She’s probably right, but I’ve always been a trier. I yank the suitcase zip around, but it won’t budge. “Who gets this opportunity, Lulu? Three years ago, I was living off ramen noodles, and now I’m literally getting paid to go on holiday. It’s like, lightning-strike lucky. I can’t half-ass it.” I tug at the zip with all my weight and fall off the case. “Um. Help?”
Lulu sighs. “God, I never get over howearnestyou are.” She kneels next to me. “You’re due a PR delivery while you’re out there, by the way. I’ll have it forwarded to the resort.” As she tugs the zip around my case, a horn blares in the street. “That’ll be your Uber. You have your phone charger? Ring light? Meds?”
I heave my huge bag onto my shoulder. “I packed extra.”
“Good. Don’t let this video spoil your holiday, okay? By the time you’re back, it’ll have all blown over.”
I nod and pull her into a hug. She’s right. This trip is going to be amazing.
“I’msosorry, Miss Faye,” the resort’s manager tells me many hours later, smiling serenely. “It seems there’s been some miscommunication.”
“Miscommunication?” I lean tiredly on the handle of my suitcase, forcing myself to keep my smile bright.
I’m exhausted. It turns out the Highland spa is in the middle of nowhere. After my train to Inverness, I had to take an endless pre-booked cab ride through a million winding roads that headed farther and farther away from civilisation. The views of Scotland were probably lovely, but I didn’t see them. I spent the entire time stress-eating cake pops and refreshing the viral video of me sobbing like a baby. It’s at over a million views now. My DMs are full of lipstick emojis, and several of my influencer “friends” have already unfollowed me. It feels like everyone has seen the video.
God, what if mymumsees it? She’ll hate me.
If I’m honest though, my tipsy meltdown wasn’t entirely unexpected. A couple of years ago, a therapist told me it’s a common ADHD burnout pattern. I overwhelm myself trying to keep up with life until my brain runs out of batteries, then I have a mini meltdown and need to lock myself in a dark room for a couple of days. Rinse and repeat. I’d worked every day for a month before the party. I didn’t stand a chance.
I’m usually much better at hiding when I get overwhelmed like that, though. It’s embarrassing that the part of me I try so hard to keep hidden has finally leaked out.
The resort manager smiles at me now from behind the glossy reception desk. “In light of…recent events, I’m afraid we’ve had to cancel your partnered trip,” she says calmly.
I snap back to the present. “What?”
She nods. “You’ll find that there’s a clause in the contract you signed regarding the…reputation of the influencer,” she says delicately. “We believe your current situation finds you in breach of it.”
It takes a few seconds for that to sink in. Thereisa clause in all of my contracts which says if I do anything controversial, companies have the right to cancel brand deals. I always assumed it was for if the creator said something bigoted or turned out to be a secret puppy killer. “You mean…because I cried in a bathroom?”
She just shrugs, still smiling. “It would reflect negatively on the company if you were to be seen posting content here. I’m afraid we aren’t able to go ahead with the partnership at this time.”
My stomach sinks. Oh my God. This is way worse than I thought. Am Icancelled? Forcrying?“Um…” I try to think what to do next. I could call Lulu, but she does yoga every Friday evening, so she won’t see it for hours. “But why didn’t you call me? You knew I’d be travelling up today.”
Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches. “We attempted to,” she says coldly. “Service is intermittent up here at best.”
I catch myself. I’m being rude.
Be nice. Be bubbly. Be happy.
I shove down my anxiety with a smile. “I mean. Sorry, sorry! I’m a bit tired. Can I just stay here for the night, and we’ll sort it out tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid we’ve already given away your room,” she says.
“…Can I book into a different room, then?”
She shrugs sympathetically. “We’re actually fully booked.”
I look around the empty lobby. That seems highly unlikely. I push down the sting of hurt. “Um. Okay. Is there anywhere else I can stay? Should I get a car back to Inverness?” I look out through the resort’s glass doors. It’s almost fully dark outside. The woman gives me a strange look. I realise I’m rocking nervously on the spot and force myself to go still.
Her red lips purse. “You could try. I don’t think the local taxi would be willing to drive all the way down to the city at this hour.”
“The local taxi?” I repeat weakly. “Um. Singular?”
“Yes, the nearest village is Dalbrae, and they only run one car this time of year.”
Right. Because I am in the middle of nowhere. Panic starts to set in. It’s getting dark, and I have nowhere to go.
“Maybe you could try an Airbnb?” she continues. “Some people in the village rent out rooms to hikers.” She turns back to her monitor and starts typing again, obviously done with me.
