Urvi
“My arms are like limp noodles,” Kira cried from her bunk when our alarm went off at six o’clock the second morning in a row. “Seriously, the bastards won’t move. Urvels, help me!” She was still sprawled like a starfish on her covers in her tiny pajamas, and we had to be in the kitchen in five minutes or suffer the wrath of Short Man Syndrome himself. All our other bunkmates had already left.
I rolled my eyes. “Ki Ki, get your arse up you idiot.”
“I can’t move,’ she whined. “And I’m so tired of all the cockwombles on this boat.” She paused for a moment and then started singing/shouting Dolly Parton,9 to 5, badly.
I’d put my hands on my hips at first but she was just so ridiculous that by the end of the first verse I was laughing. I flopped down next to her on the bed and sang the rest with her.
We were having such a shitty time on the boat that I closed my eyes and let myself have this moment to sing the chorus.
I dimly registered that Kira was quiet.
After I held the last note, the cabin filled with silence. I looked up at Kira who was now sitting up in the bed and staring at me with watery eyes.
“Buggering badgers,” she breathed. “That was insane. You’ve got a voice on you, girl. Every time I hear it it’s a massive shock. You should be up on some stadium stage somewhere, wowing an audience. Not serving drinks to a bunch of wankpuffins.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m a composer - at least, that’s what I want to be. Performing is . . .” I paused. In some ways I just couldn’t imagine letting my compositions be performed by someone else. There was a small part of me, buried deep under my insecurities, that knewIneeded to be the one to do it. That even felt excited by the prospect. But somehow that part of me never seemed to win out. In truth, the negativity around my music from my family probably had a large part to play in my not wanting to perform it. “. . . not my gig. I come out in a stress rash if I ever have to go on a stage.”
“Hmm,” she said, rubbing her chin. “We’ll just see about that, young lady. Just you wait till Bunt Fest.”
I sighed as Kira raised her arms above her head and I pulled off her vest top. Everything about Kira wasdrama!But she was one of the funniest and kindest people I’d ever met.
She wasn’t completely right though - the boat wasn’t full of just wankpuffins, but therewerea fair few of them. And I was now at peace with the fact that Jack was to be counted in their number. He’d been deliberately ignoring me since I arrived. Gone was the smiling, charming man who went out of his way to be kind to bar staff, and stood out among the other city boys as being genuinely decent and fun. He’d been replaced by an arrogant twat with a chip on his shoulder. Maybe he was worried that if he showed me any glimmer of attention I might embarrass him by attempting an actual conversation. It had hurt me that first night, but I was over it now. And besides, I had my own troubles to contend with.
The weight of the trays we had to carry, whether they were laden with food or champagne glasses, was insane. My feet ached, my arms ached and I had a constant headache from exhaustion. We only went to bed after all the guests had and last night that wasn’t until two in the morning. Even then I hadn’t been able to sleep. Not after I’d gone to check the main bathroom in the guest quarters and run into Stella emerging from Jack’s room with a smug smile on her face. Why I was disappointed I had no idea – it wasn’t like he was the wonderful man I had thought he was before this trip. But that didn’t stop my stupid eyes from stinging and the ache starting up in my chest as I scuttled back to the bunkroom, or change the fact that sleep had then evaded me for hours.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, this morning I’d had to get up three quarters of an hour early to check my blood sugar, inject my insulin and make sure I ate something low GI that would hopefully last me through the morning. Because once we started work at six there wasn’t really any time for breaks. Hence my blood sugar control was poor at best, and downright dangerous at worst.
Yes, Mr Blight was an arsehole, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. I still hadn’t told him or anyone else that I had diabetes, so when he’d refused my requests to go on a proper break so I could eat an actual meal he didn’t know that I’d just injected insulin and needed to eata meal, not just a few canapés and leftovers “on the go”.
I knew now how stupid it had been not to fill in the health questionnaire I was sent before arriving here correctly. But leavingoutinformation didn’t seem like such a big lie, and I was worried that if I declared my diabetes it could jeopardise my place on the boat. I was well aware that some travel insurance companies declined to cover diabetics. What if the policy covering the boat has a similar stance? Often it was a case of them not wanting to take the risk. And I needed the money.
Kira had been watching me with concern and trying to cover for me so I could go on breaks, but it wasn’t working. And anyway, I didn’t want her to worry so I was hiding how difficult everything was. A couple of times I’d even lied about my blood sugar readings to assuage her concern.
But today I was going to be more organised about my condition. It didn’t have to hold me back and it didn’t have to get in the way: I refused to let it.
Chapter 6
Are you drunk?
Jack
“I may die from old age before I can bloody well drink this mojito at this rate, darling,” Stella said to me in a stage whisper, and Urvi’s back stiffened. She was just transferring some crushed ice into the tall glass, but seemed to be hindered by a slight shake to her hands.
“So sorry,” Urvi muttered, placing the drink on the bar in front of Stella and then pushing some tendrils of hair off her forehead that had been stuck down with the light sheen of sweat on her face.
“Ah, wonderful,” Stella said, giving Urvi a tight smile. “No offence but you don’t look terribly well.”
The fake concern in her voice grated on my nerves and I resisted the urge to drag her away from Urvi. I really just wanted Stella to bugger off so I could ask Urvi if she was okay. My policy of avoiding Urvi had been going well until today when I’d run into her on the way to lunch in corridor. We’d nearly collided and she then took a while to get her balance back, swaying precariously on her feet despite her flat shoes. I’d caught her shoulders to steady her and noticed those dark circles were even more pronounced, her cheeks were hollower and that spark I’d always seen in her eyes was almost completely extinguished. It had been such a shock to see her like that that after she was no longer in danger of falling, I dropped my hands from her shoulders and took a step back. By the time I’d managed to find my voice she’d disappeared into the staff cabins and I couldn’t follow her there.
Liz had then intercepted me, clearly furious. She wanted our company to drop George as a client – she didn’t think it did our reputation any good doing business with him. Unlike Stella, Liz did not relish this side of the business. She was not comfortable schmoozing clients on my fancy boat. She would rather let our work speak for itself. After a drawn out debate I ended up losing my temper and telling her to “live in the real bloody world”. The final straw though was when Stella found us in the lounge area mid-argument and proceeded to speak to Liz in a tone so patronising that it even putmyteeth on edge. Liz had stormed out and was now on the next flight back to London. So the rest of my afternoon was spent trying to make sure we didn’t lose my most talented creative director, and it was only now I’d had a chance to track Urvi down. But when I came over, Stella was already digging her claws in.
“I think Brent Mitchell was looking for you, Stell,” I said and watched her eyes light up. She’d been chasing that account forever. I turned to Urvi as Stella hustled away. She was already making another vile-looking cocktail for another pretentious wanker who’d just asked her for a “Porn Star Margarita” and given her a cheesy wink. Seriously, I was starting to hate all the people in my industry. Maybe Liz had a point. Urvi was trying to work efficiently but it was obvious her coordination was off.
“Hey,” I started and Urvi glanced at me with a small frown before looking away. “Look,areyou okay? You’re not looking so great.”
“Thank you so much for the compliment,” she muttered, pouring the finished drink into a long stemmed glass and then reaching for it, but the tremor in her hand meant that her grip on the stem faltered and the sticky concoction tipped straight over the bar and down onto the other man’s suit.
