I Owe You One (Page 29)
“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!”
“Wait!” comes Uncle Ned’s voice, as the staff begin to disperse. “I may be an old buffer …” He laughs self-consciously. “But I have been asked to keep an eye on this outfit, and I have learned a few tricks along the way.…” He gives another stagy chuckle.
“Absolutely, Uncle Ned,” I say politely. “Please go ahead. For those of you who don’t know Uncle Ned,” I add, “he was Dad’s brother and has a lot of experience in business. Uncle Ned, what are your ideas?”
“Well, I must echo Jake. It’s all about appearance. Appearance, d’you see?” He wags a roguish finger. “My first impression is this: You girls should be wearing more-attractive costumes. A pretty blouse and heels—that’s what customers want. Let’s see more lipstick, perfume … let’s see some flirting with the customers.…”
My face feels paralyzed. He’s saying this? To the staff? Aloud?
“Sorry!” I gasp, finally finding my voice. “Let me clarify what my uncle is saying, to avoid any … uh … misinterpretation. “By ‘heels’ he meant ‘any heel appropriate for your general foot health.’ And by ‘lipstick’ he meant ‘lipstick is optional for employees. Male or female,’ ” I add hurriedly. “And by ‘flirting with the customers,’ he meant … ‘cordial relations with customers are advised.’ ”
Uncle Ned looks outraged by my interruption, but too bad. Family first is trumped by Don’t get sued.
“So, that’s it!” I conclude breathlessly. “Again, thank you, everyone! That’s all. Let’s open up.”
“You should wear lipstick,” I hear Stacey saying to Morag as they head to the main entrance to open up. “Or, like, lip gloss. Or, like, lip pencil. Or, like …”
“Uncle Ned, I’m sorry I interrupted you,” I say. “But you can’t tell the staff they have to flirt with the customers. We’ll get in trouble.”
“Oh, all this ‘health and safety’ nonsense,” says Uncle Ned impatiently. “I haven’t the time for it!”
“It isn’t health and safety,” I say, trying even harder to remain polite. “Telling a staff member they have to flirt with the customers is basically, you know, sexual harassment.”
Uncle Ned peers at me for an uncomprehending moment, then makes a harrumphing noise, turns away, and picks up a basket.
“Might as well pick up a few things while I’m here,” he says. “Now, where can I find an iron?”
Uncle Ned heads off in the direction of the laundry section, and Nicole produces a sheaf of papers from her bag.
“Here’s your psychological-profile questionnaire,” she says, handing one to Greg. “It’s scientifically based on, like, research, so …” She trails off.
“You are invited to a party,” Greg reads aloud. “Do you attend? Depends on the party,” he says after a moment’s thought. “If it’s a Dungeons and Dragons party, I’m there. If it’s a stag do, I’m there. If it’s a garden party with old ladies in fancy dresses, I’m not there. If it’s a—”
“It’s just a party,” Nicole cuts him off. “A great, fun party. The issue is, do you want to go? It’s a simple question. Party or no party?”
Morag and Stacey have returned to the group by now, and we all wait for Greg to answer. He thinks for a while longer, his brow deeply furrowed, then looks up. “Is there booze?”
“Yes!” says Nicole, clearly losing her patience. “There is. Look, don’t overthink it. Just write. I’m pretty sure you’re an Owl,” she says as she hands Morag a questionnaire. “And you’re probably a Lynx,” she adds to Greg. “Which means you need to work with a Fox.”
“D’you think I’m a Fox?” queries Stacey, taking her questionnaire.
“No,” says Nicole. “Definitely not. You’re more of an Albatross.”
“Then who’s Greg supposed to work with?” Stacey opens her eyes wide, with that faux-innocent look she has. “I’m only wondering, because it’s all so scientific and we haven’t got any Foxes,” she adds blithely. “Should we hire one?”
For a moment Nicole looks caught out, then she makes a sound of annoyance.
“Just do the questionnaires,” she says. “I’m going to do some Instagramming. Greg, you can help.”
As Nicole leads Greg down one of the aisles, Jake looks around the shop critically.
“We need to redo this place,” he says. “It needs a total refit. We should have better flooring, spotlights, some awesome artwork—” He breaks off, staring at the shop door in horror. “Give me strength,” he breathes. “Who is that repulsive wreck?”
“That’s not a repulsive wreck!” I say indignantly as I follow his gaze. “That’s Sheila!”
OK, so maybe Sheila isn’t one of the “beautiful people.” She’s overweight and shabby, with her woolen hat and ancient carrier bags. But she’s a regular. She’s one of us. She waves at me cheerfully and heads to the back, where I know she’ll spend hours examining cake liners and piping bags.
“She has to go,” says Jake firmly. “She’s not a good look.”
“She’s a customer, not a look!” I retort, but Jake’s not listening.
“We need to redo the whole place,” he says again, prodding at one of our functional shelves. “We should hire an interior designer.”