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‘All this reshuffling?’ I scoff as I tweak my hair in the mirror. ‘I’m covering the royal wedding and you’ve moved desks. It’s hardly mass redundancies.’
‘And Simon’s been brought in. And Neil mentioned something about an industry shake-up. It might not be redundancies yet, but I’ve got a bad feeling,’ Becky says, giving me a concerned look.
‘Well, I reckon you’re worrying over nothing, Becks. You’ve moved desks. That’s literally all you need to worry about.’
‘What about the cull they had here in the Eighties,’ Becky says, referring to a massive tranche of overnight redundancies the paper inflicted on staff more than thirty years ago. Although it was ages ago, its cut-throat heartlessness has made it somewhat legendary.
‘What about it?’
‘That probably started like this too, little reshuffles here and there, moving people around and then bam, we come into work and our passes don’t work. We’re getting on a bit, Sam. I wouldn’t put it past them to bring in some fresh blood.’
‘We’re twenty-eight!’ I remind her. ‘We’re hardly past it.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Becky sighs, as she leans against the sink counter. ‘Because this 21-year-old sent me her CV last week. She has 157,000 followers on Instagram. I’ve only got two thousand! Two thousand!’
‘She might have a ton of followers, but when was the last time she got an exclusive interview with a top designer or managed to get a sneak peak of the hottest collection at London Fashion Week? We’ve worked to get to where we are,’ I remind her. ‘And despite how grumpy Phil is, he does value us. Take Simon, for example – if the paper was falling on hard times, why would they be hiring new people?’
‘Well, look at The Chronicle. They’ve hired a Norwegian reporter! We don’t have that,’ Becky points out and suddenly, I’m thinking about Anders all over again.
‘I guess, but I really wouldn’t worry. Anyway, we should head back to the office. Did I tell you they sent us bridal underwear?’ I say, recalling the lace suspenders, basques and garters I found hidden under a sample of bridal lace.
‘Oh really?’ Becky’s face lights up. ‘Let’s go!’
Sometimes I think fashion is the only thing that takes away Becky’s anxiety. Maybe that’s why she’s so good at her job, even if she does only have two thousand Instagram followers.
We head back to the office, but as we’re passing the lifts, I find myself glancing towards them, as if they’ll suddenly open to reveal Anders. Ridiculous! I mentally berate myself as we head into the newsroom. One day of royal wedding coverage and I’ve already started swooning schoolgirl-style over a dashing Norwegian hunk.
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