Annie Lyons - Life Or Something Like It

‘Oh God. Where was Dan when this was going on?’

‘Oh he’s in the pictures too. So much for trusting him to take care of things. We’re finished, Cat. Completely finished.’

Chapter Three

Cat opened her eyes and as the reality of the last twenty-four hours hit her, she closed them again. She could hear her phone’s murmuring buzz from the drawer where she had tossed it last night. She never put her phone on silent and she never shut it away but she had broken both habits since the events of Wednesday. However, these particular changes were the least of her worries. She had effectively lost everything: her job, her reputation, her life as it had been up to that point.

The fallout had been immediate and severe. She hadn’t even gone into the office; Hemingway Media was under siege. There were members of the press at the front door trying to talk to anyone who entered and the phone was ringing off the hook. Every journalist loves a cock-up and this particular cock-up was gold dust because it contained the nation’s top-three scandal ingredients: an overpaid footballer, a prostitute and drugs.

Of course, in the social media arena of damning judgement, someone had to be blamed and, naturally, it wasn’t going to be the superstar footballer. True, he had lost his sponsorship deal with Daily Grind but his agent, Will, had already hired another PR firm to deal with damage limitation. Alvarro was sorry – he apologised to the fans, his club; he was stupid and young and didn’t know what he was doing; he was photographed looking contrite next to his stern-faced mother; she became an immediate internet star and he was in the clear. He was still a brilliant footballer with a bright future ahead of him. He promised to go into rehab and sort out his problems.

For Cat, the future was decidedly murky. Ironically, she had met with Jesse at the branch of Daily Grind round the corner from their office. He was grim-faced. Daily Grind were threatening to sue for loss of income and Alvarro’s agent, Will, had already put in a call to Hemingway Media’s American backers, demanding his pound of flesh. Cat had been in PR long enough to know how these things worked but she still nurtured a secret hope that Jesse might have a solution.

‘What did Donald say?’ asked Cat, trying to keep her voice calm. Donald Carter was the CEO of Greenwich Media who had a sixty per cent stake in Hemingway. Cat had only met him once and remembered his vice-like handshake and disturbingly hairy knuckles. He had a tough reputation and five ex-wives.

‘Well, he sort of bellowed and I sort of listened with the phone at quite a distance from my ear,’ admitted Jesse.

‘I’m sorry, Jesse,’ said Cat quietly. ‘This is all my fault.’

Jesse noticed her worried face and reached out his hand. ‘No no, Kit Kat. I don’t think you could have changed anything even if you’d been there.’

‘I could have taken Alvarro back to his hotel and chained him to the bed,’ asserted Cat.

‘To be honest, I think he would have enjoyed that,’ observed Jesse, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

Cat gave him a weak smile. ‘I’m guessing Donald wants a scalp,’ sighed Cat, staring at her hands. ‘I’ll step down.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ said Jesse quietly.

Cat shrugged. ‘I know Dan being fired won’t be enough for Donald or Will and I should have been there.’ She felt tears prick her eyes and brushed them away angrily. Cat Nightingale did not cry.

‘Hey,’ said Jesse taking hold of her hands. ‘It’s okay, Kit Kat. What do we always say? Shit happens and we turn up with a shovel and chuck it over next door’s fence. This will be old news soon.’

She nodded and he took hold of her hands and looked into her eyes. ‘I’m going to tell Donald that you’ve stepped down but only temporarily. It will show him that we’re taking a stand but he knows how good you are. He’s no fool. He won’t want to lose someone with your reputation to the competition so we’ll call it a temporary suspension. On full pay, of course.’

Suspended on full pay . Cat felt sick at the thought. ‘Do you think he’ll agree to it?’

Jesse put a hand on his heart. ‘Trust me, I’ll make him agree.’ He was full of confidence. Cat had no choice but to believe him. He’d never let her down before.

As they said goodbye, he kissed her on the cheek and hugged her. It wasn’t a PR affectation but an affectionate embrace. She held on to him for a moment, taking comfort from his warmth. After he left, she looked around at the busy, buzzing coffee shop – the people moving with purpose through their lives. She felt the panic rise up. Cat was never idle; she was always busy. She quickly gathered her things and hurried to the Tube; got to keep moving, don’t stop to think about it.

For the rest of the day, she was glued to her iPad. Social media had underpinned her existence for so long, she didn’t know what else to do. Of course every newsfeed was taken over by Alvarro but only the PR insiders knew of her involvement in the debacle. She tried to skirt around it, to join in tweet-chats with her usual PR clique but it soon became clear that she had been frozen out as they either gave cursory replies or failed to respond. Only Ava sent her a Direct Message later that afternoon.

Ava Jackson @avamwah Just Now

Hey sweetie, tough deal. Drinks soon? Ax

This was typical Ava and Cat was grateful; it was a crumb of comfort in an otherwise shit day. Her phone rang continuously, mostly journalists wanting a comment. She ignored them, tiring quickly of its incessant buzzing. She knew she was in trouble when by eight o’clock that evening she had shut her phone in a drawer, was lying on her bed in her pyjamas, nursing her third glass of wine and watching reruns of America’s Next Top Model .

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking loudly on her front door. She considered pulling the duvet over her head and hiding under the covers but the sight of the empty wine bottle on the bedside cabinet gave her a much-needed reality check. Cat was not about to fall apart. She had to pull herself together. The events of yesterday were a mere blip and she would not wallow in self-pity or drink herself into a stupor. The knocking grew louder and more persistent, so she threw on her dressing gown, smoothed her hair and prayed that her breath smelt better than it tasted. She was surprised but not disappointed to find Andrew peering through the glass in the front door, a worried frown on his face. She opened the door.

‘Don’t say a word about my appearance,’ she warned as she stood back to let him in.

‘I’m a bloke. We don’t notice stuff like that. Mind you, you do look like shit,’ he joked.

‘Thank you. Blame Alvarro Diaz.’

‘Want me to go and kick him in the ankles?’ asked Andrew, his eyes twinkling. ‘Because no-one messes with my big sis.’

Cat laughed in spite of herself. ‘Would it help?’

‘Probably not but the offer’s there and I do feel partly to blame.’

‘So you should,’ joked Cat. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was going to happen regardless. Anyway, where are your children? Have you sold them into slavery?’

‘Tempting but no. They’re at a friend’s.’

‘Oh well it’s nice that you came to check on your sister.’

‘Actually I have an ulterior motive,’ admitted Andrew.

‘Just as long as you don’t want me to look after your children during my “career break”,’ said Cat making air quotes.

Andrew bit his lip and tried not to make eye contact with his sister. Cat stared at him in horror. ‘Was that the real reason you came to see me?’

Andrew pretended to be offended. ‘No-o. I wanted to check you were okay but I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t occurred to me.’