Pink-haired girl extended her arm to the piano, which was set on a small stage on one side of the room. Urvi was sitting in front of it looking mortified and shooting a death glare at pink-haired girl who flounced over to her, kissed her on the cheek and fixed her mic into place.
“Jesus,whois she?” Mike Davies, one of the executives at Sky, breathed as we all watched Urvi take in a deep breath and then let it out slowly as her fingers settled over the keys. Her eye were smoky and she was wearing her signature multiple necklaces with a black lace low-cut top, black jeans and bare feet resting on the piano peddles. Her hair fell in shining dark waves down her back, small twists at the side holding it away from her beautiful face.
As she played the first few chords and the sound echoed around the room her eyes closed slowly and she started to sing. Her voice was natural and clear with a soothing, raspy quality in the lower notes. I’d never heard anything like it. And I’d never heard the song before but somehow it felt almost unbearably familiar. I had intended the other band I’d hired to be background music, but Urvi just commanded attention. The room was totally silent other than the almost ethereally beautiful sound of her voice. She was singing about having lost something precious in order to chase a dream, and the haunting sadness of her words combined with the extreme beauty of her voice actually brought a lump to my throat. She didn’t even look real sitting up there. It was like she was an angel sent down from heaven to sing for us mere mortals.
The sound went right through me. I could feel the hairs standing up on the back of my arms. And the atmosphere in the room was electric. After she played the last few chords and held the final note, the room plunged into silence. There was a shocked pause followed by applause much louder than I would have thought possible from that number of people.
“That is it,” Ben shouted to me over the cheers and clapping.
“What?” I replied, not taking my eyes off Urvi who was looking a little bewildered and still sitting at the piano.
“Thatis what I want for the campaign. You get her and you build an ad aroundthat songand you’ve got the job.”
*****
Urvi
“You don’t understand,” I said, grabbing Mr Blight’s arm in desperation. “I reallyneedto eat now. If you’d just let me explain, I –”
“I do not have time to listen to tales of your digestive system, Miss Radia,” he snapped. I suspected he was still a bit cheesed off about my performance earlier. Maybe he was worried that I’d get above myself just because I’d played a couple of songs for the honoured guests. I’d changed back into my uniform and he’d made me “wipe that muck” off my face so I was now virtually unrecognisable from the girl on stage. But Ineededto eat.
“Get back out there and work. You can do what everyone else does and sneak a couple of canapés on the way. Better yet, eat that slice of leftover cake.”
Short Man Syndrome, as Kira had now officially christened him, had promised us a thirty minute break before starting the dinner service, but now apparently the guests wanted to move dinner forward, so there was no longer time for the staff to actually eat themselves. Something about a nightclub hired for the guests’ exclusive use that night (snobby bastards couldn’t bring themselves to mingle with the plebs) and they all wanted to get out there and “be seen”.
Dicks.
“Ican’teat the cake and I –”
“Shutup!” he shouted and everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to look our way. “I don’t need to hear this shit. Now get out there and serve the guests like you’re being paid very handsomely to do.”
He shoved a tray of smoked salmon cheesy things into my hands and waved me away. I sighed, balanced the tray on one hand and threw a couple of the stupidly small canapés into my mouth. They would in no way compensate for the relatively large dose of insulin I’d just injected, but I would just have to steal some more as the evening went on. Hopefully the wankpuffins would be outta there and off to their swanky club before I had a hypo.
I hadtype onediabetes. My body did not produce any insulin at all. In order for my body to use the carbohydrate and sugar in the food I ate I had to inject insulin. With my diabetes being termedbrittle, I had trouble getting the balance of insulin and blood sugar right at the best of times. If I injected enough insulin for a full meal, but did not then have a chance to eat a full meal, I risked my blood sugar dropping dangerously low. On the other hand, not enough insulin and my blood sugar could rise too high. In the short term both scenarios could mean becoming very ill. Even resulting in coma and death. I’d been admitted to hospital before with diabetic ketoacidosis as a consequence of my blood sugar being too high and my blood becoming acidic. It was not an experience I ever wanted to repeat.
After thirty minutes of wandering around with a too-heavy tray the nausea started and my vision became a little blurry. I could feel a trickle of sweat down my back and a fine tremor ran through my hands. Jack continued to ignore me. But I felt so ill that standing in the middle of his circle of Important Humans, offering around stupidly small canapés and then tall flutes of champagne, that being totally ignored by Jack didn’t cut me as much as before. He did spare me a glance and a small frown, but turned away and shook his head a moment later. No doubt I looked like death warmed over and was offending his sensitive, important eyeballs.
“When’rey leavin?” I said in a slurred whisper to Kira. My mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate and form proper sentences. When she glanced at me her eyes widened and her expression filled with concern.
“Hey, Mozart, you okay there?” she asked. I could feel moisture on my upper lip and a trickle of sweat rolled down the side of my face. The room was swaying, and not because of the ocean.
“I’ll be fie if I canust . . .” I swallowed and my tray tipped a little to the side before I managed to right it. One of the glasses wobbled and fell off the edge and I watched in horror as it smashed onto the floor. Kira was carrying her own tray and so couldn’t take mine. And anyway before she could help Mr Blight had pushed her back.
“What the hell are youdoing?” he said and although he was right in front of me it was like his voice was coming from very far away, echoing all around me and mixing with the low hum of the crowd in the room. The edges of my vision narrowed further and I took a small step forward. “First you throw passion fruit all over one of the guests and create a massive scene, and nowthis.” My fuzzy mind registered that he was being unfair - it wasn’tmethat created the scene yesterday. Yes, I’d spilled the drink, butIhadn’t been the one to shout.
Sweat was running down my back in earnest now and I blinked to keep my eyes open.
“Whazzat?” I slurred as the tray tipped to the other side and I wobbled on my feet.
“Are you drunk? I don’tbelievethis.”
“Take the tray from her, you wanker!” I heard Kira’s voice shout from a long, long way away but it was too late. The glasses slid off the metal onto the floor, smashing all over the place. I tried to reach for the chair in front of me but my vision had darkened so much now that I was just grasping at thin air. I felt a small hand on my arm before I went down. I managed to focus on Kira’s panicked face. “Glucose,” I choked out before everything went black.
Chapter 7
Alright, Poldark
Jack
