Page 28 of Another Lucky Number

‘Good. Glad there’s a brain in there somewhere. Even if it needs a bit of a kickstart.’

‘Hey,I object to that,’ I complain.‘Facing a scary interview while on the holiday of a lifetime would be a challenge foranyone. The heat and humidity doesn’t help either. It gets to me.’

‘And to your hair.’

‘Stop it.’ I self-consciously reach up and try to flatten it. ‘My hair’s a pain in the arse in this climate. You don’t need to point it out.’

Amber sits back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

‘Amber, seriously…’ Cat shakes her head in despair. ‘Do you want to destroy Emma’s confidence before you’ve even started working with her? All you’ll do is give yourself an even bigger job.’ She shifts her focus to me. ‘Honey, your hair is fine. And I love that lip gloss on you.’

I cease trying to plaster my unfortunate barnet to my head as if that will somehow make it better.

‘Whatever.’ Amber rolls her eyes. ‘That was your first test, Emma – which you failed. For this job, you need to be confident and not give a shit what others think of you. You also need to let things wash over you. There are nasty politics in every workplace, no matter how good it might appear from the outside looking in, and you need to be prepared for that. What will you do if one of the resort team takes a shot at you during the Q&A session? Not in an obvious way, but they could take a disliking to you for whatever reason and say something about your presentation that’s engineered to make you look bad.’

‘That’s a fair point,’ I say. ‘The thought of that terrifies me. I’m not good at handling that kind of thing, especially under pressure.’

‘Cat, what would you do?’ Amber asks.

‘Well…’ Cat appears to think for a moment. ‘I’d probably thank them for their input, acknowledge the comment and anything helpful within it, but not focus on it too much – it would likely be their own issues at the root of it, not mine. Then I’d politely counter their opinion, making sure I put my point across well.’

‘And then?’

‘I’d move on and forget about it.’

‘Text book answer.’ Amber slaps Cat on the back proudly. ‘See, Emma. That’s how it’s done. Now we need to get you to the same point – by Monday.’

I give a nervous laugh. I really don’t want to be the person who freezes during a takedown, or who lets others get to her. I want to be able to take on anyone and anything; to stand tall and come out confident and composed. The question is: can I really achieve that in two and a half days?

Chapter Thirteen

After a leisurely lunch at the cafe, during which Amber, Cat and I chatted some more about my interview prep plan, we make a pit stop at Cat’s suite to pick up her iPad, before heading to the cocktail bar to start ‘work’. Once settled at a table in the shade overlooking the mammoth-sized swimming pool, we order some cocktails and Amber disappears to the ladies, while Cat gets connected to the Wi-Fi.

I pass the time with some people watching and a thought strikes me: will any of these fellow holidaymakers be at my presentation on Monday?

Before I know it, I’m assessing their potential for giving me a hard time. There’s a small group of middle-aged women deep in conversation, with positive, affectionate body language. I can imagine them smiling encouragingly, trying to put me at ease. Yes, I’d be happy enough for them to be there. Then there are two mature couples sitting together quietly. The men – both wearing cowboy hats – seem to have nodded off, while their other halves converse in almost a whisper, most likely to avoid disturbing their dozing spouses. They can definitely come too.

My ears then tune into raucous laughter, and my gazelands on what appears to be a large family gathering: eight adults, a handful of excitable children, and a couple of awkward-looking teenagers engrossed in their phones. One of the men in the group – clearly the alpha from the way he’s behaving – catches my attention. It’s nothing more than an instinct, but straight away there’s something that makes me uneasy about him. He’s telling a story, his companions transfixed, and he’s so loud that it’s impossible not to pick up what he’s saying.

‘And that’s when I’dhad it,’ he all but bellows. ‘Who does she think she is? She’s a bloodymaid, she’s there to serveme.’

Shocked by this pompous, superior air, I study the man more carefully. He’s greying, probably early to mid-sixties, with an American accent and an unhealthy redness to his face: more the product of years of overindulgence, than being light-handed with the factor thirty.

‘I called for the duty manager,’ he continues. ‘She’d better deal with it properly so that girl remembers her place in the pecking order. Makes me wonder who they’re hiring here.’

My shock turns to indignation. This man isn’t just pompous, he’s vile. What’s worse is that the other adults of the group are nodding along, making similar derogatory comments.Who the hell do they think they are?I imagine myself striding up to the man and putting him firmly in his place.

While lost in this vengeful daydream, I forget that I’m still watching him.

‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ He suddenly interrupts my thoughts, voice dripping with arrogance.

‘Um… no, sorry…’ I stutter. ‘I was… miles away.’

Flustered, I bang my knee painfully against the table, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to cry out in agony. Then I hear the man mocking me.

‘Nosey one, she is. If it’s not the staff then it’s the other darn guests. We should think about going somewhere else next time.’

Flinching at the viciousness of his words, I feel a sting I know I shouldn’t allow from a total stranger.

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