Going Green

by Nick Spalding

  Nolan concludes the email by telling us he’ll be back in the office after lunch, and wishes us all a good morning.

  A good morning is not all that likely, given that he’s left us on tenterhooks again.

  Furthermore, I don’t actually have any work left to do myself, having wrapped up my last job the day before Nolan Reece came along. I was hoping to speak to Peter about the Hollington Stores contract, but given that he’s nowhere to be seen today either, that’s a complete dead end.

  I simply have no work to do. You can’t really be much of a publicist if you have absolutely nothing to publicise.

  Now, this should be something to be celebrated – and in circumstances where my job wasn’t up for the chop, it probably would be – but under present conditions, being sat here twiddling my thumbs is not going to help me stay employed at Viridian PR, is it?

  As I look around the office, I can see that everybody else appears to be getting on with something constructive. In fact, I’ve not seen such a strong work ethic in this office for a long time. This is obviously down to the present circumstances as well. Everyone is trying to impress, aren’t they? Given the paucity of work that we’ve had coming in over the past few months, I have no idea what they’re all actually doing, but at least they look busy, which is more than can be said for yours truly.

  I must find something to do!

  But what?

  I spend a few minutes chewing on my fingernails, until something occurs to me – when I remember the suggestion that my brother came up with on the phone the other day. The one I dismissed out of hand at the time as not being a big enough gesture, but which now sounds like something that might just do the trick: pot plants.

  Nolan Reece said he wants to run an environmentally aware business – and part of that is having an environmentally friendly office space, yes?

  The offices of Stratagem PR have always been quite modern and clean, but geared towards environmentalism they are most definitely not.

  What if I went along with Sean’s suggestion, and took it upon myself to make some changes that would accomplish this? Wouldn’t that further endear me to my new boss?

  Yes.

  Yes, it probably would.

  And if Nolan Reece associates Eleanor Cooke with something as environmentally friendly as a load of pot plants, then he can’t possibly fire me!

  Big rule of good PR: create strong subconscious links between your client and some relevant, positive imagery, and you’ve pretty much won the battle before it’s even started. Nobody else in the office shows any signs of wanting to make it a greener place to work in. The idea is mine, and mine alone.

  I guess Terry could be secretly working out how to recycle his farts into a renewable energy source to run the photocopier, but if he is, he’s keeping a tight lid on it.

  No. I think I’m actually the only one who’s had this idea.

  Pot plants – according to Google – are very good at improving air quality. And who doesn’t like improved air quality, eh? Also, pot plants are very visible, aren’t they? Very obvious. If I bring a load of them into our office, then they will definitely be noticed! And everyone – especially Nolan Reece – will know that it’s me who bought them.

  What a fantastic idea!

  ‘Er . . . I’m just heading out for a while,’ I say to no one in particular. ‘Just have a client . . . a client to go and see.’

  Nadia looks up at me and offers me a small smile, before getting her head back down again.

  Nobody else seems to care what I’m up to, so I shrug my shoulders and make a beeline for the exit. If I’m about myself, I can get to B&Q, buy a load of pot plants, and get them back here before Nolan comes in after lunch.

  Yes, yes!

  Off we go then!

  Do you have any idea how fucking expensive pot plants are?!

  No, neither did I. Not until I got to B&Q.

  By the time I left again about half an hour later with my car boot full to bursting, I was a good hundred and fifty quid lighter in the purse.

  But it’ll all be worth it. I’m sure of it. Just as soon as I get these bloody expensive things situated around the office – looking all green and leafy, and improving our environment.

  If my leaving the office barely registered on anyone’s radar, then the same cannot be said when I re-enter it. Awkwardly carrying a four-foot rubber plant will do that.

  ‘That’s a nice plant you’ve got there, Ellie,’ Joseph remarks, as I pass the desk he and Amisha are sat at. They’re both working on the new website at the moment, so are probably the only ones having no problem keeping busy.

  ‘Yes, yes it is,’ I reply, somewhat non-committally.

  ‘Any reason for bringing it in here?’ Amisha says, the smile trying its hardest to stay off her face.

  Joseph and Amisha are unwholesomely clever.

  They can see what I’m up to. They can see it quite clearly.

  ‘Just thought I’d brighten the place up a bit,’ I reply, in a light, breezy tone. ‘Just trying to . . . you know . . . do my bit for team morale.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ Amisha says. ‘Well, that’s . . . that’s very good of you.’

  ‘Yes. Yes it is,’ Joseph adds.

  ‘Indeed. Indeed it is,’ I say, looking in every direction but at them. ‘I’ll just go pop it by the photocopier,’ I tell them, and scuttle away, muttering under my breath. I know when I’m being teased.

  The rubber plant goes over in the corner next to the photocopier, where it looks quite lovely.

  On my next trip back up from the car – still avoiding Joseph and Amisha’s gaze for all I’m worth – I position several succulents along the windowsills, in what I hope is a pleasing manner. As I do this, Nadia comes over.

  ‘What you up to, Ellie?’ she asks, all curious.

  Oh God. Not her too. Everyone is taking far more interest in my exploits than I’d like. ‘Oh, you know . . . just trying to spruce the place up a bit,’ I tell her in a light voice. ‘Thought the office could do with a little greenery.’

  Nadia’s eyes have gone understandably narrow. Before this, my only perceived interest in our office space was how quickly I could get out of it at 5.30 p.m. Much like Joseph and Amisha, she’s finding my new-found interest in pot plants rather suspicious.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Nadia says.

  So as not to engage in further conversation with her about it, I pop the last succulent down and immediately turn around, rushing off to get some more of my green haul before Nadia has the chance to question me further.

  I know I’m doing all this out of pure self-interest, and I’m sure most people in the office have deduced the same – but what choice do I have?

  That’s my life right now – doing things royally outside my comfort zone, just so I can stay working in this increasingly pot-plant-filled office.

  On the next load up from the car, I bring ferns. Many leafy, bouncy ferns.

  ‘I had a fern once,’ Terry tells me, as I pass him in the kitchen. ‘It died within a week. I think my cat took a shit in the pot.’

  ‘You think your cat took a shit in the pot?’ I reply, not really wanting to think too much about the cleanliness of someone who can’t tell whether an animal has defecated in their pot or not.

  ‘Yeah. Shame really. It was a lovely fern. Looked just like that one.’

  ‘Ah . . . that’s . . . that’s lovely Terry,’ I say to him, before backing away slowly.

  I put the ferns in various strategic places that also please me aesthetically. I don’t go quite so far as to plonk any of them on people’s desks. That probably wouldn’t go down all that well.

  The final trip up from the car brings with it three hanging plants. All of which have strange and complicated names that sound like something from a Harry Potter book.

  I hang the Ceropegia linearis up by the entrance to the kitchen, where it dangles pleasingly. The Hedera helix gets strung up in the hallway leading to the toilets, and the Wingardium leviosa take
s pride of place just outside the entrance to Nolan Reece’s private office.

  And with that, my pot-planting efforts are complete. With satisfied hands placed on satisfied hips, I survey my work with a satisfied look on my face.

  Nadia sidles up to me while I’m basking in my own cleverness.

  ‘Have you considered,’ she says, with a sly smile on her face, ‘that you’re going to be the one watering all of these? You know that, don’t you?’

  My face falls. ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Er . . . how often will I have to do that?’

  Nadia cocks her head. ‘Oh, every day Ellie. Every single day.’

  ‘Balls.’

  ‘Probably twice.’

  ‘Crap.’

  She gives me a look, and a pat on the shoulder. ‘Hope it was worth it,’ she says, before sidling away again, back to her desk.

  We’re about to find out – as Nolan Reece has just walked in.

  I’m half tempted to go running up to him to point out my pot-planting efforts, but that might come across as a little too eager. Better to just stand here and wait, while he takes in the environmental glory of it all. I’m sure he’ll immediately want to know who had the great idea to brighten the office up and make it greener.

  As he comes towards me, I plaster on a fake but wholly expectant smile. I also try to channel my inner earth goddess as much as I possibly can, by putting my clenched fists on my hips and tilting my chin up slightly, to really hammer home my efforts.

  Nolan glances up at me, throws me a quick smile of his own, and powers past into his office. He doesn’t look at the pot plants once – save for a quick glance at the Wingardium leviosa hanging just outside his door.

  Bollocks, I remark in the vaults of my mind, as he closes his door behind him.

  I look around at the rest of the office to see that most of my work colleagues have clocked Nolan’s indifference to my endeavours, and are smirking like schoolchildren.

  A couple of them are also sneezing, it should be noted. I probably should have checked with people about allergies.

  Anyway, that appears to have been a complete waste of bloody time, doesn’t it?

  . . . no, no. I’m not leaving it at that. I’m £150 down here. I have to make it worthwhile.

  Under the gaze of my highly amused co-workers, I beetle my way over to Nolan’s door and knock.

  ‘Come in,’ I hear him say, and I do just that.

  ‘Er, Nolan?’

  He looks up from where he’s sat at his desk with a concerned expression on his face. ‘Oh, hello, Ellie. How are you?’

  Glad you still remember my name, for starters.

  ‘Fine thanks. Just wondering if you’d noticed the plants.’

  Nothing like getting straight to the point, in my book. I learned that in my job. Sometimes, there’s no point sodding around with subliminal messaging, when a bloody great big billboard will do the job.

  ‘Plants?’

  ‘Yeah . . . the new pot plants around the office?’

  Nolan looks confused, but rises from his chair, walks around his desk and comes to join me at the entrance to the office. He pokes his head out and regards my efforts properly.

  ‘Oh, that’s very nice,’ he says, but in a disturbingly distracted tone. He then turns and goes back to his desk, still with that furrowed brow and pinched look on his face.

  ‘Everything alright?’ I ask.

  He stares at me for second. ‘Um . . . sort of. The financial situation here is . . . very difficult.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Yes. It’s all quite tricky. We’re going to need to get clients signed up as fast as possible.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘It should all work itself out okay . . . with any luck. I’ve just been with the guys who run Hempawear, and they sound like they might be on board. That’d be really, really great if they are!’

  ‘Hempawear?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nolan looks a little flummoxed. ‘I’m quite surprised you haven’t heard of them. The Warriors For The Planet swear by their stuff. They wear them all the time.’

  ‘Oh! Hempawear! ’ I exclaim, waving a hand. ‘Of course I know who they are!’ I stick a finger in my ear. ‘Sorry, hearing is playing up a bit. Might be having a reaction to one of the pot plants I bought myself and put in the office to make it more environmentally friendly.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ Nolan replies. ‘Thanks for that.’

  ‘No problem!’

  ‘You’ve got some Hempawear stuff then, have you?’ he asks me.

  ‘Of course!’ I lie. ‘Love . . . love their stuff.’

  Quite what stuff this is, I have no idea. Wearable items, obviously. But whether that’s clothing or jewellery or hats is anyone’s guess. My clothes-buying habits are strictly ASOS, Primark – and FatFace, if I’m feeling a bit flush.

  I think I’d better get out of this conversation as fast as possible.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ I say in a hurry. ‘You’re obviously very busy.’

  ‘Oh . . . well, yes. I guess I am.’

  ‘And so am I!’ I assure him.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Extremely busy, that’s what I am.’

  ‘Okay,’ Nolan repeats.

  I open my arms expansively. ‘Plenty of work to be getting on with, that’s what I’ve got!’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘And I’ve got to water those pot plants as well! Aha ha ha ha ha . . .’

  ‘Fine.’

  This is not getting out of the conversation at all. What I am in fact doing is the exact opposite of that. If anything, it’s Nolan who wants out of it far more than I do. I can tell from his expression.

  ‘Well, off I go then!’ I say cheerily.

  ‘Okay.’ Nolan nods and his eyes flick over to the doorway.

  ‘Yes, yes. Off I go. To work . . . and to water pot plants!’

  ‘Great,’ Nolan repeats.

  Just leave, Ellie.

  I turn on my heel and scuttle out of Nolan’s office, finally leaving him to his worries.

  I have plenty of my own as I get back to my desk. The pot plants clearly haven’t done the job I needed them to. Nolan is way too distracted with trying to bring in new clients to notice them. That £150 has gone down the drain, and I’m still not entirely sure I won’t be following it at the end of this week.

  There must be something else I can do.

  If pretending to be a dying panda and making the office a greener place hasn’t done the trick, then what will?

  Perhaps another call to Sean?

  No! No, Ellie. Think of something on your own for a change!

  My mind goes back to the company Nolan just mentioned in his office.

  Hempawear.

  Maybe there’s something there I can use?

  I google the company name, and find out that they are in fact an underwear manufacturer that makes pants out of hemp. And bras. And socks. And long johns. In fact, Hempawear seem to produce just about every item of underwear you can think of. All out of natural hemp fibres.

  They also do next-day delivery.

  Hmmm.

  Interesting . . .

  So, now it’s Thursday, and I’m wearing hemp knickers.

  This may sound like the first lyrics of a particularly bad Ed Sheeran song, but I assure you that is my current status, as I ride in the elevator up to the office.

  They’re not the flashiest knickers you’ve ever laid eyes on, it has to be said. I haven’t worn anything quite so plain and expansive since I was thirteen. They certainly do a good job of covering most of my bum. They’re the biggest and most modest pants I’ve owned in decades. About as sexy as a sideboard.

  They seem to fit very nicely though, which is good.

  My thinking has been thus: Nolan seemed very keen on getting Hempawear’s business, and as he thinks I actually already own some of their product, I figured it could only help my cause to turn up to work in some
of Hempawear’s finest undergarments. It’ll help to reinforce my green credentials even further.

  The only issue I have now is letting Nolan Reece know that I am in fact wearing said undergarments.

  Do you know how hard it is to make another human being aware of what underwear you have on, without coming across as a lunatic sex monster?

  Very hard, let me tell you.

  I’ve tried to think of ways I can do it that appear natural and normal, and I’m coming up blank. It’s just impossible to do . . . without coming across as a lunatic sex monster.

  Now, I want to keep my job here at Viridian PR – that much has been readily established. But do I want to keep that job having earned a reputation as a lunatic sex monster?

  Probably not.

  All I can really do is get on with my working day, and hope an opportunity arises to safely bring up the fact that I’m wearing Hempawear products, without also bringing up the fact that I am a lunatic sex monster.

  As the lift gets to the floor Viridian PR is on, another small issue arises.

  The pants are getting a little . . . itchy.

  Nothing too bad, you understand. But it is a little distracting. I put it down to the hempyness of the material. Apparently, Hempawear use more hemp in their products than any other rival hemp clothing company. It’s something they are very proud of. I’m sure my new pants just feel a little uncomfortable because they’re new. There’s no way they’d sell underwear that wasn’t naturally comfy.

  Thankfully there’s no one else in the lift with me now, so I can have a sneaky little scratch of my backside before the door pings open.

  I probably shouldn’t have worn this trouser suit, to be honest. It’s always been just a bit too tight around the thighs and butt. That might not be helping to make my large Hempawear knickers feel comfortable. But good impressions and all that. I look like a confident business executive in this suit. Having my buttocks hugged a little harder than I’d necessarily like is a price worth paying.

  That’s probably why the pants are itching a bit. I’m sure it’ll pass as the day goes on.

  Having had a brief but satisfying scratch, I make my way into Viridian PR, still pondering how I’m going to let on that I am a fan of Hempawear’s product.