My brochures are all printed. The final versions arrived yesterday and they’re perfect. The paper is just rustic enough, the font is evocative, the pictures are amazing…the whole thing works. I’m so proud of it. Not only of the farm—but of the brochure. I’m proud of my work.
And as I sit here at my desk, proofreading some endless report on the new brand architecture of Associated Soap, what I keep thinking is: Could I get my brochure to Demeter? Could I get her to look at it properly, really see it?
If I leave a brochure on her desk, she won’t look at it. If I give it to her at the wrong moment, she won’t look at it. Alex’s voice keeps running through my head, which makes me cringe, but I have to admit his advice was good. Pitch her exactly the right idea, exactly when she needs it. After all, he knows how Demeter works.
(Actually, that’s a thought I could do without. Move on.)
I need to make it count. Because I think if she truly focuses on it, she’ll love it. I’ve learned so much from Demeter. I finished that book of hers, Our Vision, and at the back I found some old sketches she’d done. Just studying those taught me something. At my most positive, optimistic moments, I even think: Could I become her protégée? If she sees my work and likes it, might she give me a chance? All I have to do is find a moment when she’s available and receptive….
But that won’t be easy. Demeter has never been less receptive or available. In fact, to be honest, the atmosphere at work has never been weirder.
A lot’s gone wrong since Christmas. No one’s happy; everyone’s tense. And even I, the lowliest of the low, am aware that Demeter’s at the eye of the storm. Flora gets the inside track from Rosa, and she’s told me all about it. First of all there was The Email. It was sent by Demeter—by mistake—and it insulted one of our clients. He’s head of marketing at the Forest Food restaurant chain, and apparently after some stormy meeting Demeter called him suburban with no handle on style in a draft email to Rosa. And then sent it to him by mistake. Ouch.
So that was a whole big incident, and Demeter walked around for a while with a pale, panicky face. Then, last week, things got worse. Rosa’s been working with Mark and some others on a new brief for Sensiquo—one of our beauty clients—and it’s been a shambles, with deadlines coming and being missed. Apparently it’s not their fault—Demeter’s been sitting on everything they send to her and not getting back to them. The final straw came last week when Demeter finally set up a meeting with Sensiquo, then had to cancel it. Apparently she didn’t seem to know what stage the project was at and it was quite embarrassing.
So the Sensiquo people got furious and complained to Adrian. As a result, Demeter’s in a real state. She keeps coming into the room, stopping dead, and looking at us all as though she doesn’t know who we are. And the other day, I came across her and Rosa having a furious row in the ladies’. Demeter was talking in a low, frenzied voice, saying: “I should have checked. Rosa, I don’t hold this against you. I should have checked the facts for myself. I’m your boss; it’s my responsibility.”
Whereupon Rosa looked at her with something close to hatred and said evenly, “You knew we weren’t ready, Demeter. I told you.”
“No, no.” Demeter shook her head. “You told me you were ready.”
“No, I didn’t!” Rosa practically screamed, and I hastily backed out of the ladies’ altogether. At times like this, you basically want to be invisible. So that’s what I’m trying to be. Invisible.
Today, though, everything’s pretty quiet, and I wonder if the worst has blown over. I’m just getting up from my desk to make a coffee, when Flora comes bounding up.
“Hey!” she says. “So are you on for a drink at lunchtime? We’re starting our Wednesday meetings up again.”
“Oh, right.” My spirits whoosh straight up. “Great! Yes!”
I’ve been wondering what happened to the Wednesday thing, only I haven’t wanted to ask. To be honest, immediately after the Christmas party I was pretty furious with Flora. But my anger gradually blew over. She was drunk. We all get drunk and say stupid things. And she doesn’t even remember it, so at least I can pretend it never happened.
“Everything’s been so crazy, we haven’t been able to do it. But we’re all determined. We need to crack on.” She sits on my desk and starts plaiting her hair. “God, this place. It’s insane. Everyone’s imploding.”
“So what’s the latest?” I lower my voice. I know Flora loves relaying gossip to me—and the truth is, I love hearing it.
“Well.” She leans closer. “Apparently Demeter’s going to talk to Sensiquo. Like, try to win them back? Because they’re worth a lot. And if we lose Forest Food too…” Flora pulls a face.
“So is the company in trouble?” I feel tendrils of alarm.
“Demeter’s in trouble. Vile cow. Except Alex will stand up for her, so…” Flora shrugs. “If you’re shagging one of the partners, you’re never in that much trouble, right?”
My insides squirm at the image of Demeter shagging Alex. I don’t want to think about it.
“Anyway, see you later,” says Flora. “Shall we go along together?”
“Great.” I beam back. “See you then.”
I’m feeling more positive than I have for ages as I head to the kitchen. I’m looking forward to this lunchtime drink so much, it’s actually quite uncool. But I’m starved of fun. It’ll be so great to kick back, have a drink, and maybe talk about stuff other than how the company’s imploding and Demeter’s a monster.
To my surprise, I can hear Adrian’s voice as I get near the kitchen. It’s unusual for him to be on our floor, and I suddenly stop dead with a new thought: Shall I give my Ansters Farm brochure to Adrian? I barely know him—he’s quite a remote figure—but his smile is always kind. He looks like the sort of guy who might give a junior a chance. I dash back to my desk, grab the brochure, and approach the kitchen again. I feel a bit keyed up, but I’m determined that I won’t be coy. I’ll just tell him: I want to be noticed and this is my calling card.
It’s only as I’m halfway through the door that I actually hear what he’s saying. He’s speaking in a low voice, his brows knitted.
“…can’t understand what’s going on, and, frankly, nor can I. Alex, you told me Demeter was the real deal.”
Oh God. It’s just Adrian and Alex, having some high-level powwow, and I’ve stumbled in. Should I back out again?
“She is the real deal,” Alex retorts. “At least…Jesus.” He thrusts his hands through his hair. “I’ll talk to her.”
“You’d better.”
Alex draws breath—then notices me standing there, frozen. “Oh.” He gives Adrian a warning look, and Adrian turns too.
“Sorry,” I stutter. “I didn’t hear—I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no.” Adrian’s urbane bonhomie is back. “Go ahead. I’ll talk to you later.” He shoots a meaningful look at Alex and strides out.
So now it’s just Alex and me. Alone together. Which is pretty much exactly what I was hoping would never happen again. Trying to ignore him, I head over to the Nespresso machine, shove a pod in, and turn it on.
Alex seems a bit lost for words, which is unlike him.
“So,” he says after a lengthy pause. “Hi. Did you have a good Christmas? Porcini stuffing, wasn’t it?”
And I know I’m über-prickly at the moment—but even the way he says “Porcini stuffing” seems patronizing. I can sense the pity seeping out of him: through his words, through his sympathetic expression.
My entire body is seething. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him to “let me down lightly.” What’s he thinking right now? Poor tragic girl, got a crush on the boss; must be kind to her.
Well, fuck off.
And I know that’s not reasonable.
“It was great, thanks,” I say stiffly. “Yours?”
“Yes, good.” He nods, surveying me with those quick, clever eyes, then takes a deep breath as though he wants to say something awkward.
Immediately, alarm bells ring all over my body. I’m not doing that. I’m not standing here listening to him dole out platitudes while my cheeks burn and my mouth goes to sawdust.
“So,” I say shrilly. “Actually, I’m not in the mood for coffee after all.”