Page 38 of Another Lucky Number (Lucky Number #2)

Chapter Thirty-Three

I come around on the sand to Amber and Cat kneeling beside me talking urgently to each other and a hazy group of people watching from a few feet away.

‘Emma, honey, can you hear me?’ Cat’s voice sounds distant and tinny. ‘Amber, we need to get some water in her.’

‘Come on, Emma. Let’s sit you up.’ Amber sounds similarly far away as she and Cat hoist me into a sitting position onto a lounger.

Once I’m more with it, I take the bottle of water being offered to me and glug at it thirstily. The crowd of onlookers is thankfully dispersing, but it does little to ease the sting of humiliation as I catch up with what’s happened. Tears prick at my eyes.

‘I messed up.’

‘You didn’t mess up. You passed out.’ Cat strokes my hair. ‘The heat must have been too much for you. Especially when you were sweating so much. I’m so sorry. We should have thought of that and done it indoors.’

‘Yeah, our bad.’ Amber trickles some water down my face to cool me down .

As much as I want to believe that my faint was due to the heat and dehydration – and it may well have been a factor – the truth is that I was in a blind panic because of the question that woman asked.

And the one before it I only managed to answer because Amber bailed me out.

Which begs the question: how will I cope tomorrow when it’s going to be ten times harder?

My friends continue to fuss around me, checking I’m all right and not going to pass out on them again.

‘Probably best we get you out of this heat,’ says Cat.

‘Do you feel up to walking?’ Amber asks me.

‘Maybe we could get one of those golf cart things to come and get her,’ suggests Cat.

‘ No way .’ I hold up two hands to halt them from taking that idea any further. ‘I do not want Sébastien hearing about this. I’ll be fine to walk. The water has helped.’

‘OK, honey.’ Cat resumes stroking my hair protectively. ‘As long as you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure. Let’s go. I can’t take any more people staring at me.’

‘Nobody’s staring at you.’

‘They are. Trust me.’

Cat and Amber are braced to swoop in and rescue me while I get to my feet, but I wave them away.

If I couldn’t end my presentation with dignity, I can at least try to leave the beach with some.

They flank me on either side while we trudge across the sand towards the pathway that leads to our suites, passing some people I recognise from my ‘audience’ as we go.

A few of them offer sympathetic nods and comments of ‘take care.’

I’m almost at the walkway and feeling like I’ve redeemed myself slightly by not being carried off the beach, when a young couple pass us.

‘That’s her.’ I hear the man mutter under his breath to his partner. ‘ What a flake . No way I’d hire her.’

His partner scoffs by way of a response, and I stiffen, their cruelty rattling through me like a pinball, reinforcing the self-doubt that’s been tearing through my mind.

‘Ignore them.’ Cat threads her arm through mine. ‘That comment says a lot more about him than it does about you.’

‘ Arseholes ,’ Amber mutters. ‘I should go after them and show them what’s what.’

‘Please don’t,’ I say. ‘I don’t need any more drama today – particularly not you getting arrested.’

We walk the rest of the way back in silence, the mood more muted than it’s been all holiday. Cat convinces me to go to her suite so she can keep an eye on me, and I reluctantly agree because I don’t want to worry her, but all I really want is to be left alone.

I lie out on her bed while she and Amber try to get some more upbeat conversation flowing, but it falls flat. This leaves me certain that what’s going through my friends’ heads is the same as what’s going through mine: is this interview such a good idea after all?

Before long, my exhausted mind can no longer cope with juggling my worrisome thoughts. I feel my eyelids drooping and I’m drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later, I wake with a pounding head to an empty room.

At first, I wonder if Cat and Amber have gone out to avoid disturbing me, but then I hear faint voices outside on Cat’s balcony terrace.

Getting up, I walk across to the patio doors, which they’ve left open a crack – probably so they can check on me without waking me – and I’m about to step outside to join them, when I hear a male voice: James.

He’s out there with them, which means they’ve told him what happened and he’s seen me out for the count.

I smart a little at this. Should it not have been up to me to tell him what happened? If I even wanted him to know.

In my hesitation, I pick up the thread of their conversation.

‘I think it’s all been too much.’ I hear Cat say. ‘She’s been through a lot in the last month. Maybe we shouldn’t have encouraged her to go for the job.’

‘You might be right,’ says Amber. ‘She didn’t cope well at all with the practice Q&A session on the beach.

I’m now thinking that’s why she passed out, not because of the heat.

She did better on the presentation itself, but she was literally reading it like a script, same as at breakfast. I didn’t say anything earlier because I had hoped I’d see something more dynamic this afternoon and that I could offer her some helpful feedback then. ’

‘I tried to talk to her about that,’ says James. ‘Don’t think she was in the place to hear it, but who can blame her? The interview’s tomorrow.’

I feel a stab of hurt as they continue to talk about me like I’m a lame pet.

‘This is a big job,’ says Amber. ‘I’ve no doubt she’s got the potential to do it in the longer term, but it might be too soon. I haven’t had the chance to work with her on her confidence and her other weaker areas yet.’

‘I’m also a bit worried about who might be at that presentation tomorrow,’ says Cat. ‘If that horrible bloke who’s had a go at her twice already is there, he could tear into her again. I really don’t want that to happen.’

‘What guy?’ James asks. ‘Emma never mentioned him. He shouldn’t be getting away with that.’

Tears brim in my eyes. They really have no confidence in me. Would they be this forthright to my face? Maybe Amber would, but Cat and James? It all feels underhand them gathering like this to discuss me.

For a moment, I consider going out there and confronting them, but I just don’t have it in me. Instead, I quietly gather my stuff together and slip out of Cat’s suite, accidentally slamming the door behind me.

Cursing myself for that error, I rush along the corridor, removing my sandals as I go, so I can get away faster.

The last thing I want is them catching up with me.

Aware that my suite is the first place they’ll look, I scurry past reception and out the front entrance of the main resort building.

The lush tropical gardens that frame the long driveway from the main road are plentiful, so I can easily stay out of sight here.

With my sandals dangling by my side, I miserably make my way along one of the meandering paths, barely noticing the vibrant flowers and plants or the towering exotic trees.

I pass a large pond and a building that has a sign on it saying ‘staff only’, eventually settling down on a bench that’s well enough concealed to give me the privacy I need.

I’m struggling to process what I heard back in Cat’s suite.

Their care and concern for me was evident, which, if that’s all it was, would be fine.

That’s not what’s bothering me. It’s their lack of belief in me, and how they seemed to think they needed to form a committee to assess my fitness for the interview.

It was hard enough having Amber playing coach with Cat in a supporting role, but James deciding to muscle in on things as well – it’s too much.

And I’d never doubt them like they’re doubting me. That hurts more than anything.

But they have good reason to , an unwelcome voice in my head pipes up.

I’ve might have shown that I’m great on paper.

That I can evidence my skills and experience, create top quality content and build strong arguments.

But I can’t seem to carry that through when presenting to and being challenged by others.

Without the safety blanket of detailed notes, I’m skittish and lacking in self-belief, and I clearly suffer from imposter syndrome in that respect. Why wouldn’t they doubt me?

Regardless of whether Cat, Amber and James are justified in their lack of faith in me, there’s only one logical conclusion here: I need to pull out of the interview.

I can’t bear the thought of them – or Sébastien and the audience at my presentation – cringing and pitying me. It makes me feel physically sick.

Decision made, I walk back through the gardens, into the atrium of the main resort building and across to the reception desk.

‘Emma, how are you?’ Charnice greets me with her usual bright demeanour.

‘Hi, Charnice.’ I give a feeble smile. ‘I’m… not so great actually. Could you pass a message on to Sébastien for me?’

‘Yes, no problem.’

‘Please can you tell him that I’m really sorry, but I need to pull out of the interview tomorrow.’

‘Yes, I can pass that on, Emma. No problem.’ She regards me with concern, and under her scrutiny, I feel the need to justify my request.

‘I’m just… not up to it.’

‘You are unwell? I’m sorry to hear this. I can arrange for you to see a doctor if it would help?’

Although this is not quite what I meant, it’s not altogether untrue. I did pass out on the beach, and I’m not in the best form right now – physically, mentally or emotionally. Charnice could also hear about what happened through the resort grapevine, so it may as well act as my cover story.

‘Thanks for the offer, Charnice. I haven’t been well this afternoon, but there’s no need for the doctor.’

‘All right, Emma. I do hope you feel better soon, and I will pass your message on to Monsieur Dumont straight away.’

I thank Charnice and take the route via the busy poolside and garden back to my suite in the hope that I’ll blend into with the other holidaymakers. I do feel guilty that Cat, Amber and James are possibly looking all over for me, but right now I need to be left in peace.

On reaching my suite, I shake off my sandals and cross the room to the huge bed, suddenly feeling quite home sick.

I pull back the sheets and get under the covers, where, as expected, the tears come thick and fast. This holiday was supposed to be perfect.

It was meant to be about three friends relaxing and having the time of their life: my treat to Cat and Amber on the back of my lottery win.

It should have been that simple. That good.

I could point the finger at Amber: she was the one who ‘prodded’ Sébastien and who set off this whole chain of events.

But it’s not really her fault. She’s a chancer – an opportunist. I could have said no when Sébastien offered me the interview.

It was my hunger to find my dream job, not just her and Cat’s encouragement, that made me gun for it.

And then there’s James. He’s amazing and so damn gorgeous, and the thought of not continuing things with him makes my heart shred like that Banksy painting at the auction, but he’s another fixer.

I kind of knew that from when we first met that he was a helper – though at that time I mistakenly thought it was that he had an ego-driven hero complex.

But he’s not just a helper, it seems he likes to fix things (and in this case, it means he’s trying to ‘fix me’).

Is that what I need in my life? Between my parents and Amber, I’m not sure I can cope with any more people trying to improve me.

I want to build-a-better-Emma, but too many voices will beat me down, not lift me up.

I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, for what seems like an eternity. I have no idea what time it is and I don’t care. I’m still exhausted and just when I’m at the point of falling back asleep, there’s a loud rapping at my suite door.