This is of course impossible, given that Robert is many, many things, but forgettable is not one of them. Much like a really, really bad case of diarrhoea is unforgettable. Or World War Two. Or that Cats movie, where they made Judi Dench do all those unspeakable things.
And I doubt Nolan Reece is going to forget about him any time soon, either.
Nor is he likely to forget about all the sordid details no doubt imparted to him about my relationship with Robert, over half an hour of hardcore manspreading – which could all spell the end for any future I might have with Nolan.
Nadia is probably right about my job. I doubt that’s in any real danger thanks to Robert’s revelations.
But my relationship with Nolan? That’s an entirely different matter.
Damn you, Robert Ainslie Blake.
Damn you, your manspreading and your penis-shaped car to hell and back!
Chapter Nine
THE TALE OF THE NEFARIOUS NARWHAL
This morning, when I got in to work, I went straight back into Nolan’s office, and started babbling at him again about how much I had truly changed, and how he could trust me going forward, and how I was committed to Viridian and him, more than I could ever express in words.
‘Okay, Ellie,’ he tells me, holding up one hand. ‘You don’t have to keep explaining yourself to me.’
Oh, but I do, Nolan. I have to keep explaining myself to you until I die.
‘I believe what you’re saying,’ he continues. ‘I went home and thought about it a lot last night, and I think you’ve been a bit hard on yourself.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes. Okay, you weren’t honest about things to begin with, but you were trying to keep your job.’
‘Yes! Yes I was!’
‘And you’ve done such a good job ever since. I find it hard to believe you don’t care about the environment.’
‘That’s right!’
Nolan’s face darkens a little. ‘I just wish you’d mentioned your previous relationship with that . . . man.’
‘I know! I know! I’m sorry, Nolan! I really am!’ My knees feel like they want to buckle, just so I can get down on them and beg.
‘Can you promise me you’ll be honest and open with me from now on?’
‘Of course!’
He nods. ‘Then let’s try not to worry about it any more.’
‘You forgive me?’
He looks a little awkward. ‘Yes. Yes, of course I do.’
‘Oh God, thank you!’ I say, eyes filling with tears. I take a step towards him . . . but he backs away from me as I do so. My heart sinks.
Nolan may say he has forgiven me, but I’m not entirely sure he believes it himself.
‘Shall we . . . shall we get to work?’ he says, going around to sit back in the chair behind his desk – subconsciously putting a large, solid barrier between us.
‘Um. Yes, yes. Okay,’ I reply, the taste of ashes in my mouth.
I also sit down, trying to switch my brain into work mode again. This has been an easy thing for me to do in the past, when things were going well with Nolan.
It most certainly is not easy now.
All I want to do is make things right with him again. All I want is for things to go back to the way they were.
I want to know that he forgives me properly . . . in a way that doesn’t make him want to back away from me, and put a desk between us.
‘I’d like to discuss World Action Today,’ Nolan says in a matter-of-fact voice.
My shoulders slump a little.
Okay.
That’s the way it is for now, then . . .
‘World Action Today?’ I say, trying to mirror his matter-of-factness, and probably failing miserably.
‘Yes. They’re holding an event tomorrow at the seafront. I’ve managed to book us in a meeting with their CEO just before it kicks off. I was going to go down there and speak to her myself, but I’ve now got another important matter to take care of, so I was hoping . . .’
‘I’ll do it!’ I immediately reply.
I feel an overwhelming desire to do just about anything for Nolan right now. To make him happy with me again.
‘Okay, thank you so much,’ he replies, and actually smiles.
‘No problem! No problem at all!’
I try to keep the desperate tone out of my voice – but I am desperate. Desperate for Nolan’s full and proper forgiveness. And desperate to prove that I have turned over a new leaf, and that I am now fully on board with Viridian’s ecological cause.
This visit to the World Action Today event sounds like the absolute ideal way for me to accomplish this. It’s the perfect opportunity to prove my worth to Nolan. To get back in his good books . . . and to get him back.
Actions speak louder than words, after all. And me smooth-talking the World Action Today CEO into coming on board with us is the action that I definitely need to take.
I swear to whatever gods may be tuning in to have a laugh at my expense – I’m going to win back whatever trust Nolan may have lost in me thanks to Robert Ainslie Blake’s conversation with him. I bloody well am.
The first step in doing that is getting to know the good people of World Action Today, and their sponsors, Bio-Plast Engineering.
WAT are a small but firmly established charity that specialise in highlighting the dangers and destruction that plastic causes to our world – most notably in the ocean. Bio-Plast Engineering are leading the way in developing biodegradable plastics. The synergy between the two is obvious.
And rest assured, I will not be using the word ‘synergy’ again, and I apologise for even bringing it up once. It’s one of those buzzwords that make me want to tear every follicle of my hair out, and every time it spills out of my mouth I want to punch myself for it. If I ever utter the word ‘holistic’, you have my permission to hunt me down and do terrible things upon my person.
Regardless of that, Bio-Plast have deep enough pockets to help WAT stage a big, public event close to the sea. It will be a three-mile march along the road that parallels the seafront, undulating up and down the chalk hills that lie just behind it.
WAT want to spread the word about their cause by entertaining and informing the public, rather than lecturing at them, which is a refreshing and positive change from Bandy’s hectoring of passers-by at Whitehaven.
There’s even going to be people in fancy dress, and a steel band – along with some jugglers, fire breathers and stilt walkers to bring the whole thing to life in a celebratory manner.
On Saturday morning I get to the location of where the march is starting – outside a pub called The Happy Seahorse – about an hour before it’s due to kick off. I can already see lots of people lining the route, so they’ve clearly done a good job of organising the march. The weather is typically British – grey, damp and about three weeks into a course of antidepressants – so it’s testament to the effectiveness of the organisers that so many people have come along.
The CEO of World Action Today is a well presented woman in her mid-forties called Helen Carmichael. I’ve been told I will find Helen ensconced in a sizeable motorhome that’s been converted into an office space, with the WAT logo on the side. It’s parked a few yards away from the start line of the march, which has been demarked by a large, very professionally produced banner hung over the road.
There are a lot of people engaged in frenzied activity around the start line, including lots of volunteers in WAT/Bio-Plast T-shirts, those circus acts I mentioned, the steel band, several people dressed in outlandish foam costumes made to look like plastic bottles, and one very large carnival float that has a massive tarpaulin over it, covering what’s beneath.
All very interesting, and all very exciting.
I go into the motorhome, marvelling at the size and scope of today’s event, and see Helen Carmichael stood in the centre, at a small desk. She’s talking on the phone with a couple of volunteers buzzing around her, both wearing WAT T-shirts and one in dungarees.
Looking at this busy tableau, I instantly know that Helen Carmichael is the type of woman I want to be when I grow up.
You ever met anyone that just exudes competence? The kind of person that walks into a room and immediately takes charge – sometimes accidentally, sometimes deliberately?
Helen Carmichael strikes me as just such a person, before I’ve even said one word to her.
I unconsciously smooth down the front of my business jacket as I approach. I’m pleased I decided to go semi-formal this morning. I’m not in trouser-suit territory, but the black jacket is crisp, the dark-blue cashmere roll neck is austere, businesslike and the most expensive item of clothing I own, and the jeans are sensible and smart. I even have my hair tied back in a sharp ponytail.
Compared to Helen Carmichael though, I look like I’ve just stepped out of the bath.
She’s wearing a suit with shoulder pads so precise she must use a spirit level in the morning. The suit itself is bright red, and therefore there’s no way she should be able to pull it off. If I tried, I’d look like a clown at a job interview. No such issues for Helen Carmichael, though. And the precision with which she’s applied her make-up is, quite frankly, terrifying. I study her face as I walk up to her, and can see no blemishes or smudges whatsoever. Her black hair is glossy and shiny, and she has a fringe that sits just above her meticulously plucked eyebrows and is straighter than a sobered-up horizon.
I don’t know why the hell this woman would even begin to consider the idea of hiring a PR firm; it’s quite clear she could just order the entire country to do whatever she said, and they’d fall into line without a moment’s thought.
I must impress this person. I must impress this person in ways that they have never been impressed before. Then I’ll get World Action Today’s business, and Nolan will see how I am truly committed to our cause.
‘Good morning!’ I say crisply to Helen Carmichael as she puts her phone down, having concluded the call. I thrust out a hand as well.
‘Eleanor Cooke?’ she replies, taking my hand and pumping it up and down – once and once only.
‘Buh?’
‘You’re Eleanor Cooke, correct?’
‘Yes, yes, that’s me!’ I tell her, marvelling at just how straight that fringe truly is up close.
‘Thank you for coming. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Um . . . yes. A tea would be lovely.’
‘Very well.’ Helen turns to one of the volunteers. ‘Emily, please get Miss Cooke a cup of tea.’ Then she addresses the other one. ‘Skye – I think we’ll just go with the main route. If they say the parked cars will be cleared, I believe them. If there are any problems, I’ll take it up with the council afterwards.’
Both Emily and Skye nod and go about their respective tasks, moving past me to disappear from the motorhome, leaving Helen and me alone.
‘So many things to organise on a day like today,’ Helen says.
‘It all looks like it’s going well,’ I assure her.
‘Yes, it is,’ she replies, clearly indicating that she needs my reassurance about as much as a fish needs an electric bicycle made out of bamboo.
Helen crosses her arms gracefully. ‘Miss Cooke, I’ve agreed to this meeting because Nolan is someone I respect, but I’m not sure what service we really require from your agency.’
Nor am I any more, to be honest.
Part of me wants to just throw in my job and come work for Helen. I think I’d look good in one of those T-shirts.
‘Well, thank you for seeing me at such a busy time.’
Helen raises an eyebrow. ‘I would have preferred it in a quieter period, but Nolan was quite insistent. I’d say he has a lot of confidence in you, to send you down here on today of all days.’
I raise my chin slightly, and cock my head. ‘And I’d say he was obviously very persuasive to get you to agree to it.’
My posture, tone and phrasing here are something of a gamble.
People like Helen Carmichael either want those around them to be compliant and easy to manage, or they enjoy challenge and conflict – as long as it’s constructive. I’m betting that this woman is the latter type.
She regards me for a second, before a smile forms on her perfectly lipsticked mouth. ‘Well, quite,’ she finally says, with the most warmth in her voice I’ve detected since coming in here.
I heave a massive internal sigh of relief.
‘Why don’t we sit down and have a chat?’ she suggests. ‘I can only give you about ten minutes, but that will be time enough for you to let me know what you can do for us.’
‘Oh yes, it absolutely will,’ I reply, tucking myself into the seat behind the motorhome’s desk, as Helen sits opposite me.
Emily the volunteer brings me my tea, and I thank her and take a small sip of it, before beginning my Viridian PR sales pitch.
The next ten minutes are intense. Helen Carmichael is forensic in her examination. Her questions are as crisp as her suit, and she never takes her eyes off me. I feel like I’m being studied – which, of course, I am.
But I hold my own, and get the pitch across in a way that I am extremely happy with, given the audience. By the time I’m done, Helen looks quite pleased with what I’ve had to say. I feel like I’ve passed an exam.
‘Well, you certainly do have a very good handle on your brief, Miss Cooke. Admirably professional,’ she tells me. ‘And your passion for tackling the climate emergency we all face is obvious.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply, smiling inwardly. As part of my pitch, I made a brief mention of my time spent with Sean’s class, and how profound an experience it was for me. Business pitches never hurt from a little bit of a personal touch, I always find.
‘You’ve certainly given me food for thought,’ Helen continues, ‘but I’m still not sure just how much of your company’s services we actually need.’
Bugger. She’s still wavering. I have to do more. I have to find a way to prove both my conviction about the environmental cause and my ability to go above and beyond to push World Action Today’s agenda. I cannot leave here without a successful new relationship! I need it, to make sure the one I have with Nolan is put back on track!
A potential solution to this arrives with Skye the volunteer, in a very harried state, who bursts into the motorhome and rushes up to where we’re sat.
‘We’ve got a problem, Helen!’ she says, red of face and wild of hair.
‘What’s the matter, Skye?’
‘It’s Deandra . . . she’s got food poisoning, and can’t wear the costume on the march!’
‘What?’
‘Deandra went and bought a punnet of whelks from that weird old man in the shack by the pier,’ Skye explains in a rush. ‘We all told her not to, but she was adamant about trying the local street food. And I said, “It’s not like going to Wahaca on the South Bank, Deandra” . . . but she was insistent, and now she’s in the women’s toilets, throwing up!’
Helen’s eyebrows knot. ‘Can we get somebody to replace her? We really do need to use all four of the costumes to get value for our money.’
Skye looks heavenwards. ‘Well, we could take Lolly off float management, I suppose . . . or we could get Calvin to do it.’
Helen arches an eyebrow again. ‘Calvin is seventeen stone, Skye. He wouldn’t fit in that costume if you gave him six months on the Atkins diet.’ Helen’s hand thumps the table in front of her in frustration. ‘How annoying. Deandra should have known better . . . and now we have to move somebody around to fill in, which will throw my personnel charts off for the appraisal.’
‘I’ll do it.’
Yes.
That’s me speaking.
I’m as surprised about it as you are.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Helen says, looking at me again.
‘I’ll wear your costume for you,’ I repeat. ‘I’d be happy to.’
Because it’s perfect, isn’t it?
Helen Carmichael here has a problem – one I can help her with.
Volunteering to help her out with the parade will show just how valuable I can be to her, and will surely grease the wheels even more for her coming on board with Viridian PR.
‘You want to wear our single-use plastic bottle costume, and hand out leaflets to the public?’ Helen says, clearly stating what it is I’m letting myself in for.
‘Yes. Why not? I’d like to help out. I’ve attended a protest with Warriors For The Planet before, so I’m no stranger to this kind of thing.’
‘You have?’ Helen seems quite taken aback.
‘Yes. I was one of Padlo’s bunch.’
This means nothing to her of course, but I sound pretty convincing about the whole thing, which I feel is all that’s required at this juncture.
Helen looks at Skye. ‘What do you think?’
Skye looks me up and down. ‘Er . . . the suit is quite heavy.’
I wave a hand. ‘It’ll be fine. I’m stronger than I look.’
Obviously I’m not, but that desire to impress Helen Carmichael has taken hold to such an extent that I’m happily willing to lie about my physical prowess in order to seek her favour.
This is what being a man must feel like.
I’m not sure I could cope with it full-time. It must be horrific.
Skye shrugs her shoulders. ‘It’d make life easier for all of us,’ she concedes. ‘Means we wouldn’t have to pull anyone out of the job you’ve assigned for them.’
Helen looks at me gravely for a second, assessing this latest development.
‘Alright, we would appreciate the help,’ she eventually says. ‘We’ll have to further discuss any future relationship between World Action Today and Viridian PR at a later date.’
And there it is. She’s not committing herself yet, but she’s not shutting the door on us either. It’ll just have to do for right now.
‘There’s an empty bedroom at the end of the motorhome,’ Helen tells me. ‘You can leave your jacket in there. Skye, go get the costume.’
‘Yes, Helen,’ Skye acknowledges, and beetles her way out of the motorhome again.
‘And you’re sure about this?’ Helen then asks me, evidently still weighing up my motives.
Going Green Page 19