Page 87 of Another Lucky Number

In addition to the messages of concern from the girls, there’s one more on our group chat from Cat, letting me know they’ll be at the beach bar – which doubles up as an à la carte breakfast spot – at nine a.m..

I’m about to reply to say I’ll see them there, when I clock the time on my phone – it’s 5.03 a.m.. With Cat and Amber having told me the night before to call or message if I needed anything, I fully expect they’ll have kept the ringers theirphones switched on overnight, which means it’s way too early to message back.

Abandoning that idea, my eyes are drawn to the unread messages on my Messenger app from James. The oldest is from yesterday afternoon, expressing similar concern to that of the girls’ messages, and apologising for the conversation I overheard. Then there’s one more, obviously sent after he’d been told that they’d found me.

Hi again. I hear you’re back in your suite and that you want to be left in peace. I will obviously respect that, but I need you to know I’m sincerely sorry for what happened. I only ever wanted to help. I think you’re an amazing woman who’s capable of so much, and I’m gutted to hear you’ve pulled out of your interview because of this. I hope we can still fix ‘us’ because I miss you already. x

Guilt pricks at me. James will have seen that I didn’t even read his message last night. He’s probably wondering what that means – though maybe not. I don’t yet know him well enough to understand how he thinks, but if it were the other way around, I’d have convinced myself that he was going to ditch me. My hope is that Cat and Amber told him I was going straight to bed. Because as much as I now have big doubts about us, I do have feelings for him, and I don’t want to hurt him any more than I have to. I’ll reply at a more reasonable hour (just in case he also has the ringer switched on on his phone) and ask him to meet me in the afternoon. That will give me some time to figure out where I’m at and what I want to say to him.

Now fully awake and alert, my brain hands me another unwelcome bone to chew on: the fact that I should have beengoing to my interview in several hours’ time. But I’m not. Because I pulled out.

I pace around my room as I try to work out how I feel about this. There’s a strong sense of cowardly relief fighting a competing chunk of disappointment, but there’s also something else: the feeling that I’ve let myself down. I consider calling Lottie, but having not told her anything about my interview in the first place, I decide against it. She doesn’t need me crying to her about the latest cock-up I’ve become embroiled in – especially as I haven’t followed her advice about having some proper downtime. No. This one I have to work through myself.

Pulling back the curtains, I open the patio doors and step out into the early morning air – and a monsoon style downpour, which has been masked by the (clearly very effective) soundproofing of my suite.

One day too late. I laugh ironically, remembering my desperation for something to hijack my presentation practice the previous afternoon.

Remaining by the patio doors to avoid getting soaked, I breathe in the moist air, expecting to at least feel a sense of freedom from having thrown off the shackles of my impending interview. But it doesn’t come. Something’s niggling at me, and it doesn’t take long to work out what it is: the feeling of failure. I guess that was always going to come. But Ihavedone the right thing pulling out of the interview.

Haven’t I?

The rain subsides and I nip inside to grab a towel and the novel I’m reading in the hope that it will distract my troubled mind. After drying off one of the patio chairs, I settle myself down but I can’t seem to get into the story, and before I realise what I’m doing, I’ve made another trip inside and picked up my presentation notes. Shrugging to myself, I make a cup of green tea, then I head back outside and do exactly as James suggested:I re-write my notes, but this time with key points to replace my scripted approach.

Once I’ve finished, I set my old notes aside and try delivering my presentation out loud with this new approach. At first, it feels impossible. My mind constantly blanks, and I hesitate, stutter, stumble (and curse) until I almost give up.Almost, but not quite. Because a fire has been lit inside me, and I can’t let it go. I can’t let this be a wasted opportunity. If I can at least come away from this experience having achieved something, then I won’t have unnecessarily stolen away everyone’s time – and ruined our girls holiday.

After a short break to clear my head and second cup of tea, I take another stab at it, and this time it’s not a complete car crash. More of a bumper-to-bumper collision. But it’s the glimmer of progress I needed to see. Encouraged by this, I keep going, and by the time I stop to get ready for breakfast, I’m feeling quite proud of myself. I’ll never be asked to do aTed Talk, granted, but I can see how much better my presentation flows – and how much betterIcome across – all thanks to James’s suggestion.

Half an hour later, I’m on my way to meet Cat and Amber with what could almost be described as a spring in my step. I may have squandered the biggest career opportunity of my life, but at least I’ve redeemed myself enough to hold my head high. And I have something positive to report to them.

‘Morning.’ I slide into my seat while admiring the sea view, which, even with the ominous clouds rolling across the horizon is still amazing. ‘This is nice. A lovely change from the buffet restaurant.’

‘How are you, honey?’ Cat clutches my hand, her face etched with concern.

‘I’m OK. Better than I expected.’

‘That’s good. Did you sleep well?’

‘I did. I was out for the count within minutes of you leavingmy suite. Meant I woke up stupidly early, but I feel refreshed, and I’ve been using the time productively.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Amber looks up from the breakfast menu. ‘What have you been doing? I’m assuming not James.’

I wince at the mention of his name. ‘Correct. I’ve actually spent the morning practising my presentation.’

‘You have?’ Amber shares a look with Cat. ‘Emma, youdoremember what happened yesterday? That you pulled out of the interview?’

‘Of course I remember. I haven’t completely lost it.’

‘Do you have any regrets?’

I thank the waiter who has just served us tea, coffee and toast before considering her question. ‘Yes and no… It’s mixed. The pressure being removed is a relief, but I also feel like I’ve let myself down… that I’ve failed somehow.’

‘You haven’tfailed.’ Cat squeezes my hand to punctuate this point.

‘I know that – sort of. But it did feel like I’d wasted everyone’s time, so when I got up this morning I felt the need to redeem myself. To havesomethingto show for this whole experience.’

‘Now you’re thinking like a kick-ass professional,’ says Amber. ‘And?’

‘And so, I worked on my presentation skills.’ I butter a piece of toast as I talk. ‘I re-wrote my notes with key points instead of a script, as James suggested, and I spent some time practising my delivery with that approach.’

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