Can You Keep a Secret?
Page 97
'What the fuck compelled you to advertise a teenage bar to a load of old codgers?'
'Well!' Nick adjusts his cufflinks, not looking anywhere near me. 'Obviously it was a bit of a gamble. But I simply felt that maybe it was time to … to fly a few kites … experiment with a new demographic …'
Hang on a minute. What's he saying?
'Well, your experiment paid off.' Paul gives Nick an approving look. 'And very interestingly, it coincides with some Scandinavian market research we've just had in. If you'd like to see me later, to discuss it—'
'Sure!' says Nick with a pleased smile. 'What sort of time?'
No! How can he? He is such a bastard.
'Wait!' To my own astonishment, I leap to my feet in outrage. 'Wait a minute! That was my idea!'
'What?' Paul frowns.
'The Bowling Monthly ad. It was my idea. Wasn't it, Nick?' I look directly at him.
'Maybe we discussed it,' he says, not meeting my eye. 'I don't really remember. But you know, something you'll have to learn, Emma, is that marketing's all about team-work …'.
'Don't patronize me! This wasn't team-work. It was totally my idea. I put it in for my grandpa!'
Damn. I didn't quite mean to let that slip out.
'First your parents. Now your grandpa,' says Paul, turning to look at me. 'Emma, remind me, is this Bring Your Entire Family To Work week?'
'No! It's just …' I begin, a little hot under his gaze. 'You said you were going to axe Panther Bars, so I … I thought I'd give him and his friends some money off, and they could all stock up. I tried to tell you at that big meeting, my grandfather loves Panther Bars! And so do all his friends. If you ask me, you should be marketing Panther Bars at them, not teenagers.'
There's silence. Paul looks astonished.
'You know, in Scandinavia, they're coming to the same conclusion,' he says. 'That's what this new research shows.'
'Oh,' I say. 'Well … there you go.'
'So why does this older generation like Panther Bars so much, Emma? Do you know?' He sounds genuinely fascinated.
'Yes, of course I know.'
'It's the grey pound,' puts in Nick wisely. 'Demographic shifts in the pensionable population are accounting for—'
'No it's not!' I say impatiently. 'It's because … because …' Oh God, Grandpa will absolutely kill me for saying this. 'It's because … they don't pull out their false teeth.'
There's a staggered pause. Then Paul throws back his head and roars with laughter. 'False teeth,' he says, wiping his eyes. 'That is sheer bloody genius, Emma. False teeth!'
He chuckles again and I stare back at him, feeling the blood beating in my head. I've got the strangest feeling. Like something's building up inside me, as though I'm about to—
'So can I have a promotion?'
'What?' Paul looks up.
Did I really just say that? Out loud?
'Can I have a promotion?' My voice is trembling slightly, but I hold firm. 'You said if I created my own opportunities I could have a promotion. That's what you said. Isn't this creating my own opportunities?'
Paul looks at me for a few moments, blinking, saying nothing.
'You know, Emma Corrigan,' he says at last. 'You are one of the most … one of the most surprising people I've ever known.'
'Is that a yes?' I persist.
There's silence in the entire office. Everyone's waiting to see what he'll say.
'Oh, for God's sake,' he says, rolling his eyes. 'All right! You can have a promotion. Is that it?'
'No,' I hear myself saying, my heart beating even more furiously. 'There's more. Paul, I broke your World Cup mug.'
'What?' He looks gobsmacked.
'I'm really sorry. I'll buy you another one.' I look around the silent, gawping office. 'And it was me who jammed the copier that time. In fact … all the times. And that bottom …' Amid agog faces, I walk to the pin-board and rip down the photocopied, G-stringed bottom. 'That's mine, and I don't want it up there any more.' I swivel round. 'And Artemis, about your spider plant …'
'What?' she says suspiciously.
I stare at her, in her Burberry raincoat and her designer spectacles, and her smug, I'm-better-than-you face.
OK, let's not get carried away. 'I … I can't think what's wrong with it.' I smile at her. 'Have a good meeting.'
For the rest of the day, I am totally exhilarated. Kind of shocked and exhilarated, all at the same time. I can't believe I'm getting a promotion. I'm actually going to be a Marketing Executive!
But it's not just that. I don't quite know what's happened to me. I feel like a whole new person. So what if I broke Paul's mug? Who cares? So what if everyone knows how much I weigh? Who cares? Goodbye old, crap Emma, who hides her Oxfam bags under her desk. Hello new, confident Emma, who proudly hangs them on her chair.
I rang Mum and Dad to tell them I was getting promoted, and they were so impressed! They said at once they'd come up to London and take me out to celebrate. And then I had a really nice long chat with Mum about Jack. She said some relationships were supposed to last for ever and some were only supposed to last a few days, and that was just the way life was. Then she told me all about some chap in Paris who she'd had some amazing forty-eight hour fling with. She said she'd never experienced physical pleasure like it, and she knew it could never last, but that made it all the more poignant.
'Well!' Nick adjusts his cufflinks, not looking anywhere near me. 'Obviously it was a bit of a gamble. But I simply felt that maybe it was time to … to fly a few kites … experiment with a new demographic …'
Hang on a minute. What's he saying?
'Well, your experiment paid off.' Paul gives Nick an approving look. 'And very interestingly, it coincides with some Scandinavian market research we've just had in. If you'd like to see me later, to discuss it—'
'Sure!' says Nick with a pleased smile. 'What sort of time?'
No! How can he? He is such a bastard.
'Wait!' To my own astonishment, I leap to my feet in outrage. 'Wait a minute! That was my idea!'
'What?' Paul frowns.
'The Bowling Monthly ad. It was my idea. Wasn't it, Nick?' I look directly at him.
'Maybe we discussed it,' he says, not meeting my eye. 'I don't really remember. But you know, something you'll have to learn, Emma, is that marketing's all about team-work …'.
'Don't patronize me! This wasn't team-work. It was totally my idea. I put it in for my grandpa!'
Damn. I didn't quite mean to let that slip out.
'First your parents. Now your grandpa,' says Paul, turning to look at me. 'Emma, remind me, is this Bring Your Entire Family To Work week?'
'No! It's just …' I begin, a little hot under his gaze. 'You said you were going to axe Panther Bars, so I … I thought I'd give him and his friends some money off, and they could all stock up. I tried to tell you at that big meeting, my grandfather loves Panther Bars! And so do all his friends. If you ask me, you should be marketing Panther Bars at them, not teenagers.'
There's silence. Paul looks astonished.
'You know, in Scandinavia, they're coming to the same conclusion,' he says. 'That's what this new research shows.'
'Oh,' I say. 'Well … there you go.'
'So why does this older generation like Panther Bars so much, Emma? Do you know?' He sounds genuinely fascinated.
'Yes, of course I know.'
'It's the grey pound,' puts in Nick wisely. 'Demographic shifts in the pensionable population are accounting for—'
'No it's not!' I say impatiently. 'It's because … because …' Oh God, Grandpa will absolutely kill me for saying this. 'It's because … they don't pull out their false teeth.'
There's a staggered pause. Then Paul throws back his head and roars with laughter. 'False teeth,' he says, wiping his eyes. 'That is sheer bloody genius, Emma. False teeth!'
He chuckles again and I stare back at him, feeling the blood beating in my head. I've got the strangest feeling. Like something's building up inside me, as though I'm about to—
'So can I have a promotion?'
'What?' Paul looks up.
Did I really just say that? Out loud?
'Can I have a promotion?' My voice is trembling slightly, but I hold firm. 'You said if I created my own opportunities I could have a promotion. That's what you said. Isn't this creating my own opportunities?'
Paul looks at me for a few moments, blinking, saying nothing.
'You know, Emma Corrigan,' he says at last. 'You are one of the most … one of the most surprising people I've ever known.'
'Is that a yes?' I persist.
There's silence in the entire office. Everyone's waiting to see what he'll say.
'Oh, for God's sake,' he says, rolling his eyes. 'All right! You can have a promotion. Is that it?'
'No,' I hear myself saying, my heart beating even more furiously. 'There's more. Paul, I broke your World Cup mug.'
'What?' He looks gobsmacked.
'I'm really sorry. I'll buy you another one.' I look around the silent, gawping office. 'And it was me who jammed the copier that time. In fact … all the times. And that bottom …' Amid agog faces, I walk to the pin-board and rip down the photocopied, G-stringed bottom. 'That's mine, and I don't want it up there any more.' I swivel round. 'And Artemis, about your spider plant …'
'What?' she says suspiciously.
I stare at her, in her Burberry raincoat and her designer spectacles, and her smug, I'm-better-than-you face.
OK, let's not get carried away. 'I … I can't think what's wrong with it.' I smile at her. 'Have a good meeting.'
For the rest of the day, I am totally exhilarated. Kind of shocked and exhilarated, all at the same time. I can't believe I'm getting a promotion. I'm actually going to be a Marketing Executive!
But it's not just that. I don't quite know what's happened to me. I feel like a whole new person. So what if I broke Paul's mug? Who cares? So what if everyone knows how much I weigh? Who cares? Goodbye old, crap Emma, who hides her Oxfam bags under her desk. Hello new, confident Emma, who proudly hangs them on her chair.
I rang Mum and Dad to tell them I was getting promoted, and they were so impressed! They said at once they'd come up to London and take me out to celebrate. And then I had a really nice long chat with Mum about Jack. She said some relationships were supposed to last for ever and some were only supposed to last a few days, and that was just the way life was. Then she told me all about some chap in Paris who she'd had some amazing forty-eight hour fling with. She said she'd never experienced physical pleasure like it, and she knew it could never last, but that made it all the more poignant.
