have to have word with Phil later.’ I tut, rolling my eyes. ‘Anyway, welcome to the team! Ha!’
‘Thanks!’ Simon enthuses.
‘Wow, I can’t believe all this stuff!’ I pick up a packet of macarons in gentle yellow and green shades, with a tag around the packet indicating in calligraphy text that they’re pistachio and lemon-flavoured.
‘Those are delicious!’ He nods towards them. ‘I got here early so I tucked in. Hope you don’t mind!’
‘Not at all,’ I reply, opening the bag and popping a yellow macaroon into my mouth. It melts in my mouth, releasing a rich explosion of lemon-flavoured deliciousness. It’s incredible.
‘Sorry I was late,’ I say to Simon. ‘I met this Norwegian reporter in the lift on my way in. He’s working for The Chronicle.’
‘Oh, they hired a Norwegian guy! To cover the royal wedding?’ Simon asks.
‘Yeah. He was carrying all these brochures on weddings!’ Just thinking about that guy in the lift – Anders – is making me feel a little flushed and giddy all over again, even if I am still mortified about that card. Clearly all this girly wedding stuff is going to my head.
‘That’s interesting,’ Simon muses. ‘Well, we’d better up our game if they’ve got a Norwegian guy on the story!’
‘I guess—' I laugh '—but honestly, I doubt he can be drowning in as much wedding stuff as we are!' I pick up one of the rhinestone-embellished slippers, with a huge dazzling jewel arrangement at the toe. I turn it under the strip lighting and it shimmers. I have to admit it really is quite spectacular.
‘It’s great, isn’t it? All this stuff!’ Simon tears open another bag of macarons.
‘Yeah, it’s cool,’ I reply, placing the shoe back down. I start rifling through the press releases scattered among everything like confetti. ‘But I don’t have a clue where to start.’
Even though my desk is covered in royal wedding stuff, my eyes keep being pulled back to the glittering Cinderella shoes catching the light.
‘Will Holly be wearing these on the day?’ I gesture towards them.
Simon shrugs. ‘Not sure. Shall I find out?’
‘Yeah, if you could, that would be great. We can do a story on that.’
‘No problem.’ Simon picks up one of the shoes and inspects its twinkling form.
‘Well, if you’re doing that, I’ll go and get some coffee,’ I say. ‘Want one?’
‘Yes please,’ Simon replies, with a sweet smile.
‘Milk, sugar?’
‘Milk, three sugars,’ he says absently, as he gazes at the glittering shoe, which is truly captivating.
‘Coming up.’ I leave him to it and make my way across the newsroom towards the canteen. To think it was only a few weeks ago that I was at a White House press conference and now I’m working with some guy I’ve never met before and we’re writing about sparkly stilettos! Perhaps I was too negative in my meeting with Phil yesterday and now, even though I’ve pretty much come around to covering the wedding, he's decided that I’m not fully up to it. I approach his desk.
‘Morning,’ I greet him.
‘Morning, Sam,’ he replies chirpily. He flicks his eyes vaguely in my direction and then continues to study the day’s news agenda open on his screen.
‘So, you hired extra reinforcements? Were you planning on telling me?’ I ask. ‘Because I almost kicked him off Becky’s desk.’
Phil half smiles. ‘I thought you knew.’
‘What? How am I meant to know if you don’t tell me! Sorry, but I’m not subscribed to the psychic newsletter.’
Phil rolls his eyes. ‘I’m busy, Sam. It slipped my mind, okay?’
‘Fine,’ I sigh.
‘Simon will be helping you. You didn’t think I was going to let you cover the royal wedding on your own, did you?’
‘Umm...yes?’
‘You’re good, Sam, but you’re not Superwoman.’
‘This isn’t because I was being negative about it yesterday, is it?’
‘No!’ Phil scoffs. ‘It’s because it’s a big job!’
‘Okay.’ I glance across the office at Simon, who appears to be studiously researching the glass slipper. ‘I’ve never had a sidekick before.’
Phil smirks. ‘A sidekick who you’ve already abandoned. Go and keep him company,’ he says, giving me a pointed look.
‘Actually, I haven’t abandoned him, I was off to get him a coffee, like a good co-reporter.’
Phil pauses for thought. ‘Are you heading to the canteen?’
I nod.
‘I’ll come with you’ he says, pushing his chair back from the desk. ‘Just got out of the news conference and I could do with a pick-me-up.’
‘Okay,’ I reply as Phil grabs his wallet.
We start walking out of the office.
‘You do know Simon’s not your co-reporter, don’t you?’ Phil asks in a hushed voice.
I shoot him a curious glance.
‘I very much want you to take charge on this one,’ he insists. ‘Simon’s good. He comes with good references, but he’s pretty inexperienced.’
‘He looks about my age,’ I comment as we leave the newsroom and approach the lifts.
‘Yeah, but he hasn’t always been a journalist. He did something else for a while. Admin, I think.’ Phil shrugs.
‘Admin?’
‘Yeah,’ Phil says as we wait for the lift. ‘Look, he came from the Weekly Echo, he’s cut his teeth.’
‘Cut his teeth?’ I frown. ‘How long has Simon actually been a journalist?’
‘About a year and a half,’ Phil tells me as the lift doors ping open and we step inside.
‘That’s not long,’ I say, struggling to figure out why Phil would hire someone with relatively little journalism experience to help me on what he keeps insisting is the biggest story of the year.
Phil looks away, pressing the button for the fifteenth floor, where the canteen is based. The doors close and the lift shoots up the shaft.
‘Look, Simon may not be that experienced, but I think having him around might
