the perfect blend of exemplary service with such provincially naive wonderment.’ She wafts a hand in the air.
‘Um.’ What’s she going on about? ‘Is that good?’ I raise a tentative eyebrow.
‘Oh, you are so divine. Of course it is.’ She squeezes me tight, almost winding me in the process.
‘But I just thought she was an ordinary customer – well, not ordinary for Mulberry-On-Sea, but, well … ’ I say, managing to break free, hoping she wasn’t an actor after all. That would be really disappointing.
‘And she is. Or will be. I certainly hope she’ll become an “ordinary” customer. Carrington’s can’t be sustained with just the likes of that rain-bonnet woman, whatever her name is, spending a tenner once a year.’
‘Mrs Godfrey,’ I prompt.
‘Yes, whatever.’ Kelly flaps a hand. ‘Anyway, Princess Ameerah was insistent on not having a camera stuck in her face, hence my covert manoeuvring and the long-lens activity from the filming guys. It was the only way to get her to agree to come here,’ she says, and I’m suddenly conscious of being surrounded by the whole crew. They’re all laughing and stepping forward to shake my hand or kiss my cheek, and my heart lifts. It feels good to have got it right for a change – perhaps this will earn me a reprieve from the YouTube hall of shame this week.
‘Right. On to the next scene,’ Kelly commands, and clicks her fingers towards a wardrobe assistant, who immediately steps forward with a sumptuously soft grey cashmere wrap. ‘Put this on and follow me.’ Feeling like a proper celebrity, I swathe myself in the ultra-chic and super-luxurious wrap.
‘What about the money?’ I ask as we head off. It’s still stacked up on the counter.
‘Security can deal with it,’ she replies, as if it’s mere detail. ‘The extra is yours, the contents of the bag too. You must always accept Princess Ameerah’s gifts with grace and gratitude. Always.’
‘But that’s not Carrington’s usual policy,’ I say, despite the fizz of excitement bubbling inside me. I wonder what’s inside the bag and I’ll share the £200 with Annie, of course. She’ll be delighted too.
‘Well it is now. It’s etiquette when serving this calibre of customer. Harrods staff have been doing it for years.’ Kelly nods at Melissa as she steps out from her hiding place. ‘You can look after it all until Georgie returns.’
‘You’re the boss,’ Melissa says with a hint of sarcasm, and does an exaggerated salute before clicking her heels together and marching over to my counter. I quickly stifle a giggle, hoping Kelly didn’t notice, and make a mental note to catch up with Mel later.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, having to do a gentle jog to keep up with Kelly, which is no mean feat in six-inch-high Giuseppe Zanotti suede ankle boots.
‘You’ll see. Don’t want to give too much away, will ruin the spontaneity. But trust me, you will lurrrrrve it.’ She shakes her hands up in the air. I smile hesitantly. ‘And I want you to talk about the council’s plans for the Christmas ice rink.’ Her face changes to serious.
‘Err, OK. But what should I say?’ I ask, momentarily thrown by her random flip from wacky Ronald McDonald to serious businesswoman.
‘Anything. Just mention it – sure you’ll think of something, you’re a bright girl. And do it before Eddie proposes, I don’t want it getting overshadowed by wedding talk.’ Kelly grabs a bottle of mineral water from a passing catering guy, takes a massive slurp and hands it back. ‘Chop chop. Time is money in this game,’ she says, pumping her elbows up even higher to gather more speed.
Ten minutes later we’re in Sam’s café, which has been festooned with paper lanterns and flickering tea lights to create a cosy, fairytale atmosphere. Sam is in place behind the counter wearing a new white T-shirt with Cupcakes At Carrington’s emblazoned in glittery gold lettering across the front, and a massive smile on her face. Her eyes swivel to the left, practically bulging with excitement, as if she’s telepathically saying, ‘Look who it is. Right here. In my café! Faints.’ There’s an elegant woman standing next to Sam, with her head down. She looks up. And oh my God.
It’s Mary Berry. Baking queen. The actual, proper ledge herself, Mary Berry. I love Mary Berry. She’s brilliant on TV and now here she is right in front of us. Incredible. I do a speedy silent scream at Sam, when Mary isn’t looking. Sam reciprocates.
Mary holds up a cake stand bulging with red velvet cupcakes smothered in butter cream icing with miniature snowflakes scattered on top. Striped candy canes are hooked around the edges of the cake stand and Mariah Carey is singing ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ in the background. This is amazing. I just about manage to resist the overwhelming urge to blurt out, ‘Hey, look everyone, it’s Mary Berry.’ Now, that would be so uncool. And it’s true then, Kelly really does know all the famous people. Wow!
I flash Sam a ‘what’s going on’ look? But there’s no time. A camera moves in as a guy counts down – three two one with his fingers – before Millie appears, sweeping an enormous blusher brush over my cheeks, flicking a lock of hair away from my face and straightening the wrap. She gives me a quick wink and mouths, ‘Break a leg.’ Eddie and Ciaran are sitting in a booth, laughing and chatting as if it’s just any other day in the café, seemingly oblivious to the cameras, Mary the Ledge, and the crowd all around us. And I feel so excited.
Eddie catches my eye and smooths his already immaculate hair. Now he’s fiddling with his cuff links as if he’s nervous, which is extremely unusual for him. I know he’s about to propose, but I thought he couldn’t wait … he’s that keen to get to Vegas and have his moment in the spotlight.
In the space behind my head, I sense Kelly clicking her fingers.
‘Her date! Her date! Where is he?’ she whispers furiously. A girl with a clipboard and a blank face appears. ‘Oh never mind. If you want something doing … ’ Kelly puffs, before shooing the girl away. ‘Get ready to grab his hand and walk towards the gays,’ she hisses in my ear. ‘And look happy.’ She disappears.
My heart sinks. I don’t really want to grab Leo’s hand and look happy with him, but I guess it’s only show business, and if it’s OK for Tom … I inhale sharply through my nose.
‘Go. Go. Go.’ Kelly is back. I spin around, but I can’t see Leo. An arm reaches out through the crowd. Kelly pushes the crew guys out of the way. And then I see him. My fake date.
Oh my God.
Oh my actual God. It’s not the actor. It’s not Leo.
It’s Dan Kilby.
Singing star. Sexy and soulful. Proper famous. But there’s no time to react. He takes my hand. His fingers feel warm against mine as he leads me over to join the others. My pulse quickens, not because of Dan (I don’t think so, well, maybe a bit – he is utterly gorge with his messy brown hair and soft grey eyes) but because all can I fathom is: what will Tom think when he sees this?
‘Why didn’t you say something?’ I’m on the bus and Dad’s on the phone. He sounds delighted. Nancy has just started on the silver
