“The only thing is, Bob’s coming in for a meeting,” I say, consulting my phone.
Bob is a rock. He runs all the payroll, collates sales figures, discusses big financial decisions with Mum, deals with the accountant, and basically helps with everything to do with money. Their partnership works well for Mum, because when she’s being asked to spend money she doesn’t want to, she says, “That’s a good idea, but I’ll have to ask Bob.” And everyone knows that Bob is as adventurous as a pair of elasticated beige trousers. (Which also happens to be what he wears.)
“All the better,” says Jake. “I haven’t talked to old Bob for ages. It’ll be useful to touch base with him.”
“Great!” I say eagerly. “I’ll text the staff to come in early.”
“I’ll pop along too,” says Uncle Ned. “Don’t want to neglect my duties!”
“Perfect,” I say. “Can’t wait.”
I pick up my spoon and start on my soup, trying to feel optimistic. Once Jake and Nicole really look at the shop, really remember it, really think about it … surely they’ll understand. After all, we’re siblings. We’re Farrs. We’re family.
—
The next morning I get to the shop extra early. I hurry around, wiping surfaces, adjusting displays, and smoothing tea towels. I feel like a nervous parent—proud and protective all at once. I want Jake and Nicole to feel the way I do about Farrs. I want them to get it.
I pause by the wipe-clean oilcloths and stroke them fondly. They’ve been such a winner—we’ve already reordered three times. They’re all in cool Scandi prints which our customers love. As I’m standing there, admiring the designs, I remember the night Mum and I sat with the catalog, choosing them. We both knew they’d sell, we knew.
“Morning, Fixie.” Stacey’s nasal voice greets me and I swing round. I need to talk to Stacey quickly before anyone arrives. “What’s the big deal?” she adds sulkily, sweeping her bleached-blond hair back with silver-painted nails. “Why did we have to come in early?”
“My brother and sister are coming in,” I say. “We wanted to have a quick meeting before we open. But there’s another thing I need to talk to you about first. A sensitive matter.”
“What?” says Stacey discouragingly. “Can I get a coffee?”
“No. This won’t take long.” I beckon her aside, even though there’s no one else in the shop, and lower my voice. “Stacey, you mustn’t give sex tips to customers.”
“I don’t,” says Stacey seamlessly.
I breathe out and remind myself that Stacey’s basic default position is denial. I once said, “Stacey, you can’t leave now,” and she said, “I wasn’t,” even though she was halfway through the door with her coat on.
“You do,” I say patiently. “I heard you with that girl yesterday afternoon. Talking about …” I lower my voice still further. “Clips? Clamps?”
“Oh, that.” Stacey rolls her eyes dismissively. “That just came up in conversation.”
“In conversation?” I stare at her. “What kind of conversation?”
“I was explaining the product,” she says, unperturbed. “Like we’re supposed to.”
“Those clips are for sealing plastic bags!” I hiss. “They’re for kitchen use! Not for …”
There’s silence. I’m not finishing that sentence. Not out loud.
“Nipples,” says Stacey.
“Shhh!” I bat my hands at her.
“You think everyone who buys those clips is using them on plastic bags?” she says dispassionately, chewing her gum, and my mind ranges swiftly over our customers.
“Ninety-nine percent, yes,” I say firmly.
“Fifty percent, if that,” she counters. “What about the spatulas?” She eyes me meaningfully. “You think every spatula purchase is an innocent spatula purchase?”
I gaze at her, my mind boggling. What on earth is going through Stacey’s head every time she rings up a sale?
“Look, Stacey,” I say at last, “you can imagine what you like. But you can’t discuss any of this with customers. It’s totally inappropriate.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes again, as though making a huge concession. “I sold two Dysons yesterday,” she adds. “One for a mum, one for her daughter. Talked them into it. The mum’s recently moved house. Divorce. She’s coming back to kit out her whole kitchen.”
This is the thing with Stacey. The minute you’re thinking she’s gone too far, she pulls a rabbit out of the hat.
“Well, that’s great,” I say. “Brilliant work.” I can hear a commotion behind me and turn to see Uncle Ned, Greg, Jake, and Nicole, all arriving together. Nicole is talking to Greg intently about something as he gazes at her, lovestruck. (Greg’s always had a bit of a thing for Nicole.) Meanwhile, Uncle Ned is peering around as though he’s never been here before. To be fair, it’s been a while.
“Welcome to Farrs, Uncle Ned!” I say. “Do you know Stacey? And Greg?”
“Ah yes,” says Uncle Ned as he looks around. “Very good, very good.”
“I was wondering if we could turn the temperature up,” Nicole is saying earnestly to Greg. “Then we could do hot yoga.”
“Hot. Yeah.” Greg gulps, his gaze fixed adoringly on Nicole. “Hot sounds good.”
“What’s that?” I say, suddenly noticing the wheelie case that Nicole is dragging.
“Makeup for the Instagram shoot,” she says. “Next time I’ll hire a makeup artist.”
A makeup artist? I’m about to reply when Uncle Ned taps me on the arm.
“Now, Fixie,” he says, gesturing at the leisure section. “This is where you could introduce a fishing department. Rods, nets, waders …”
“Er … maybe,” I say diplomatically.
“Jesus, this place,” says Jake, coming toward us, a scowl on his face. “It gets more low-rent every time I see it. What’s that?” He lifts a packet and peers at it disparagingly.
“Muslins for making jams and jellies,” I tell him.
“Jams and jellies?” he echoes in tones of utmost scorn. “Who the hell makes jams and jellies?”
“Our customers do! It’s a really popular hobby—”
“So, is everyone here?” Jake cuts me off without even listening. “All the staff? Because I think we should have a word.”
“Hi, Morag!” I wave as Morag comes in through the door. “OK, we’re all here,” I say to Jake. “At least, everyone who works today. Christine’s on the other shift, and—”
“Whatever,” says Jake impatiently. “Let’s begin. Right.” He raises his voice. “Gather round, people. As you know, my siblings and I are running the show while my mother’s away, and we want change. Wholesale change.” He thumps a fist into his palm and I see Stacey’s eyes widen. “This place needs a boot up the backside. We want upselling. We want cross-selling. We want profiteering.”
I open my mouth to protest—does he actually know what profiteering means?—but Jake’s on a roll.
“This is a game changer, guys,” he’s saying. “This is where the rubber hits the road. We want to turn this place into a must-have, high-end, desirable store. Where tastemakers come. Where the beautiful people hang out. The Abercrombie and Fitch of lifestyle stores. And that’s the image I want you all to project. Stylish. Hip. Sexy.”
“Sexy?” says Morag, looking alarmed.
“Yes, sexy,” snaps Jake. “On-trend. Modern. With it.”
I can see his eyes ranging over the assembled staff with increasing dissatisfaction. Greg is gazing gormlessly at Nicole with his bulgy gray eyes. Stacey is leaning against a display, chewing gum. Morag is still bundled up in her sensible padded coat, her gray hair rumpled from the breeze. To be fair, you wouldn’t walk into the store and think, Wow, what a hip and sexy staff.
“My turn! Let me say something now.” Nicole gives Jake a little shove, and he scowls but lets her take the floor.
“I’m excited,” Nicole begins. “Who’s excited?”
There’s a baffled silence, then Greg says, “Me!” in a throaty voice, and Nicole beams at him.
“There are so many possibilities here. The sky’s the limit. But are you all maximizing your potential?” She eyes Morag, who shuffles backward nervously. “I want to help with that, with the use of specialized psychological profiling and teamwork. Let’s use your personal qualities. Let’s achieve more, letting our imaginations lead us.” She makes a broad, sweeping gesture, nearly knocking a jug off the shelf behind her. “Let’s use Instagram. Let’s use mindfulness. Let’s make change. Let’s climb that mountain. Because we can do it. Together.”
She breaks off into an even more baffled silence. I can see Stacey mouthing What the fuck? to Greg, and I should reprimand her, I suppose, but the truth is I feel exactly the same. What is my sister on about?
“Right!” I say, as it becomes clear Nicole has finished. “Well, thanks, Nicole, for that … er … inspiration. I think that’s it for speeches,” I add, “but basically we’re looking at how to improve the store, so any ideas you have, please share them. Thank you!”