Ice Creams at Carrington’s by Alexandra Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

attention on the more expensive piece of merch.’ Standing tall, she puffs out her impressive cleavage while flicking her frosted hair extensions back over her shoulder.
    ‘Good for you.’ I wink, remembering when Mrs Grace, Carrington’s oldest employee, taught me that trick on my first day as a Saturday girl all those years ago – Mrs Grace rocked Women’s Accessories for fifty years before handing the mantle to me. She’s retired from Carrington’s now, after landing a book deal for a good five-figure sum to write her autobiography on the back of being in the reality TV show. It’s going to be a trilogy, starting right from the beginning and detailing the history of Carrington’s – the underground maze of tunnels that practically run the length and breadth of Mulberry town. There’s even one that goes all the way to the old music hall at the other end of Lovelace Walk, a few streets away. Rumour has it that the original Mr H. Carrington, aka Dirty Harry (Tom’s grandfather on Vaughan’s side), had the tunnels built especially as a discreet way to ‘visit’ showgirls, then pay them in kind by inviting them back for secret late-night shopping sprees. Sort of like a free trolley dash in return for sex, I suppose. Mrs Grace told me all about it one time over a cream horn and a steamy hot chocolate in Sam’s café. The books are going to cover the war years, too, when the underground tunnels were opened up to the residents of Mulberry-On-Sea to use as bunkers during the Blitz. Which gives me an idea – we could do a tour as part of the regatta! Apparently it’s going to be a two-day event over the August bank holiday weekend (I got an email ahead of the first committee meeting tomorrow), so plenty of time for people to see ‘behind the scenes’ of the iconic Carrington’s building. I’ll add the idea to my list and be sure to bring it up tomorrow. Mrs Grace might even come out of retirement to be the tour guide. I bet she’d love that.
    ‘And I’ve positioned the long mirror right here, see,’ Annie points an index finger, ‘ becaaaaaause … ’
    ‘Those who try it, buy it,’ we both sing in unison, grinning.
    Annie puts on a serious work face. ‘Sooo, what can I help you with? I take it you’re after some designer bags for your VIPs?’
    ‘Sure am. I need top handle day bags, evening – a clutch or two, some totes and a couple of those big stripy beach bags over there.’ I point towards the special ‘summer fun’ shelf that Annie has artfully created. A pile of bonkbusters, presumably for reading by the pool, are stacked at one end, and she’s even snaffled some of the glittery gold sand and sprinkled it in between the bags on display.
    ‘Blimey. Sounds as if they’re splashing the cash then … Anyone famous?’
    ‘I don’t think so – didn’t recognise them. A mother-and-daughter day, treating themselves,’ I say, as an image of me as a child, shopping with Mum, pops into my head.
    ‘Ah, that’s lovely. Right then, jump behind my counter in case a customer comes—’
    ‘Oh, you don’t have to pick out the bags for me,’ I say quickly.
    ‘Babes, it’s no trouble. Besides, I want to – this is my kingdom now,’ she pauses to gesture around the floor. ‘And I really want to make this work. I want to be amazing at something. Just like you.’ She gives me a quick hug.
    ‘And you already are.’ I squeeze her back, thinking how much she reminds me of myself when I first started out in Women’s Accessories, full of ideas and enthusiasm. ‘But thank you, honey.’
    ‘No worries, leave it to me and I’ll sort out a nice selection for you, starting with the exquisite Cambridge satchel in fluoro lime, yes? New in, and totes amazeballs!’ She gasps, fluttering her eyelids and waving a palm in the air as if experiencing her very own bag nirvana.
    Once she’s come to, Annie races around the shop floor picking out the best bags, while I stand behind my old counter reminiscing