Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s by Alexandra Brown Page B

can. The other sections will be doing the same, and then I can make a decision on what merch stays and who is best to sell it. I may even decide to scrap a lot of the smaller and less profitable lines to make way for just a couple of select high-end ones. In my experience, this always means less staff. But seeing as you’re a very good sales assistant and we have some strong in-store Valentine’s promotions going on, it shouldn’t be too difficult for you, should it?’ Standing up, she waves a dismissive hand in my direction. ‘And besides, I like winners, not losers.’ And she whips a hand up and does the actual L for loser sign against her forehead. I cringe inwardly. How embarrassing.
    ‘Of course,’ I mutter, glad to have my share of the Malikov sale. That’ll get my section off to a good start.
    ‘Oh, and you’ll report directly to me from now on. What day do you have off?’
    ‘Err, Monday,’ I say, praying she’s not about to make me give it up. Everyone knows it’s the best day off to make a weekend when you work every Saturday.
    ‘Then your weekly one-to-one meeting with me will be at seven sharp every Tuesday morning. I like to start bright and early.’ She rubs her hands together before flicking her big hair around for a bit.
    ‘Great,’ I say with a forced smile, feeling relieved that my day off is safe.
Good for you
. I bet she’s one of those crazy types that just
lurrves
a military-style boot camp session, preferably outdoors in the lashing rain, while normal people are still snuggled up in bed because it’s practically the middle of the night.
    ‘Oh, and keep the first Sunday in February free … the board thought a series of “team-building jollies” might keep spirits up, so I’ve put you down for the first session,’ she adds, pulling a face as if the whole idea is totally abhorrent to her.

10
    T he door at the staff exit is so heavy it seems like an eternity before I eventually step out onto the pavement. I breathe in, and the salty sea air catches in my lungs. The euphoria at not losing my job has quickly subsided, leaving an empty realisation that if my section isn’t deemed the most profitable, I’ll most likely be unemployed. I can’t seem to quell the panic that’s coursing through me at the thought of that chilling prospect. It was practically impossible to revise at Nanny Jean’s with the TV blaring out and Kimberley hollering all day long, so I know damn well I’ll struggle to find something else with my qualifications. It didn’t matter so much at the start, but these days even graduates with a degree in retail management are finding it tough to find jobs. Not that there are any other department stores in Mulberry-On-Sea, and practically none of the smaller, boutique-style shops are taking on new staff, in fact quite a few have already closed down, there are loads of empty units in the pedestrianised bit of town. Everyone is feeling the pinch.
    I guess I could commute to London, but then with the huge monthly travel costs to fork out for, I’d never earn enough to cover the rest of my overheads. And James will hate me if I stay and he has to go – he took me on in the first place. And I’ll be competing against Tom and I don’t know anything about him.
    Then there’s my guilty secret debt problem, I’ve got to do something about it as it’s bound to come out when HR do the checks. I feel as though I’m being backed into a corner.
    I need some time alone. Time to think before I face the others. I decide to head for Gino’s, the little Italian deli tucked down a narrow cobbled lane behind Carrington’s. I haven’t been there for a while; it’s got a little seating area for espresso and tapas and it’s perfect for my current mood.
    As I walk along, pounding the hard pavement, a woman on roller skates burns past me, her white shirt billowing around like a puff of smoke as she elbows me out of the way. The roller skates remind me of Dad, and of clinging on