Lindsey Kelk - I Heart Forever

‘Have you heard the latest?’ Megan asked.

‘About Britney and the dancer and the box of cupcakes?’ I asked. ‘I refuse to believe it. Unless it’s true in which case, it’s amazing.’

‘No, about The Look ,’ she peered around us and leaned forward with a furtive frown. ‘Sophie says one of the girls at Belle heard the new brand manager tell the editor that it’s closing.’

I felt a wash of something cold and icky run all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

‘My first job in New York was on The Look ,’ I whispered urgently. ‘They can’t close it, The Look is an institution.’

Megan’s eyebrows flickered upwards in agreement and she held a hand over her mouth as she chewed. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s only a rumour but it’s awful. Still, I know this is terrible to say but better The Look than Gloss , right?’

It was terrible to say but it was even more terrible that I was thinking the exact same thing.

‘Spencer has got off so lightly with mags closing,’ she said, swallowing a bite of donut. ‘Condé Nast, Hearst, Bauer – they’ve all folded big titles. I guess we should have seen this coming.’

‘I say we don’t worry about it until we know what there is to worry about,’ I said, turning my rings around my finger underneath the table. ‘I’m almost certain the people at Vegan Parent Quarterly should be more worried than us or The Look .’

Personally, I still wasn’t convinced that VPQ wasn’t a front for some kind of underground meth operation, but Delia insisted it was a real publication. The world was a strange and confusing place sometimes.

‘You’re right,’ Megan nodded in agreement. ‘We shouldn’t stress out so much, they’re only rumours right now. Do anything fun last night?’

Drank too much. Ate too little. Listened to my best friend being a complete tool. Almost died.

‘Nope,’ I replied shortly. ‘You?’

‘I had a date,’ she grinned. ‘Tinder finally came up with something decent.’

‘How was it?’ I asked, sipping slowly from a tiny bottle of water.

‘Not terrible,’ she replied brightly. ‘I know my bar is set kinda low but I liked him, he was nice. Not a serial killer.’

‘Not a serial killer is about as low as you can go,’ I said. ‘But yay.’

‘Probably shouldn’t have gone home with him,’ she replied, weighing up the decision on her face as I tried to hide my matronly shock. ‘But that whole not sleeping with guys on a first date is a myth, right? It doesn’t really make any difference, not if he likes you?’

‘I feel like we have published that article more than once,’ I assured her. ‘All you can do is what’s right at the time. And, you know, use several methods of protection.’

‘Thanks, Mom,’ Megan laughed before stopping short and biting her lip. ‘Um, do you need me for this meeting because I kind of need to run out to the drugstore?’

‘Go,’ I ordered. ‘Now. Leave the donut.’

Leaving her laptop and the rest of the sugary pastry on the table, Megan bolted for the door just as Cici appeared, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and, for some reason, heavy-framed black glasses on her face. She turned her nose up as Megan ran by, slipped into the meeting room and closed the door behind her.

‘Why are you wearing glasses?’ I asked as she took Megan’s seat, pushing her colleague’s computer and breakfast into the middle of the table.

‘I’ve worn them before,’ she said, turning her phone to silent. ‘I wear glasses.’

She definitely hadn’t, and she definitely didn’t, but I didn’t have the time or the energy to investigate Cici’s weirdness today.

‘Hey guys, can we get started?’ I waved to the team assembled round the table. ‘Lots to get through.’

I was proud of my magazine. I’d come up with the idea for Gloss with the help of my friends – a cool, fun weekly magazine we gave away for free across New York City, and after five years of my literal blood, sweat and tears, it was now a real, live actual thing that was distributed all across America. Not bad for a British girl who had arrived in Manhattan with a weekend bag, a credit card, and no bloody idea what she was doing. Every time I saw someone reading it on the subway, I felt myself smiling – even if the celebrity on the cover had been an absolute nightmare, even if getting it to print on time had taken years off my life, it was still a kick. Gloss really was my baby, and like the parents of most five-year-olds, I’d lost more than one night’s sleep over it. But like almost all the parents of most five-year-olds, I wouldn’t have changed it for anything. I loved the team, they were all hardworking, dedicated, and while I wasn’t about to offer any of them a kidney for shits and giggles, they made me love coming to work every day.

‘First, I want to say how brilliant this week’s issue is looking – loving your work, people.’ I paused so they could all clap themselves and smiled while I silently wondered whether or not people applauded their own achievements in British magazine offices. ‘Next, the Channing Tatum interview. Someone’s going to have to go out to LA to do it.’

The entire table put up their hands.

‘Really?’ I eyed Jason, the managing editor. ‘You want to go to LA to interview Channing Tatum even though you’ve never conducted an interview in your life?’

‘I’m not that interested in the interview part but I would like to hang with Chan,’ he replied. ‘And I am very happy to go to LA in order to make that happen.’

You and me both, I added, noting down names and silently lamenting the fact I couldn’t just assign the job to myself. Being the boss was shit.

‘Also, there’s the Balmain feature to think about,’ I said. ‘We’re going to be working with Belle on this one so it’s going to be short notice but, short notice in Paris so not too much of a compromise. Sophie, you’re good for that, yeah?’

The fashion editor nodded, jigging her shoulders up and down in a happy little chair dance.

‘Do I get to fly first class?’ she asked, giddy as the proverbial kipper. ‘I love it when they give you the little pyjamas on the plane.’

‘I’ll buy you a pair of pyjamas and we’ll save ten grand on the travel budget,’ I replied. ‘Or I can go to Paris instead? Save you the bother?’

She pouted and shook her head.

‘Thought that might be the case. Right, super exciting, we’ve got a phoner confirmed with Irene Kim for the My Social Life column …’ I crossed off the points as I went. There was so much to keep track of and my brain felt like a Christmas pudding: only any good when covered in booze and just about ready to be set on fire. ‘She’s in Seoul, at the moment, and the call is set for four in the afternoon, her time.’

‘What time is that here?’ Sophie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I said, pulling out my phone to check the world clock. ‘Oh. Three in the a.m.’

The entire table flinched at once.

‘I know, but she’s a really good get,’ I pressed, as convincing as possible. From the looks on their faces, I was not very convincing. ‘And she’s got amazing social media; it’ll make for a great column – she isn’t doing a lot of press.’

‘I would, but I’ve got the Bobbi Brown launch first thing,’ Sophie said, piling regret into her voice even if she wasn’t able to wipe the smirk off her face.

I looked to the entertainment editor. She shrugged, all apologies. ‘I’m covering the Andrew Garfield premiere tonight and who knows how late that will go. I’m heartbroken, though, I love Ileen.’