‘I prefer Lily,’ I tell her.
She nods and peers back down at my file and just then the door opens and in comes the messy-haired man from the car park. He looks even messier than before, his glasses are lop-sided and I see they’re broken at the hinge, almost to the point of snapping off altogether. He doesn’t really fit the profile of what I imagined a high-flying transformational consultant would be. I thought he’d be older and slicker and more meticulous about his corporate appearance. But hey, what do I know? McArthur and her team are the experts. Maybe he’s here because he is so different from the normal grey-suited blank-faced consultants. The ones that sit on their laptops, don’t say anything for three days and then rip us to shreds in a lengthy report which no one quite understands. Maybe this guy breaks the mould. Maybe that’s why he’s so ‘transformational’.
‘Ah, Christopher, you’ve made it.’ McArthur frowns. ‘Wasn’t sure you could fit us in, so we started without you. This is our current Editor in Chief, Lily Buckley.’
I stand up to shake his hand. He doesn’t flinch. I can only presume that he doesn’t realise that Gareth has left and been so swiftly replaced. Or maybe he doesn’t care?
‘I’m Christopher. Pleased to meet you,’ he says in a very well-spoken voice, gentle and deliberate, slightly breathless. ‘Apologies for being late, I had some unexpected business to attend to, I’m afraid.’
Mags McArthur shoots him a look. ‘I can guess.’
I realise that I’m staring, his bright, beautiful smile eclipsing the bed-head and crooked glasses. For some reason, I am still holding his hand, and he smiles politely as he lets go and I sit back down, my cheeks now flaring red.
‘Late and tardy? Perhaps you have more to learn than I thought. You geeky types can get away with it when you’re hidden behind a screen all day, but not here! That was the whole idea, to give you real-world experience. Meet real people up close and face to face. For God’s sake, what the hell happened to your glasses?’
Christopher blushes and takes them off whilst running a hand over his loose dark curls to smooth them down. They spring up again despite his efforts.
McArthur blows out her cheeks and turns to Jennings. ‘Transformational Consultant, eh? You’re going need to transform from your bed to this office a lot quicker if you want to stay on this Fast Track Leadership Programme. You’re here now, representing me and representing my interests, so smarten up, you hear me?’
My heart clenches in my chest for poor Christopher. Somehow, I always believed that ‘Head Office People’ never, ever got a dressing-down, that they were flawless and beyond reproach. But I can tell by the way Christopher is listening intently, taking in every word, that he’s new to this role, maybe a little out of his depth too and may have even more to prove to McArthur than I have. And that’s saying something. But still, his heady title of ‘Transformational Consultant’ was enough to send Gareth running. So, as far as I’m concerned, Christopher is already doing a fantastic job.
McArthur pouts and motions for Christopher to sit down and join us. He swings himself behind the table, still holding his wonky glasses out in front of him, puzzling at the broken hinge.
I catch his eye and point to the desk tidy right by his hand. ‘Sticky tack please,’ I whisper.
He furrows his brow in confusion, pushes out his bottom lip, but still, he does as I ask and passes it over to me.
‘And glasses,’ I add, palm out in front of him.
And again, he co-operates.
With my trusty black felt-tip, I colour in the sticky tack and then mould it around the broken hinge of his glasses, evening out both arms. I hand the glasses back to him, he slides them on and smiles.
‘Straight and secure.’
McArthur curls her lip in bemusement. ‘Well, that’s rather clever, Millie.’
‘Lily.’ Christopher corrects, his eyes on mine. ‘I think I can take things from here.’ He slides a hand over to my file and pulls it towards him. ‘If I may?’
McArthur blinks her permission.
‘So, Lily, tell me your strengths and weaknesses,’ he begins.
Okay, this is it. My chance to prove myself, to show them that not only am I willing to take on the Editor in Chief position, but I’m ready for it. I can do this.
‘I’d have to be honest and say my weakest area is anything political, or sport-related. And while I can produce tag lines, headings and short pieces, I haven’t much experience of writing long articles.’
None, actually. I tried a few, but Gareth sent them back to me saying they weren’t right for us and maybe I should remember that it’s adverts that pay our wages but I don’t want to undersell myself before I’ve even had a chance to show them what I could do, if only they’d give me the opportunity.
‘How about features?’ Christopher asks.
I pause a moment and glance at McArthur and Jennings. They’re not looking at me at all, both head down in paperwork.
I swallow and answer Christopher with a smile. ‘I’ve had lots of ideas but none of them made it to print unfortunately, so I’ve not published any features yet. Mostly I cover local news and events, social and human interest pieces. But I’d love to. I would absolutely love to write features. I’ve been gagging to do them since forever!’
‘Gagging?’ he repeats, eyebrow raised. His eyes are distracting: dark green, with flecks of light brown, like olives.
‘Yes. I mean to say, it’s an area I am keen to develop.’ My cheeks flare red. This is an interview. I’ve got to appear professional, use the right words, sound like I’ve got the skills and the experience they need. I take a sip of water to compose myself.
He nods and rubs his chin, listening to my every word, scribbling down notes in a notepad just like mine. From across the table, I can’t make out anything he’s written. Although his spoken words are soft and clear and perfectly formed, his handwriting is as erratic and indecipherable as a doctor’s prescription. ‘Please continue.’
For a second there, I forgot that I am supposed to be the one doing the talking.
Focus Lily, focus! But I can’t remember the question. I’ve been dreaming about olives. I never noticed how gorgeous and rare a colour they were till…
‘Your strengths…?’ Christopher prompts.
‘Yes! My strengths are that I am enthusiastic, organised and hard-working and loyal as a dog. I have a good ear for a story and a knack for getting to the point. I am fully committed to this paper, and can work long hours, weekends, holidays. I can travel at short notice… the perks of having no partner or kids to look after, and I can be deployed anywhere at any time.’ I swallow and smile through the bittersweet reality of my availability. But it’s true, I live by myself and my job’s the only commitment I’ve got, so why not try to turn that into a positive?
‘And resourceful,’ adds Mags, tapping her fingernail on the desk. She’s obviously been paying attention all along, the ultimate multi-tasker. She slides my file back from Christopher. ‘It says here that you cut your teeth under JJ Oakes? I rang him this morning to find out about the staff and your name stood out. He was particularly adamant that I should hold on to you. He tells me I’d be mad to let you go.’
Good ole JJ. ‘That’s kind of him.’
‘You’ve been here…?’
‘Seven years.’
‘And you’ve been Editor in Chief for?’
‘Just before you guys arrived.’ I glance up at the clock. ‘Almost ninety minutes now.’
Christopher raises a smile. ‘So, let’s cut to the chase… you think the Newbridge Gazette has a future?’
‘Yes! Absolutely! I think it has so much more to give.’
Jennings jolts around from the filing cabinet and shakes his head so fast that his chins are out of sync. ‘Wrong. So very, very wrong.’ He spreads out a stack of old newspapers across the table between us, some curling at the corners with age. ‘It’s beyond terrible. In terms of our entire media portfolio, the Newbridge Gazette i
s our weakest link by far. The figures are a humiliation, they are that low. I mean, look at these stories, these headlines – “Man still alive hours before death”.’
Uh-oh. I was worried this might happen. We’re not perfect. We’ve had clangers. Editing not as tight as it ought to be. Gareth offloading too much to work experience teenagers, so he could take an extra hour for lunch. Communication breakdowns, sloppy systems, lack of direction, shitty coffee. That’s low. As low as it gets.
Jennings shuffles through for more. ‘Ah, here we are, the infamous Page Ten.’
That is my page! I hold my breath and dig my fingernails into my palms…
‘“Local Cemetery deemed a Death Trap”.’
‘That headline got the stinging nettles cut back… it’s much better now.’ I know because my lovely granny is buried there.
But Jennings keeps going. ‘“OAP reveals his 2ft courgette”.’
‘It was massive. It was longer than my arm…’ I push up my sleeve to my elbow and stretch out my left arm for full effect.
I glance at Jennings’ clean short nails and soft, uncalloused hands, guessing that as he is from the city he may not fully appreciate how hard it is to plant and grow anything from scratch and keep it alive. I tried a herb garden last year and it was annihilated by slugs. The only plant I now own is plastic. So, hats off to that OAP. Two foot is bloody impressive!
‘And then there’s this,’ Jennings winces. ‘“Toilet Curse Strikes Again!”… I don’t even want to know.’
Christopher takes the last paper from him and continues reading. He laughs out loud and bites into his knuckle. ‘“Dog that looks EXACTLY like Chewbacca – exclusive pictures inside!”’
I redden. That one was mine too. But it was well-received. And I stand by it because that dog was cute. It deserved coverage; even during election week.
McArthur straightens her back. ‘Okay, enough already. I’ve pored over every edition that’s gone out over the last twenty-three months, and you know what? Page ten is the only decent page in the whole paper. At least it offers something engaging, something innovative. The rest is just so… dull, so boring, tedious and bland, it reads like flat-pack instructions.’
This sounds like praise but I can’t be sure by her tone. Or her face.
She heaves a deep sigh. ‘Lily, you’ve been here seven years, you can’t say you think the current situation is working?’
I open my mouth to answer but stop as Christopher slaps his hand down on the table, chuckling to himself.
‘This page ten stuff is great, how about this one – “One-armed man applauds kindness of strangers”, or this one “Woman who ran naked into a cactus! Pictures inside!” It’s like The One Show meets Viz. Genuinely, I love it. It’s got character, I think it’s great.’
The consultant from London thinks my page is great? Genuinely?
I try to read his expression, but there is no trace of sarcasm. His eyes are still creased in a smile. He should be an eye model. That green is mesmeric.
He laughs again before turning the page. I feel a swell of gratitude and pride. Actually, I shuffle in my seat and try to control my next breath, slow it down, don’t give away too much, don’t appear amateur. But the truth is, this tiny spark of praise, of encouragement, has made me feel a little emotional – but I cannot let that happen! Not here, not in front of these hardballers, at my first meeting, on my first morning as Editor in Chief!
I blink rapidly and shift my eyes away from Christopher’s lovely, soft, smiling features and focus on a spot on the wall behind his head. I’ve got to hold it together because I could so gush right now. I could fling back this chair, run around to his side of the table, grab him by the shoulders and say thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you for being so kind about my work, for ‘getting’ this, for ‘getting’ me. For making the last three years not feel such an epic failure on every front. That I was doing something meaningful, something worthwhile. It feels a really long time since anyone’s ‘got’ me, or cared to try. And it’s taken me aback a little more than I realised it ever could. I didn’t know I was missing that but it feels so lovely, now I know I certainly was. I swallow and focus on McArthur. If anyone will snap you out of succumbing to a deluge of the feels, it’s her.
McArthur isn’t laughing or smiling, she just keeps flexing her fingers as if she might punch something. Or someone. ‘You are a proper city boy, aren’t you? There is a world outside zone 2, Christopher, and these stories, this coverage, is our bread and butter.’ I’m quickly learning that McArthur is harsh, even when she agrees with something. I wouldn't like to see her reaction if you got something wrong. ‘The latest market research says our readers want more of this, they want more human interest stories. Those that still buy the paper do so for page ten alone! But the rest, I mean, how many second-hand cars can there be?’
Wow. That’s good! That’s superb! Page Ten is the Newbridge Gazette’s way forward! And even McArthur seems to be on board. I’ve got to move with this one positive aspect immediately before they lose sight of it.
‘OK. Is the Gazette in a crappy place right now? Yes!’ I say, straightening my collar and acting like I’m a serious journalist, ready to cut the bullshit and lay all the cards on the table. ‘But it’s still got what every other paper out there hasn’t got – a community that will get behind us if we listen to them and act on what they are telling us. It’s the paper for people who don’t necessarily read national newspapers. It used to be part of the tradition around here for people – and those people are still here! They still want to know about the lives of their friends and neighbours, they want to connect and support each other. And that’s where we come in. It’s what we do. We can make that happen. We’re small and we’re proud and we have the least direct market competition out there.’
Jennings coughs into his fist.
I speak up a notch louder, because I’m not finished. If I get Jennings on side, maybe I’ll have a better chance with McArthur. ‘And, okay, our figures are lower than recorded in the previous years. But that’s just because we lost our way, we forgot what we were about and instead we treated our readers like idiots and padded out the pages with ads and announcements and boring bits. But now we’re all on the same page, we can get it back on its feet! This is not the time to shut up shop. We are truly unique, and we serve the uniqueness of our community. Who else can say that? Not the Mail. Not the Herald. Certainly not the Chronicle. Just us, because we are truly independent. And I think now is the time to build on this and relaunch and come back better than ever.’
Now its Jennings’ turn to take my CV. It’s hard to read the expression on his chubby, studious features, but I sense interest, possibility. I seize on it.
‘This paper just needs someone who believes in it, someone who understands that a regional platform is an invaluable resource. The Newbridge Gazette is an everyman newspaper. No story is too low or too high to reach for.’ I hear JJ Oakes’ voice booming in my ear. And for the first time in ever so long, I feel a little spark of hope returning. Maybe it’s not too late for things to get better. Maybe we’re just at the beginning of something special. Maybe this is exactly what we’ve all been waiting for: a second chance.
Jennings meets my gaze head on, shifting his weight to his back leg. ‘No offence, Lily, but you’ve never been an Editor in Chief before. You’re too young. You’re inexperienced – you’ve never worked beyond these four walls. And,’ he runs a finger over my CV, ‘your education, it’s a mishmash of diplomas and short courses and evening classes… With respect, it’s hardly reading English at Oxford, is it?’
Christopher swallows hard and opens his mouth to speak, clearly offended on my behalf, but I don’t need him or anyone else to stand up for me. I can do that for myself. Especially when this man doesn’t even know me.
‘With respect, Mr Jennings, why on earth would we need someone from Oxford to tell the readers of Newbridge what’s going on… in Newbridge?’
He doesn’t answer me. But he does look a little taken aback at being questioned.
‘And, for the record, I do most of my work outside of these four walls. I was at the hospital this morning interviewing a lottery winner. Yesterday, I was at the opening of the new train platform. Every single day, I am out and about finding the stories that people want to read about.’
Jennings pauses and hooks his thumbs into his belt, pressing his chins against his neck. Mags stifles a tight smile.
I continue, ‘The Newbridge Gazette needs someone who believes it can succeed. Someone who has not forgotten that it used to be at the top of its game. Stuff has gone wrong, but it’s survived and we can learn from our mistakes. And I know you have little reason to believe in me, but I work harder than anyone else. I’m in first and out last each day and I devote myself completely to my job. You can ask anyone.’ I pause to catch my breath. ‘I know I haven’t been Editor in Chief long, but I learnt a lot under JJ Oakes and I just know I can do this if you give me the chance. You said yourself that people want page ten and page ten is what I do. I am page ten.’ There! Have that!
I am met with three blank faces.
Mags swings around to Christopher, who appears lost in thought. Or zoned out? She nudges him. ‘Christopher, perhaps you have some thoughts? Observations? Contributions? Insights?’
‘Yes.’ He clears his throat and makes a steeple of his hands. ‘Many, many of all of those things.’
Okay, we’ve clearly lost him. Christopher has mentally left the room.
McArthur breathes through her nose. ‘Well come on! Spit them out, boy.’
For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 5