The Heat Is On

by Helen Bridgett

  ‘Morning campers,’ I say with unconvincing breeziness.

  Charlie looks worse than I feel as he puts the phone down.

  ‘That was Josie,’ he tells. ‘She’s phoned in sick. She sounds awful and thinks she might be off for the whole week.’

  ‘I don’t blame her,’ I reply, thinking that maybe a few months hibernating in bed could be another solution to our current situation. Not that I think Josie is faking it. I’ve never known any lurgy manage to defeat Josie but she’s had a tough time recently with Lorenzo. When you’ve been feeling a bit down, illness takes hold more easily. So if she is having a duvet day, then that’s fine with me. A cheesy film and a glass of red wine are such good homeopathic cures (I think they’d count in that category); they make you feel happy and when you’re happy, cold and flu have no chance. I myself am an expert in this particular field of medicine. If it brings her back to us in fighting mode then she can take as long as she likes.

  However, Josie being off only adds to the sense of emptiness in the shop and after I tell Charlie about the radio ad I heard this morning, neither of us can maintain the fake cheeriness we need to sell holidays for long. We need someone like Josie in the office. Even at her lowest, she has a way of connecting with people on social media and customers are always telling us they look forward to her funny posts. Now more than ever we have to keep up the emails and newsletters to show people that we still exist, if nothing else. If we stop talking about our new ideas, customers might think we’ve given up. We can’t really afford to hire anyone and the only people I know who are at a loose end at the moment are Mum and Patty. Both of them have a knack of staying cheery when the rest of the world is down, although obviously neither of them is known for their tact and diplomacy. I go for the least-worst option, the one who can at least use a PC.

  ‘Stand back,’ declares my best friend as, forty minutes after my call to her, she nearly takes the doors off their hinges. ‘Your fairy godmother has arrived to save your souls and sell holidays.’

  That cheers me instantly. If Patty is responsible for saving souls and deciding who gets into heaven then we’re probably all going to get there. Her moral compass has always been fairly flexible.

  ‘OK Godmother, cast your wand over that PC there,’ I tell her, pointing to Josie’s desk.

  Patty salutes me.

  ‘Absolutely boss. What do you need me to do?’

  ‘With Josie off sick, we’ve got no one to do all the marketing,’ I explain, ‘but she had a really unique style, so we need you to be funny.’

  ‘Not a problem for a world class entertainer like my good self.’ She takes up residence at Josie’s computer and switches it on, stretching her fingers like a grand master pianist and running them along the keyboard. Charlie watches her.

  ‘So do you know much about social media?’ he asks.

  ‘Charlie, what I don’t know…’ she begins, ‘I will soon make up. Now how does this machine work?’

  She looks up at us and flicks the screen around. A password box flashes in the centre of the screen.

  ‘Damn, I’d forgotten about that,’ I say. ‘Josie keeps her password top secret since the email issue. Before then it was always something that she’d like to do to Harry Styles, either Sh@gStyles or M@rryStyles. They were two of her favourites.’

  ‘Have no fear, I shall apply all my cunning to cracking this password,’ she tells us leaving Charlie and me staring at each other in disbelief. Since when did she become Alan Turing?

  ‘How?’ asks Charlie.

  ‘I’m going to call her and ask what it is.’

  We leave her to ring Josie and hear laughter bellowing through the office again as Patty calls her an ‘Aussie weakling’ and threatens to steal her job if she doesn’t get back soon. It’s good to have some fun in the place again and I bet Patty is already making Josie feel much better. Patty manages to open Josie’s account and with instructions being given on speakerphone starts to work out where the details are to develop all the marketing. The first thing she does is to tell all our customers Josie is off sick, or as she puts it, ‘The Aussie has been flawed by a British cold – what a wuss.’ She encourages customers to send Josie get-well messages to try to coax her back and within minutes we’re inundated with them. Josie is obviously reading them as she posts a little ‘Thank you’ .

  ‘What’s this little thing?’ Patty asks me and so I explain the concept and show her a few more on the screen.

  She studies them with interest and then gets that look on her face, the one that declares a cunning plan is on it’s way, the one we all dread and love in equal measure.

  ‘Stand back and get ready to sell holidays,’ she says, attacking the keyboard using a single finger on each hand.

  Despite the fear and anxiety we feel, Charlie and I leave her to it and try to concentrate on our accounts. We have to seriously review things now to stay in the fight. After about an hour, the door starts opening and the phone starts ringing. Customers head straight to Patty’s desk.

  ‘Smiley face, plane, snow-capped mountain, love hotel please,’ declares one.

  ‘Romantic break to the Alps when you’re ready,’ Patty shouts to Charlie.

  Charlie gets back to the booking screen and invites the smiling customer to sit down.

  ‘Hamburger, saxophone, quaver, sad face,’ requests another customer.

  ‘Blues festival Chicago for you Angie,’ Patty yells again.

  It feels as if we’re in a fish market rather than a travel agents, but what the hell, we’ve got customers coming in and they’re not asking for discounts.

  ‘What’s this one?’ asks more than one customer.

  ‘Football, horses, wine?’ replies Patty shaking her head in mock disbelief. ‘Argentina obviously, now sit yourself down over there and that handsome man will sort you out in no time.’

  OK, so it’s still only a handful of people but they’re laughing, smiling and most importantly booking trips. The shop feels like Mercury again and we’ve given people something to talk about, we’re innovating again. Online they’re sharing the emojis with friends and somehow it’s easier to say ‘yes’ to a pleasure boat and smiley face than to a lengthy holiday description. I hope Josie can see it all and that it’s cheering her up just as much as us. I drop her a quick text.

  YOU’VE INSPIRED PATTY – HURRY BACK

  Disappointingly, I get no answer, but perhaps that means she’s having a restorative sleep and she’ll be back to her old self tomorrow. We have a good day thanks to Patty and I never thought I’d be saying that when she first walked into our office. We close up thinking we might live to fight another day after all. As I’m locking up I can see the lights are still on across at Launch. I walk along the street opposite so as not to be seen and take a discreet glance through the window when I get close. My heart sinks as I see it heaving with people. It’s early evening and he’s got more people in the shop now than we’ve had all day. That long-haul offer was incredible, though, and he limited it to this week so no wonder he’s crammed. Clever idea to open up later for the after-work crowd, though – maybe we should do that. I feel like we’re constantly chasing our tails, he seems to outwit us no matter what we do and he’s managed to fill both the start and the end of my day with angst and misery.

  I get home, throw my coat and bag down then head for the fridge to pour myself a glass of wine. I head to the mantelpiece and pick up the Entrepreneur of the Year trophy. Some businesswoman I’ve turned out to be. I take it down and stuff it in a drawer. I sigh, I should tell Charlie about the evening opening idea. I dial his number and he answers immediately.

  ‘Has she called you, too?’ he asks before I can get a word in.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Josie,’ he replies. ‘She’s just emailed me and resigned.’

  Like a demonically possessed woman in a horror film, I open my mouth and a splurge of every single expletive I know (and a few I didn’t know I knew) leaves my mouth. Fortunately, m
y head isn’t spinning through 360 degrees – yet.

  ‘This has to be down to him,’ I say, ‘you know it does. Josie loves Mercury and would simply not do this. I’m calling her.’

  Charlie rings off and I start stabbing at the numbers on my phone.

  ‘Josie, please call me.’

  ‘Josie, you have to call me.’

  ‘Josie, I know something is up and whatever it is, I’ll help. Just call.’

  I must leave twenty messages, some encouraging, some desperate, but I get nothing. I think about calling or emailing Lorenzo. I’m dying to unleash torrents of abuse on his Facebook page but I know he’ll use it against me. Common sense gets the better of me and needing to keep myself busy, I call Zoe.

  ‘Hello there,’ she says. ‘I don’t normally hear from you on a weekday. Is everything OK?’

  I’m about to say yes but I can’t form the word and I end up telling Zoe all my woes.

  ‘Oh Mum, he sounds awful. You must be really stressed out.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to burden you but yes, it has been horrendous. Part of me just thinks I should give up; there have to be easier ways of making a living. Maybe I’ll go and work for him,’ I snort.

  Zoe takes a deep breath and I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully.

  ‘I remember when Dad left,’ she eventually says. ‘You didn’t know how things would turn out but you just kept pedalling. That’s what you used to say in any sticky situation – just keep pedalling. That’s the only way to keep the bike upright. That’s what you always tell me Mum.’

  I smile at her words. The advice was given to me by my life coach at the time and it served me well. Sometimes the bike wobbled but as long as I pedalled, I didn’t crash.

  ‘So I guess that’s all you can do now Mum,’ continues my wise and mature daughter. ‘Just pedal and, somehow, you’ll get there.’

  I’m Too Sexy

  With Zoe’s words ringing in my ears, I try to keep pedalling, I really do. But all week I can’t stop myself staring out of the window watching the people flow in and out of Lorenzo’s shop.

  ‘The offer will be over soon,’ says Charlie joining me at the window.

  ‘There’ll be something else to follow,’ I sigh and he hugs me.

  ‘You really should call this business Mercury Funerals,’ says Patty. ‘Will you get your ugly mugs away from that window.’

  She’s right, moping isn’t pedalling. I try to focus on work, answering the small amount of queries we have. Just then, there’s a sound we haven’t heard for a while – the front door opening. I perk up with expectation but then fall flat when I see it’s just the postman.

  ‘Recorded delivery for the directors,’ he says.

  My heart sinks, thinking it’s probably the summons for our fine. Do you go to court for putting up signposts? Charlie signs for the letter and looks at it.

  ‘Oh my god,’ he says. ‘Ange, it’s from the financial advisors, it must be about the bid.’

  He holds it out to me but I just shake my head.

  ‘You open it,’ I tell him while Patty and I grip hands. I’m not sure whether it’s good news that it’s arrived by recorded delivery – does that mean we have it or have they sent all responses that way? Charlie opens the envelope far too slowly. I’m wound up tighter than a Boudicca bodice on my best friend as I watch him read the words to himself and then read them again. His lips are moving but I can’t tell what they’re saying.

  ‘Do you want the good news or the scary news?’ he says eventually, and I look at him puzzled. He pauses dramatically and then cries, ‘They’re both the same – we got it!’

  We holler and jump up to hug each other, then after a few minutes of congratulations and joy, the reality starts to sink in. Every single goose pimple along every inch of my skin is tingling. Charlie was right, I feel fabulous and terrified all at the same time.

  ‘Oh my word, I don’t know what to say,’ I tell him wiping the tears from my eyes.

  ‘I’m just so relieved,’ says Charlie. ‘I couldn’t have coped with more bad news this week. At last we’ll finally have something Mr Launch pad can’t offer.’ He pauses and mock bites all his fingernails at once. ‘But holy holidays – we’ve actually gone and done it – can you believe it?’

  ‘I know,’ I reply. ‘Whose idea was this? Are we mad?’

  Half of me is thinking that this is the stupidest thing we could take on right now. We have our hands full with Lorenzo. The other half knows Charlie is right. This gives us something he can’t compete with. That’s what Branson would advise. Or I think he would anyway. I wonder if he’s ever just called it a day at any time. I hope we’re doing the right thing. Charlie seems to think so.

  ‘Well yes, we’re mad but that’s beside the point,’ he’s saying. ‘We need to get moving on our plans to have everything up and running quickly. The sooner we can get out there to the media with something really new, the better for us. And whatever we do, no leaks on this. We can’t have him cobbling something similar together before we’re ready.’

  So Charlie is definitely pedalling and as fast as he can by the sound of it. Right then, I can certainly do the same. So first of all we have to work out how to deliver everything we said we would. If I’m honest, I wasn’t really sure we’d actually win the bid. Not because it wasn’t a good plan; it was or it wouldn’t have won. It’s just that people like me don’t run exclusive resorts. Well, I guess they do now. We’ll have to ring the bank and tell them that we won the bid. They’ll release the funds we need when the contracts are signed. There’s so much to do, but strangely, it’s come at exactly the right time. When you’re not busy, you’ve time to get gloomy. Now that we have this ray of sunshine in our lives, who knows, it may rub off on to Mercury, too. Here’s hoping. Charlie is already beaming again.

  ‘This is brilliant,’ he glows, ‘we’re really going to do it. We’re going to have our beautiful yurts, our gorgeous bar and the most fabulous wedding venue ever. Peter and I might have to renew our vows when it’s all set up. I’d love to be the first couple celebrated when it’s finally ours.’

  I don’t like to tell him that it would be a bit odd for him to renew his vows after less than six months of marriage. Still, his joy is infectious and I relax a little. I drift off and start wondering if everyone had to renew their vows every year, whether they actually would. I can imagine it would be an ideal time for couples to split up if they wanted to, ‘Do you take this person for another year?’ ‘Err no, I think I’ve had enough of them, I’d quite like a younger/richer/sexier model now.’ It would be a lot more honest and would save a fortune in legal fees. I’m going to have to be far less cynical when I’m selling these weddings.

  Enough daydreaming, Charlie is proposing a planning session at his house tonight.

  ‘I think it might be useful to have Michael there,’ I tell him. ‘He does know a lot about building and planting – he would probably be a real help.’

  ‘And I’m coming, too,’ says Patty. ‘I might have to help you sell it and I’ll stop you both making it either too dull or too kitsch.’

  ‘Cheeky mare,’ I reply, wondering which of those hazards I represent but already knowing the answer.

  * * *

  Come the hour we gather at Charlie’s and divide up the tasks: Michael reviews the tents and their construction while Patty finds out what the wedding bloggers are recommending at the moment. Charlie and I make a Skype call to our new resort manager to say hello.

  A rather beautiful woman appears on the screen; she looks like Halle Berry’s big sister and she greets us with the most stunning smile. I try to smile back enthusiastically without revealing my typically British teeth. Note to self – get them whitened before you go over.

  ‘I’m so delighted you won the bid,’ she tells us. ‘I remember Charlie and Peter well; you were my favourite visitors.’

  Charlie blows her a kiss and introduces us. ‘Lucille, this is Angie my partner and the woma
n who introduced me to Peter. Angie, meet Lucille who I’m told is the most resourceful person in the whole world.’

  If we’d met in person, we’d have been able to assess each other with one discreet glance. With only our heads on the screen we both stay in a fixed smile – mine obviously with mouth closed (which is difficult to hold with any sincerity for any length of time). It’s not just idle curiosity, I try to convince myself: this is the woman who’ll be looking after my guests and my money.

  ‘You are staying on there, aren’t you?’ asks Charlie and she reassures him that she is. ‘That’s brilliant news – the place just wouldn’t be the same without you.’

  ‘So what are the plans? Tell me all about them, the finance people wouldn’t say a thing,’ she tells us.

  Charlie talks about the wedding packages, the yurts and the beachfront ceremonies. Lucille is nodding at each of the suggestions, so before Charlie gets carried away, I ask what she thinks.

  ‘I think they’ll sell well,’ she says. ‘Of course beach weddings are not new but couples are starting to want something a little different from the big packaged tours. We can help people personalise their day. Clients don’t necessarily want to sit down and dance to cheesy music all night – although that, too, we could provide if they wish. I will find out what we need to do over here to become a legal and proper place for weddings.’

  I’m impressed; she’s obviously been watching out for what customers want and her thinking is in line with ours. She doesn’t stop there.

  ‘But don’t just think about weddings – there are many other opportunities. We’re seeing lots of older people celebrating anniversaries or retirement. Apparently our island is on the “bucket list”, I think it is called.’

  ‘And what about people renewing their vows?’ asks Charlie like an eager pupil.

  ‘Not so much, but we could certainly try them.’ Lucille is shaking her head. ‘However, divorce parties are big, and fresh start celebrations – we’re seeing more of them.’

  Poor Charlie sighs something about the lack of romance in this world, but I’m starting to feel more confident having spoken to this beautiful and seemingly knowledgeable lady.