing down at my top and comfy skinny-jeans-for-travelling combo.
‘Yes, now. Get that burger down you,’ he pushes the plate closer to me, ‘and let’s go. It’s Saturday night in the best city in the world, so I for one am not wasting a precious second of it.’ He rubs his hands together with glee.
‘Oh Ed, I’d love to, but I’m hardly dressed for a party, and I’m actually exhausted. Plus, won’t I need a bikini?’ I say, shaking my head.
‘Whaaaat? Are you kidding me? Come on, you can sleep when you’re dead! The party is at Soho House, sweet pea. You know – pool on the rooftop, dancing, cocktails, and famous people. Cool, exclusive,
very
exclusive.’ He sweeps a palm through the air to accentuate the exclusivity of the venue. ‘And a VIP members’ guest list with my name, plus two, on. You’re sooo going to love it. And you can grab a bikini and sling on a party dress en route, we’ll swing by your place on the way.’
I
want to die. Or at least swim in a massive vat of water, I’m that dehydrated and hungover – and jetlagged! I roll over in my giant four-poster bed, and scream as something pincers my foot – I kick it away, hard, then immediately clutch my head and force myself into an upright position.
‘Must you yelp quite so raucously?’ Eddie says. It’s all coming back to me now – the glorious hot summer evening breeze, the rooftop bar, the pool – oh, God, the jasmine-scented heated pool! I’m sure I jumped in fully clothed, or maybe not – I honestly can’t remember for sure.
After a brilliant night, laughing and chatting with loads of media types who all seemed to know Eddie, and involving far too many Soho Mules followed by an even more obscene amount of tequila shots, I managed to crawl back to my Manhattan mansion with Eddie in tow. From what I can remember, Ciaran had had enough partying at about three this morning and took the car back to the Plaza, but for some insane reason, Eddie and I kept on going. I’m sure we watched a film too, inside a proper little cinema with gold velour armchairs and bottles of Grey Goose L’Orange and cocktails with names like Bramble and Canadian Rockies – a far cry from the Wetherspoon’s back in Mulberry-On-Sea with its Monster Ripper pint specials.
But now I’m paying for it. Oh yes, I’m paying. I want the bed to open up and envelop me in its soothing softness and never let me go – I’m that fragile.
‘Sshhhhhhuuuush,’ I just about manage, reaching for a bottle of water. ‘It’s your own fault, plying me with all those drinks. And what’s the bloody time?’ I huff grumpily, while scrabbling around on the floor for something to wear. I’m sure I took off my dress before I collapsed into bed, about an hour or so ago, or so it seems. And then I realise that I’m still wearing it, with a slightly damp bikini underneath and my leopard-print Loubs too. Oh God. I think I might actually still be drunk. I can’t even see properly, and what is that black spikey thing dancing on my left eyeball?
‘Lash alert, darling,’ Eddie says, as if reading my mind. He sits up and pulls a section of the duvet up under his chin. ‘What a night!’
‘Never again, Ed, you’re insane.’ And they’re expecting me today – a welcome meeting at the design studio. Gaspard’s PA said they want to get to work right away, and Gaspard is keen to show me what they’ve been working on so far and get my input. Oh God. I feel sick. And make a dash for it down the hall. But where’s the bloody bathroom? I fling open a door only to find I’m in the kitchen – it will have to do – and I end up hurling into the sink. Jesus.
Two hours later, I have established that the bathroom is in fact through a door in the bedroom – an en-suite, of course it is! And I’ve managed to have a cold, rejuvenating shower and several cups of strong coffee, and now my driver has just pulled up outside Gaspard’s studio on Franklin Street, in Tribeca.
I take a deep breath and haul myself out of the cool, air-conditioned car, gasping as the humid midday heat hits me like a steam train gathering speed.
‘Thank you,’ I say to the driver, steadying myself against the door before he has to almost prise my hand away to close it. Awkward.
‘You’re welcome, ma’am. Do you require any … further assistance?’ he asks, delicately, giving me a brief up-and-down glance while fingering the silver crucifix that’s on a chain around his neck.
‘Oh no, I’m fine.’ I wave an arm around. ‘In fact, take the day off,’ I add grandly, as a cover for my embarrassment at still being half-trollied on a Sunday lunchtime.
‘If you’re sure. Have a good day!’ And he wastes no time in jumping into the driver’s seat, swinging the door closed behind him and speeding off … to the nearest church, no doubt, to pray for my redemption.