For Once In My Life

Chapter 48

It was 7.30a.m., two and a half hours before the presentation, and Kitty arrived at the office and flicked on the lights. There was a stir from under Hughie’s desk, making her jump. And there was Hughie, curled up under his desk, his head on his courier bag. He scrunched up his eyes against the light and then blinked at her.

‘Hughie? You slept here?’

‘I was working late,’ he said, attempting to get to his feet but stumbling from being so stiff. He’d been in a sleeping bag, one of the ones which can pack away into almost nothing. ‘I didn’t think you’d be in so early.’ He smiled that Hughie smile, then turned his back, pulling open his top drawer, and Kitty thought she saw a washbag, which he hid under the arm furthest away from her. ‘Back in a moment,’ he said, disappearing from the office.

Had he been sleeping in the office every evening? He was always the first one in, and the last to leave. He did always have that big bag in the corner.

‘So,’ said Hughie, re-emerging, hair artfully tousled, his face fresh, his teeth gleaming. ‘Let’s get down to business,’ he added breezily. ‘I finished what you sent me yesterday evening… what about the rest of the copy?’

‘I’ll send it over now,’ said Kitty, handing him a croissant and her practically still-hot coffee, and putting another coffee and croissant on Mary Rose’s desk. ‘Hughie,’ she said, ‘have you been sleeping in the office?’

‘No!’ he said. ‘I was just tired, late night… you know…’

‘Hughie…?’

‘Well…’ His smile faded. ‘I can’t find anywhere to live. After John-Paul dumped me, I couldn’t keep couch-surfing. And I kept thinking I would find a place of my own, but everything is so expensive. I can’t afford even a box room in a shared house. And there are queues and queues of people for every horrific kip calling itself a studio.’ He gave his head a little shake, and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘I didn’t think it would be for more than a day or so… but…’

‘You should have said something,’ said Kitty. ‘We could have helped you. And you’re coming home with me this evening.’

Hughie shook his head. ‘I don’t accept charity,’ he said. ‘I have my pride. If nothing else.’

‘It’s not charity,’ she said. ‘You’d do me a favour. Now Dave is gone, I need a new flatmate.’

‘Well…’ he said, stiffly, ‘if I’d be doing you a favour, then I accept. Just for a few days, until I find a more permanent place.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you. Just for a day or two…’

Fifteen minutes later, Mary Rose arrived. ‘Kitty!’ she said, looking relieved. ‘You’re here! Are you sure you want to give the presentation because?—’

‘I’m sure,’ said Kitty, confidently. ‘I think we’re just about ready…’

She talked them both through her plan, carefully watching their faces as she explained her thinking behind it, weaving a story around each image.

‘It’s wonderful,’ said Mary Rose, when she’d finished. ‘It’s exactly what we wanted… simple, effective, impactful…’

Hughie was nodding, pleased. ‘I knew your genius would return.’ He gave Kitty a wink. ‘Well done… you did it, just at the last moment.’

By now, it was getting on for 9.30a.m. and nearly time to make their way to the conference room. ‘Right, Kitty…’ said Mary Rose, taking out her make-up bag. ‘Bit of powder.’ She dabbed some on Kitty’s nose. ‘Hughie, you’re next…’ As Mary Rose moved his bag with her foot, Kitty saw her spotting the sleeping bag. Mary Rose paused for a second before continuing to dab his nose with her brush. ‘Right… there you go… ready for your big performance. Mr Mulligan says he will see us there.’

The three of them walked across Merrion Square to the Welcome Ireland offices. The black door in the middle of the building shone in glossy emerald green and inside the vast hall was a magnificent marble Georgian fireplace where a turf fire crackled with life, an original Jack B. Yeats painting above it. In their ears was taped traditional music, the plaintive sound of a lonely fiddle. And instead of the usual bored receptionist, there was a console table laid with brown bread and butter and a large urn of tea. ‘Will you have a cup?’ said a woman with ruddy cheeks. ‘Céad míle a fáilte,’ she said. ‘Here for the pitch are ye?’

They nodded.

‘Now, I’d say not a one of you has eaten a thing today, have you? Try the butter. It’s from a farm in Killorglin… but before you do, sign your names and I will give out the old name tags. Help yourselves to whatever you want.’

Mary Rose passed Kitty a mug of tea. ‘We should have something,’ she said. ‘Settle our stomachs.’

‘Ah, there they are!’ It was Mr Mulligan, coming in behind them. ‘Good morning, everyone. Mary Rose, Kitty. Hughie. All looking forward to the pitch? And yes, I’ll have tea, Kathleen,’ he said to the woman. ‘And some of that brown bread with the caraway seeds. I think Welcome Ireland is the most civilised building in Ireland. Tea and brown bread.’

Hughie managed three slices of bread and two cups of tea in the five minutes they stood in the reception area, and just as he was about to go for fourths, their two rival teams trooped past them. There was Jacinta Boyle from DNG and her team, all looking calmly confident, and on the other sat Louella Murphy from Elevation and her team. Both DNG and Elevation all seemed to look the same, in matching heavy-framed spectacles, and sharply cut black clothes. They looked like members from a weird cult who worshipped at the altar of Scandinavian design aesthetics. Kitty and her team did not quite fit the mould. Mary Rose was wearing a floral dress, Hughie had on his trusty Rick Astley T-shirt and Kitty, having dressed quickly that morning, was in her navy jacket and smart jeans, her lucky pink glass earrings in. But without Alex, as a team, they felt smaller and less significant than the others, who seemed to glow with self-confidence.

Hughie drained the tea from his mug, one eye on the marching formation of the rival teams. ‘There’s something of the Squid Games commandant about them,’ he said in a low voice to Kitty.

‘Shall we go in?’ said Mr Mulligan, clutching his hands at his chest. ‘Thank you, Kathleen. Superb as usual.’

Kitty, Hughie and Mary Rose sat at the top end of the large conference table, Louella’s team were on one side, Jacinta’s on the other. Mr Mulligan took a seat at the back of the room, still eating his brown bread and drinking his tea.

Patrick O’Malley, the head of Welcome Ireland, stood at the front of the room, wearing an Aran jumper, a pair of itchy-looking tweed trousers and an old rope tied around his wrist. ‘Good morning, everyone,’ he said. ‘It’s an exciting day to hear all your pitches. We are hoping this morning we will choose the very best and most creative idea, something which connects with the national and international tourist trade. I know you have been working very hard towards this… and one team were up all night…’ He smiled at Louella, who preened in his gaze. ‘Well, why don’t we start with DNG?’

‘Thank you, Patrick,’ she said, rising to her feet, and leading her team to the front of the room. ‘I just want to say what an honour it is to be pitching to Welcome Ireland. I always say, that if you do a job you love, you never work a day in your life… and working at DNG is like being on holiday every single day.’ She smiled a weird smile which looked as though she had eaten one of those evil pistachios that lurk in the bowl of nuts. ‘Now,’ she went on, ‘Christopher is going to lead the presentation, aren’t you, Christopher?’

Christopher was wearing a bow tie for the occasion.

‘Thank you,’ said Christopher. ‘I am going to take you through our presentation now…’ Up on the screen behind him flashed images of Dublin, people singing in the streets, a close-up of pints of Guinness outside a pub, a Jack Russell wearing an Irish rugby jersey, and a group of small children on a beach. ‘This is Ireland,’ began Christopher, ‘and it’s a land of saints…’ A picture of St Patrick holding his crozier in what looked to Kitty in a threatening manner. ‘And scholars…’ Next, was a picture of monks working on what perhaps was the Book of Kells. ‘We call this campaign “Rediscovering the old, again”,’ he went on. ‘It’s about seeing this ancient culture and country through fresh eyes.’

He went on, in the same vein for a long time, making Kitty worry that their team’s pitch was too short. Finally, Christopher finished to a round of applause.

Kitty and Hughie glanced at each other. How on earth were they going to beat Louella’s team?