Hannah was right. I managed to hold out until my lunch break to check. And after waving off regular customers, Mr and Mrs Peabody, who never actually buy anything, they just like to come instore for a chat and to share pictures of their grandchildren who live in California, I’m in Amy’s office with a copy of my employment contract on the desk in front of me.
‘It’s a wonderful opportunity for Carrington’s,’ Amy says, diplomatically. She’s standing next to me, wearing a taupe Ted Baker trouser suit and pointing to sub-section nineteen, clause a hundred trillion, or whatever. It says Carrington’s can use promotional material made within the store, read: FILM ME! And do what they like with it, or words to that effect. I stopped reading after a while. But it’s right there on the back page, just above my signature, glaring like it’s giving me the finger and yelling out ‘hahahaha sucker!’
But who reads every single line of an employment contract? Not me, obviously. I was only fifteen when I got it and just thrilled to have a Saturday job paying me actual money to work in my favourite place. I still remember signing the contract, attempting a proper grown-up swirl with my new fountain pen. A gift from Alfie, he had sent it for my birthday. The pen came in a black velvet box, nestling inside on a bed of lilac satin, and I thought it was the best present I’d ever had. I glance again at my now girlish-looking signature. Georgina Hart. All twirly and written with a flourish. I even drew a little heart motif above my surname.
Getting the Saturday job was like a dream come true, somewhere I belonged. A welcome escape from my foster carer, Nanny Jean’s house, and her bullying birth daughter, Kimberley. A year older than me, Kimberley would parade around the sitting room in a multitude of new outfits complete with mismatched accessories, bought from Topshop with a generous monthly allowance. I wanted the same. And if Nanny Jean wasn’t going to be fair, then a Saturday job was the perfect solution. My own money. To do with what I liked. And Carrington’s was a place where I could remember being with Mum. Kind of like a spiritual connection. Comforting. It was as if she was there standing right in front of me, oohing and ahhing as she admired a handbag spotted in a glossy magazine that she had flicked through whilst waiting to see her consultant at the hospital. I would be standing next to her, egging her on to buy it. Of course, I’ve learnt now that I don’t have to be inside Carrington’s to remember Mum – she’s all around me, wherever I am – but still … Carrington’s on TV, broadcast to the whole world, potentially. Well, it changes everything. Everything I grew up with. It’s as though it won’t be my special place any more.
‘So I have no choice then? And I can’t have one of those blurry things to block out my face?’ I say, cringing slightly. I feel foolish now after making such a fuss and being sniffy with Hannah, saying I wasn’t doing it, when in actual fact I have no choice. I agreed to it, albeit without actually knowing. But there is an upside if I have to be part of the show – I guess a free new wardrobe, and the other perks that Annie was so excited about, aren’t to be sniffed at.
‘Not really. But if you’re adamant about being excluded from this exciting initiative, then I could organise a transfer for you to another department. Home Electricals, for example?’ she says, sounding corporate and robotic. ‘They won’t be featuring in Kelly Cooper Come Instore.’ My heart sinks. Relegated to the basement. Like Annie said, there’s no glamour down there – and, besides, I love working in Women’s Accessories. ‘Have a think about it. I’m sure I could find someone to cover for you with the amount of staff I’ve had in here already today, all of them begging to be in the show.’
‘Oh right.’
‘But I do understand if you’re reluctant. The board were very specific that staff shouldn’t be put under pressure to take part, if they really don’t want to. We’re not in the nature of forcing employees to do things against their will.’
‘So why did they let Annie and me be portrayed as useless then?’
‘Err, yes. Good point.’ Her cheeks flush as she points an index finger in the air. ‘And I’m very sorry about that. It won’t happen again,’ she says, giving me the impression that somebody more senior than her has asked this exact same question, and more than likely had a word with Kelly and KCTV. Well good! So they should. Carrington’s prides itself on providing an exceptional service. Yes, sales have dwindled recently, but there’s a recession on, so it’s to be expected. And it’s not as if we’re the only shop suffering. And of course, a high-profile, prime-time TV show with a retail guru to help us turn things around will be good for business, but still, there’s no need to make us look like complete Muppets.
‘Definitely?’ I say, an idea hatching inside my head.
‘Yes, definitely. You have my word. You’re very good at what you do, so it really would be a shame if we didn’t show you off.’ She tilts her head to the side and smiles sweetly.
‘Hmm, well in that case, I suppose it might be OK,’ I say, letting the idea grow some more. This could actually be an amazing opportunity to show the whole world how wonderful Carrington’s is. How brilliant our customer service is. Coach-loads of tourists could come for special Christmas shopping sprees, just like they used to. Annie and I can show the viewers how we were misrepresented. I might even get a chance to prove that Annie didn’t ignore Zara. In fact, Zara bought the creamy caramel Anya bag and was given a perfect customer service. Ha! See how she likes being set up.
‘Great. See it as an opportunity. A chance to do your bit for Carrington’s. We all know that business has dipped of late, and you really are one of our best sales supervisors. That’s why you were chosen to be in the pilot.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes really.’ She nods and smiles.
‘So how will it work then?’ I ask, feeling flattered.
‘Well, my involvement was purely from a personnel perspective, but I’ve been told the show will be aired every Wednesday until Christmas. I think filming starts in a week or so and it will all be very spontaneous. You just turn up and get on with it, apparently.’
‘I see. And I heard something about a live wrap party?’
‘Yes, that’s right, for KCTV and Carrington’s staff, if they want to attend.’
‘Even those that aren’t part of the show?’ I ask, figuring it’s only fair if they are.
‘Of course.’
‘And what about the actual filming of the shows?’
‘That will be on Sundays when the store is closed. Although Kelly has already suggested we revisit our opening times schedule. Sunday closing is archaic, she says.’ And I’m sure I spot a fleeting look of weariness on Amy’s face, making me wonder if Kelly has been giving her a hard time. But I guess it was inevitable – nowadays all of the big department stores are open on Sundays. ‘KCTV did investigate filming every day, but their lawyers advised against it – apparently it’s a legal minefield to film with so many members of the general public wandering around, and the board were worried about it putting our regular customers off from coming instore. You know how “traditional” some of them are.’ And I certainly do. We nearly had a boycott on our hands when we tried to introduce an Ann Summers concession last year. Mrs Godfrey wrote a stern letter to the local trading standards office stating that Rampant Rabbits had no place in Mulberry-On-Sea.
‘But how will it work if there aren’t any actual customers instore?’
‘Oh, well, not all of the scenes will involve customers. Other parts of the retail operation will be featured on the show too. This initiative isn’t just
