He shakes the glazed look from his eyes and opens his mouth. I don’t think he’s been listening to me rambling on and I imagine he’s just going to make up some corporate gobbledygook right now to dig himself out of this.
My heart sinks a little. What a shame! For a second there I really thought he was interested, that he was different and that maybe we could even start to make a difference. Like Jennings, he obviously thinks I’m not up to this, that they need someone with more qualifications, more potential. They probably have someone already in mind from the London office ready to swoop in and kick ass.
He takes his jotter in one hand and adjusts his wonky glasses. ‘Well, everything Lily said makes perfect sense – we do already have an established circulation, no known competitors at present. However, we have also faced increasing production costs and a tough print advertising market. Our biggest challenge is re-engaging with our previous readership while also attracting new readers. This should make us financially viable once again. But how likely is that in a short turnaround time?’
Is that a yes or a no? He’s talking in riddles. Consultant riddles.
Jennings opens his hands and bites down on his bottom lip. ‘I’m pleasantly surprised; that’s a good grasp of it, Christopher – well done.’ Then he turns to me. ‘So, you heard it there, Lily, despite your passion – which I must admit that I admire – it’s the end of the road.’
End. Of. The. Road. I go to say something, except I can’t find the words. Because there are times in life when you put everything into something and it vanishes like it was nothing, just completely valueless, and then there are no words. Or you don’t have the energy to find them.
‘If you’d be so kind as to allow me to finish…’ Christopher cuts across him. ‘If we incorporated a presence in the digital space, we might just be able to fix things.’
Fix things as in make them better or fix things as in sell us off or shut us down? I can’t figure out if he’s backing me or not.
McArthur turns to face Christopher, clearly intrigued by what he has to say. ‘Go on.’
‘Move the paper online and establish a digital edition to increase reach. That way we can generate more content and appeal to wider and more targeted audiences with minimum costs. Pictures, photos, features, interactions, competitions, social media networks… we want to take page ten and expand it. More photos of the gargantuan vegetables, and the naked cactus lady, it’s exactly what we need.’ He says, his glasses now lopsided again as he gets more animated. He’s talking so quickly, scribbling down notes and doodles with arrows and circles everywhere, running a hand through his hair with excitement.
Excitement! He sees it, he feels it – if this paper has any chance, it’s Christopher. I’ve got to say, I’m excited too, and relieved. As much as I want this to work, I could really use someone like him to support me. Managing the team as well as the content and development is a huge job alongside everything else I’ll have to do as Editor in Chief – it would be amazing if Christopher got stuck in here, to have someone to bounce ideas off, someone to run things by, someone to get excited with…
‘It’d need an ambitious and fearless Editor in Chief, I couldn’t implement this alone, Lily?’ he turns to me, his green eyes bright with possibility and something else indiscernible. Hope?
This morning everything seemed to be sliding from bad to worse, but now, there’s this. Maybe this is the beginning of something better, not just for the paper but, I daresay, for me? I spend so much of my life at work, that feeling happy here could have a ripple effect. It’s time for a change, a change for the better, and I want that more than I realised.
With both thumbs, Christopher taps and scrolls at lightning speed on his phone before turning the screen to me. ‘Our stats say fifty per cent of residents in this area are under thirty-five years old. We need to reflect that and carry content that engages them. We want to reach out to the bored commuter, the student dreaming of their gap year, the office worker wanting some excitement and escapism while they have their sandwich in the park.’
Everyone is nodding now, even Jennings, our bald accountant. He turns to McArthur, with what looks almost like a smile on his lips. ‘It’s got legs, in fact this could be a nice platform to advertise the other networks too.’
McArthur slices her hand through the air to silence us. ‘Okay, I’ve heard enough. I’ve made my decision. This is what works for me. Christopher, we know you’re clever with tech and talk, but if you ever want to progress to the next level, you need some grassroots experience.’ Her finger points out to the main office. ‘And you can’t get more grassroots than what you’ve got out there. You’ll work with Lily to bring about a…’ She looks to Jennings.
A revolution! A 360 degree change! An incredible, life-enhancing paradigm shift!
‘Twenty-two per cent increase,’ he replies without blinking.
‘A twenty-two per cent increase in the next four weeks. That’s about twelve thousand new readers,’ McArthur confirms.
Christopher raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s three thousand new readers every week? In a semi-rural area? That’s pretty challenging by anyone’s estimation.’
Thinking on these figures, I wonder if I’ve pulled a Gareth here and over-promised only to under-deliver. No matter how much I want this to work, is it possible to achieve this? Is it just wishful thinking that we can really pick up so many new readers in such a short space of time with the resources we’ve got? Is this do-able or have I even deluded myself on this one?
McArthur leans towards us. ‘Bottom line. If the Newbridge Gazette has the future Lily says it has, it really needs to prove that; not just to me and Jennings, but to the shareholders who are fully awake to that fact that they are haemorrhaging money at this rate. Twenty-two per cent in four weeks, any less than that and it’s game over; for the Gazette and for your Leadership Programme.’
I dart a glance over to Christopher and try to offer a reassuring smile. Not only does he have to prove himself in a new role with a team that don’t know him, but he’s got a very tough, black and white target to reach in an insanely tight amount of time. And if he doesn’t succeed, he’s failed his leadership program and the paper really does reach The. End. of. The. Road. I shudder at the thought. What will I do? What will that mean for me? Rejection after rejection at interviews based on my lack of qualifications. That’s if I even get any interviews.
Um, no pressure then.
Christopher pinches his lips and nods.
McArthur takes a deep breath and directs her eyes to mine. ‘Lily, you’ll remain our new Editor in Chief for the time being until we know where we stand. You need to make a name for yourself. If the Newbridge Gazette is going into unchartered territory, then so are you.’
I brace myself. If she’s given Christopher that high-wire remit, then she’s not going to let me off lightly. I have absolutely no idea how this woman’s mind works. She could ask anything of me, and the way things are looking, I bet I’ll say yes. What choice do I have?
She taps her fingers against her chin before continuing. ‘I want a weekly column, feel-good, fun Friday kind of thing; personal, original, fresh content. Human interest. There’s an appetite for that and we need to supply it before someone else does.’
That sounds amazing! It’ll almost be like writing for Jolie, although obviously without the glamour or the scope or the status or the travel opportunities or the goodie bags… But it’s more than I’ve been allowed to do so far and it’s right here in Newbridge. So that’s good enough for me. I lean into the table, eager to hear more.
Jennings grimaces as if he’s about to pass wind, then shouts out, ‘Buckley’s Bucket List!’ A smile breaks his lips and McArthur nods beside him, rubbing his shoulder.
‘Not bad, Jennings, turns out you are more than a numbers man. Very catchy, straightforward, says what it is on the tin. I like it.’
Jennings is grinning like a laughing Buddha.
McArthur continues, ‘It needs to be ser
ialised so they keep coming back for more. So, every Friday, I want to see a four-page feature, complete with engaging photos, quotes, all that sort of thing. That’s where we’ll grab the attention of this new under-thirty-five reader profile. Bucket lists sing adventure, fearlessness, indulgence…’
‘This is great. More than great.’ I scribble in my notebook. ‘Spa days? High Tea at the Ritz? That kind of thing…?’
McArthur stops nodding and pinches her dark plum lips. ‘No. This isn’t Day Out With Your Granny, Lily. We want interesting, daring, things that you haven’t done before. Things that you wouldn’t even contemplate doing unless your life depended on it or you actually thought you were going to die anyway. Push yourself beyond your limits! That’s why it’s a bucket list, it’s supposed to make you feel alive.’
Okay… What does that mean then? Snuggling up to big furry deadly spiders? Throwing myself off great heights? Singing to a crowd? Streaking across a football pitch? But before I even get a chance to process, never mind express my concerns, her watch beeps and flashes red.
‘Right, I’ve got to go check my blood sugar.’ McArthur slides her chair away from the desk. ‘Lily and Christopher, good luck. Four weeks today, I want to see a promising online presence and a twenty-two per cent increase, okay?’
‘Okay,’ we echo back in unison. What other answer is there at this stage?
Okay, okay, okay. I don’t really know what I’ve agreed to or how she is expecting us to hook in twelve thousand new readers in less than a month, but I do know what’ll happen if we don’t pull it all off.
Well, looks like we made it by the skin of our teeth, hopefully buying enough time to get us back up and running. But this chance hasn’t come without cost. As Editor in Chief I’ve got a team to motivate and a new colleague in Christopher – a very attractive, very creative ‘transformational’ consultant – who has even less experience than me and just about as much at stake. I’ve got to liaise and work with him to achieve a massively ambitious target in very little time. It’s hard to know where to start.
I glance over at Christopher and we share a tremulous smile. What the hell have we got ourselves into?
Almost everything is riding on the success of Buckley’s Bucket List. It’ll either save our butts or kill us off altogether. I shake everyone’s hand and sidle into a quiet toilet cubicle for just a bit of peace, privacy and space to process all that’s happened. I kick off my shoes, wriggle out of my torn tights and pull out the paper clip from my makeshift updo, finger-combing the knots out of my long, brown hair.
Despite it all, I’m happy. Genuinely happy. Because when I woke up this morning, I made a wish. I shut my eyes tight in the shower and silently wished for just one more chance to make things work.
And it looks like it’s been granted.
Five
After such a crazy day, I leave the office for the weekend and skip home for an hour to settle a sleepy Chaplin into Oreo’s old blanketed basket in the kitchen. Taking a quick shower, I change into jeans, boots and a clean vest top then short-cut across the field on foot to The Black Boar. It’s the closest pub to the office and is an alternative meeting room and therapeutic hideout to imbibe and relax. Or imbibe and rant.
This is where we used to take new staff joining us and take old staff leaving us. So, it makes sense we would go tonight, I guess we’re having Gareth’s leaving party without him, but also it gives us a new start as a team. We’ve been through a lot and the fear and low morale isolated us from each other so much that we need to forge a new way forward. Believe me, there are worse ways to try to get people to work well together.
I shiver, remembering the time Gareth made us complete a lengthy questionnaire to determine what kind of workplace animal each of us was. He turned out to be a ‘lion’ (surprise!). And I turned out to be a ‘monkey’, which I had to act out in the middle of the circle. Complete with noises and gestures and facial expressions – apparently an advanced technique to overcome inhibitions and build trust and respect at a primal level. I blush at my naïvety; in those early days, I always did as I was asked, believing that he had our best interests at heart.
So, we’re not doing any more of the contrived ice-breaker crap designed to make people feel stupid. Instead, we are going to sit around a corner table at The Black Boar. Everyone there of their own accord. This is important. Because I know from experience, you can’t make people do things or want things or feel things that they don’t want to. I remember my own lesson in that very clearly. My classroom was a summer’s day in the sacristy at our local church – my wedding day. You can’t make someone feel for better or for worse and you can’t make them even pretend to feel it just to get through the ceremony and the reception so ‘we could at least save face in front of one hundred of our nearest and dearest and then talk about whatever needed to be talked about on honeymoon’. Nope. It can’t be done.
I don’t think you ever forget lessons like that. I also learnt that double-wear waterproof mascara is a good bridal choice if you think you’ll get a little teary and emotional on the day, but that it can’t hold up to gut-wrenching sobbing.
It’s getting darker now as I pass our office on the other side of the street and, looking up, I see the conference room lights are still on. It must be Christopher working late, getting prepped for our first meeting on Monday morning. It crossed my mind to invite him to join us for a drink tonight, but then I decided against it. These are odd and extraordinary circumstances; the Gazette on the brink of closing down one minute, then a last-ditch maverick attempt to save it the next. A radical restructure, new targets, new teams. It’s a lot to take in. Bet even Mary didn’t see this one coming.
And even though Christopher looks about my age and I think he’s quite nice – I love how he’s excited about getting started and making a go of our new-look paper, he has lots of great ideas and he’s very attractive – I can’t forget that he is still part of McArthur’s team. He is still a consultant with the power to make or break us. Even though I’m Editor in Chief, he’s from the London head office. He’s here for a clear professional purpose, number-crunching and acting as McArthur’s eyes and ears over the next four weeks. The most important four weeks the Newbridge Gazette has ever seen.
So, I think it’s best I keep a respectable professional distance, otherwise the next four weeks could become either awkward or overly complicated, which is the last thing any of us needs right now. I’ll take care of the team and re-energise the layout and content of the paper. He can work on the online stuff and accounts and our new readership. We’ll work together on the bucket list feature as I’ll need his input on what will work with new audiences and how to maximise our reach. And if McArthur wants pictures, I guess he’ll have to come with me to do all these activities because I won’t be in a position to take pictures of myself. Whatever the hell it is I’ll be doing…
That’s another thing, what to put on this goddamn list? I’ve drawn a blank since McArthur slammed the first three ideas I fired off as senior citizen day trips. I’ll need his help with that too.
I arrive outside the pub and look through the steamed-up windows at the merry throng inside, all relieved to have knocked off from work, excited to begin the well-earned weekend. I catch sight of Jasmine, the cat-loving temp through the window. She’s laughing and pulling faces with the IT guy. They’re all in there, and I exhale a breath I didn’t realise I was holding in.
I bite down on my lip, suddenly thinking maybe I’ve made a big mistake not inviting Christopher? I could just nip over the road right now and let him know where we are? If he fancied a quick drink? Just to be sociable? And then if he declined, I would understand completely, but at least he wouldn’t feel left out.
Jasmine spots me and raps on the window to wave me inside. Then she sticks out her tongue, pinches her nose and throws back a dark-coloured shot.
No, I did the right thing. Rocking up with Christopher may frighten him off. And frighten them off. Yes, I�
�m the new boss, but they know me, and they know I’m trying to save their jobs. They may not trust Christopher. I don’t even know whether to trust him myself yet! I’m hoping he’s not another Gareth who can turn it on for interview and self-advancement but throw the rest of us under the bus if needed. We both need to get that twenty-two per cent increase to save our skin, our careers, and this paper. The Newbridge Gazette needs us to have a clear-headed, single vision not six double-vodkas and a gobful of pork scratchings.
All hands on deck! Eyes on the prize! Onwards and upwards to victory! I hear ole JJ Oakes shout in my mind. He was a master motivator; a man we wanted to work our asses off for, we wanted him to be proud of us.
I can’t let Christopher see us at anything less than our best. What we don’t need is McArthur’s ‘transformational consultant’ to think we’re a load of amateurs who have nothing better to do than go to the pub on a Friday and spend our free time boozing. That would look unprofessional. And I imagine a bit sad and hick compared to the cool London scene to which he’s accustomed. So, it’s best we keep that to ourselves.
I glance up one last time at the light on in the office, a huge part of me yearning to be up there too, brainstorming and action-planning. But I know that I need to prioritise, and right now is the crucial time to bring this team together if we’re going to get anywhere. So, I turn back to the heavy wooden pub door in front of me, I take a deep breath and push my way through.
‘Same again for the corner table and a large red wine for me please,’ I ask the barman. My team is in rowdy form already – but in a good way. Laughing, drinking, listening, chatting like friends, they look happy and relaxed and excited and well on their way to drunkenness. A positive, encouraging sign for the weeks ahead when they’ll have to rely on clear communication and support. And possibly have to share roll-on deodorant and toothbrushes if we fall behind schedule.
I spot Denise the barmaid who has been here since I was a teenager when I used to lug my mum’s speakers in, setting up her stool and mike, tuning her guitar for her Folk Festival guest appearances. For all her faults, my mum was a born performer with an amazing voice – distinctive, smooth but sensitive, crackling with emotion but controlled. Even this country pub would fall to a hush once she started to play and sing. It was widely recognised by agents and punters alike that once Marilyn Buckley was your headline act, you were guaranteed a full house.
For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 6