‘You know I did,’ I said, exasperated. ‘I tell you every time you mention him – which is on the regular.’ Honestly… she didn’t listen to a word I said.
Leo and I had applied for the same internship in our early twenties and both got it. It was the summer after he’d graduated and I’d just moved to London. I’d been firing out my CV to PR agencies for months and couldn’t believe it when one of them finally replied, let alone one of the big five. I’d been so excited walking through their flashy front doors on my first day and signing in. Engelman was in the heart of the action on Soho Square, and it had felt like a dream to be sat waiting in their huge white reception, sipping on a matcha latte. The only flash of colour came from the elaborate vase of wildflowers on the glass table, until fancy-pants Leo Kendrick walked in. There was only one permanent job on offer at the end of the internship and the second I saw his floppy black hair and easy smile, I knew he’d get it.
‘Morning,’ he’d said, sitting opposite me. ‘Reception said you’re interning too. I’m Leo.’
‘Hey,’ I’d said, feeling instantly shy. ‘I’m Kat.’
He’d seemed so much older than me, like a real grown-up, not a student, and he had an innate polish to him I could never have matched. He’d been to a real university and I’d been to the university of life, and you could tell. Everything about him screamed class and sophistication, from his tailored suit to his manicured nails. I’d sellotaped my hem up after it had unravelled on the bus and felt like a shambles in comparison.
On our first day we were briefed to review the Engelman PR and judge how successfully they were promoting themselves as a company. It was our special project to do alongside the real job and we’d worked on the presentation for months to get the thinking just right. I’d secretly hoped they might findtwo permanent roles so we could both work there, but when it came to the day of the meeting, I was off sick. I’d stupidly eaten a hot dog from a street vendor the night before and been vomiting all morning. I still had the text I’d sent when I’d realised there was no way I could go in.
Me: I’m so sorry to abandon you.
Leo: Don’t worry, I’ll represent.
Me: Yes, make it clear it’s both our work. Keep saying my name.
Leo: Got it :)
Leo presented our analysis and ideas to the bosses and however many times he’d said my name, he got the job. The panel had loved the analysis and ideas, but without me there, they must have seen it as his success alone. When they told me I hadn’t made the cut, they said it seemed like I hadn’t been pulling my weight and might be better suited to an assistant role somewhere. I’d been so frustrated and angry at the unfairness of it all. I had no idea what went down in that meeting, what Leo had said – or not said – to sway the board in his favour, and I didn’t stay around to find out. I was going to find it hard to stay civil for two whole weeks on this cruise.
‘Those Amplify boys are double trouble as far as I’m concerned and I plan to avoid them as much as possible.’ Heidi stood up, a determined look on her face. ‘I suggest you do the same.’
‘Understood,’ I said, drawing myself up to my full five foot five. I didn’t need telling twice; this was a nightmare double-date scenario, but we weren’t trapped together in a cupboard, we’d be on a thousand-foot boat. Plenty of room to avoid each other – if we saw each other at all.
Three
Wednesday 23rd June
The journey to Dover was hit by weather chaos every step of the way and it was a relief when the taxi finally pulled into the harbour. Hurricane-level rain as we’d thundered through the Surrey Hills on the train, then sunny as you like on the south coast with the calming slosh of waves leading us towards the boats. Enormous seagulls circled overhead, cawing loudly and dive-bombing tourists as they tried to tuck into their fish and chips.
‘Look at the size of it!’ Heidi cried, ducking as one swooped past us, scanning for food with angry, yellow eyes.
‘The seagull or the ship?’ I said, staring up in horror atEsmeralda.
The cruise liner completely blocked the horizon, the sun bouncing off the windows as hundreds of black dots moved around the decks. The crew must have been scrubbing for weeks for it to shine so bright, with both the Union Jack and the Portuguese flag at full mast, fluttering in the wind. I had a full-onTitanic-panic asI looked at my holiday home for the next fortnight. How did it float? HOW? I’d convinced myself the ship would be so big it wouldn’t feel claustrophobic at all. But standing here next to it, feeling so small and insignificant, was giving me palpitations. It was four times the size of their other ships and I’d be sleeping in a tiny tin bed, inside a tiny tin bedroom aboard a gigantic TIN BOX that somehow floated on the water. With no one to help if anything went wrong. The boat version of Russian dolls. My breathing went shallow and the volume of the world suddenly went quiet, replaced by a ringing in my ears. I was going to faint.
‘Kat? Are you OK, love? You’ve gone slightly green.’ Heidi put her hand on my forehead.
I gave her a weak smile and nodded. Excalibur Cruises wasmyaccount, and nobody was taking it from me – not without a massive fight, at least. I was getting on that boat no matter what, and I’d be sleeping in that teeny, tiny tin bed.
‘I’m just hot,’ I said, using my hand as a fan and looking around. ‘I need a drink.’
‘You and me both,’ Heidi said, swiping two champagnes from the meet-and-greeters at the bottom of the ramp. The crowd were mingling while they waited to check in, and there was a day one party going on, with a DJ and drinks. Checking in and getting on board was a whole event in itself and the soon-to-be cruisers bobbed along to nineties tunes in anticipation while they stood in the make-shift queue. Champagne wasn’t the kind of drink I’d had in mind, but I made the best of a bad situation and knocked it back, clocking all the fifty-somethings nudging forwardeager to get on the ship. My soon-to-be holiday besties. There was clearly a cruisinglook– and neither Heidi nor I were wearing it. The men were in navy jackets and pink trousers, with boat shoes and no socks, while the women fluttered around like excited butterflies in floaty dresses and Panama hats. Purples, greens, pinks and yellows – my black shorts and matching jacket were stuffy and dull in comparison.
‘I’m overdressed,’ I said, nodding at them.
‘You’re dressed to impress, which is exactly how it should be,’ Heidi replied. ‘We’re working, remember – this lot are all on holiday.’
I was always in awe of the perfectly buffed women with manicured nails and swishy blow-dries when they arrived on holiday. That was occasionally how I looked on the flight home, once I’d had a fortnight’s peace and time to think about myself, but never on the way out. It was hard to commit to appointments when I was on client-call twenty-four-seven. I’d cancelled the hairdresser so many times over the years that they wouldn’t let me book anymore; I could only go on standby. My holidays these days were all about powering down and recuperating, which usually started with a solid day of sleep. I’d crawl exhausted onto the plane, looking a total wreck, with a plan to beautify myself once I’d arrived. A plan that worked less than five per cent of the time.
‘Kat! Heidi!’ A bronzed hand with bright red fingernails and adorned with gold rings waved above the crowd, and Brooke’s face appeared through the melee. ‘There you are!’ she gushed. ‘I’ve been hunting everywhere.’ She was wearing a burnt-orange dress, with gold sunglasses and sandals tomatch. A willowy flame with a feathery white cape, and certainly not dressed for work.
‘Morning!’ Heidi and I sang in unison, then kicked into profesh mode, speaking over each other in our rush to ingratiate ourselves.
‘We’re so excited to be here!’
‘The ship looks amazing!’
