OK. Forget friends. I could be independent and self-motivated when necessary.
Maybe to regain the respect of my loved ones, I should attempt a Madonna-style reinvention? I glanced down at my old grey shift dress and thick black tights. I needed a new attitude, more drive, a sprinkling of ambition and possibly a new suit. The Herald wasn’t a bad place to work I thought, looking round me. I simply needed to rekindle the passion I’d once felt for the job.
It had to be worth a try.
Donna wouldn’t know what had hit her. Once I had injected a little ‘va-va-voom’ into my professional life I could show Mum I did have some ambition after all. She would brim with pride if I got a promotion and, naturally, forgive me. Then when all the fuss had died down I might even feel brave enough to tell her about meeting Terry. Jess and Emma would apologise for not supporting me when I was going through a difficult patch and Marc would…
Marc’s name snaking its way into my daydream snapped me back into the moment.
I’d been dying to tell him about my inheritance. I knew it was weak and pathetic to still want him back, but he was fun and gorgeous and made me feel all small and girlie. A really cynical part of me suspected that if I waved my new found wealth under his nose it wouldn’t take much to get him interested again.
But I wasn’t prepared to stoop that low.
Far better to use my new, career-focussed, eye on the prize, go-get-’em persona to dazzle him. I might even go back to the gym and exercise for real. I shuddered. Baby steps, Sophie.
A strangled scream from Donna’s office interrupted my flow. She appeared to be yanking all the cables out of her laptop. I had visions of it flying through the plate glass window and someone calling for security.
Maureen opened her eyes wide in fear and Jason curled his top lip and shook his head. Which left me.
Walk tall. This is the ‘new you’. Show her that you mean business.
I knocked on Donna’s door and poked my head in.
‘Everything OK?’
The boss had her head on the desk, still not a platinum hair out of place though, I noticed. A laptop was hanging by a solitary cable, suspended over the waste paper basket.
She lifted her head up and glared at me sulkily.
‘Can you do Facebook?’ she demanded.
I nodded. I was of the Facebook generation, addicted to updating my status on an hourly basis. If I ever suffered amnesia, I would be able to reacquaint myself instantly with my entire life by checking my Facebook page.
‘Twitter?’
Once again I nodded. This second nod wasn’t strictly true, but in the spirit of my new ‘can-do’ attitude, I decided to wing it. How hard could it be? Donna let out a long whistling breath through her nose. It could have been one of relief, or maybe she was still mad. Impossible to tell, although her face was looking less screwed-up.
She pointed at a chair. ‘Sit.’
I sat, apprehension starting to build in my stomach.
‘I need you in the boardroom with me at noon.’
Wow. I hadn’t expected that. Me. In the boardroom. At noon.
‘Er, great!’ I grappled for the right words, wanting to sound keen and calm even though I was anything but.
Seek and ye shall find. Or Ask and ye shall receive. Whichever the correct proverb was, I had been looking for a leg up the ladder and appeared to have stumbled over one.
‘The board has asked me,’ Donna sat back, folded her arms and cleared her throat, ‘I mean us, to give a presentation on social media to help them decide what The Herald’s stance should be. Should we be Twittering and Facebooking, that sort of thing.’ She waved her hand around vaguely.
I had lots of questions but all I could think was, ‘Presentation, me, boardroom, noon.’
‘But… but… why us in advertising, not editorial?’
‘They don’t want it to be news-led. They want promotions, vouchers, competitions, that sort of thing.’ Donna leaned forward, raised her chin and looked at me shrewdly.
The digital clock on her wall changed to 11 a.m.
I gasped. ‘We’ve only got one hour. They can’t possibly expect us to produce a report in that time!’
My heart was beating double time at the thought of it. Donna looked down at her desk, a little shiftily it seemed to me.
‘Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it. Just rustle up a few handouts, nothing too detailed. Most of them won’t even know how to use the internet, I’m sure. I’ll introduce you and let you do the rest.’
‘Me! You want me to do the whole presentation?’
Donna sat back in her chair and pursed her lips. ‘Is that a problem?’
I faltered; it was hardly ideal – my first time in the boardroom and I had almost no time to prepare. On the other hand, it might just give me the chance to shine that I’d been looking for.
My newly-hatched plan to perk up my career was in motion!
‘Not at all,’ I chuckled with false jollity. ‘I would just have liked more notice to make sure I do a good job.’
‘You’ve got fifty-five minutes to do a good job, so…’ she did that irritating head flick at the door, ‘go and get on with it.’
Striding back to my desk, heart pounding, I was a little bit dazed. I had a sneaking suspicion that Donna had known about this meeting before today. Why leave it until the last minute? Now I had less than an hour to produce something that under normal circumstances would take all day.
Maureen placed a cup of tea at my elbow and I gave her a tight smile of thanks. I took a deep breath and opened up a new document on my computer.
Sophie Stone, Social Media Strategist, had arrived.
thirteen
Fifty-nine minutes later, I stood next to Donna outside the boardroom on the dizzy heights of the top floor, waiting for the signal to enter. The USB stick I was clutching felt slippery against my sweaty palms and I bitterly regretted not going to the loo before we left the department.
Donna was gazing at me warily, as if she doubted I could pull this off. To be honest, I wasn’t sure myself. Her eyes travelled downwards to my old dress and shoes. Her bosom rose as she inhaled deeply and looked away. I glanced down, smoothing my free hand over my stomach as I sucked it in.
Crikey! My dress was verging on too short for the office, let alone the boardroom. I tugged it down a smidgen.
What if the board thinks I’ve got some sort of ulterior motive? Do I look like a trollop?
I considered asking Donna the question but held my tongue. She always dressed smartly, but she had made a special effort today in a black suit and eye-watering heels.
Shaking my head, I dismissed the thought that she had definitely known about this meeting before this morning. It was irrelevant; if she’d asked me before my ambition epiphany, I would only have shaken my head in fear or apathy and pointed at Jason as the person most knowledgeable about social media. Today, however, I was ready to look opportunity in the face and give it a big fat kiss.
Wendy, the Managing Director’s PA, poked her head out of the door.
‘We’re ready for you, ladies!’ she trilled.
I managed a nervous smile. Donna led the way into the room and stopped in her tracks, her face turning pale grey.
‘The Chairman’s here,’ she hissed at Wendy.
‘Yes,’ she winked, ‘aren’t you the lucky ones!’
Other than at the Christmas party, I’d never even been in the same room as him. My mouth went dry as reality started to sink in.
Wendy distributed my handouts to the six men seated round a super-shiny mahogany table and we made our way to where a laptop was connected to a projector screen. I fumbled to find the right hole for my USB stick. My hands were shaking and I was starting to feel a bit light-headed. Perhaps I was trying to run before I could walk with this bold new attitude.
Donna grabbed my arm.
‘You’d better not mess this up,’ she hissed, ‘or both our careers are on the line!’
/> Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Boss.
I looked round at my audience. Average age I guessed to be around fifty-five and not a smiling face amongst them. With the exception of Wendy, hair styles ranged from receding to bald. The Chairman, stern and bespectacled, sat at the head of the table, with the Managing Director on one side and Wendy on the other.
Donna kicked us off. ‘I’d like to introduce Sophie Stone, my advertising executive, who is going to give you an overview of social media and the role it can play in business, illustrated with case studies.’
Case studies? I felt my insides flip over. Donna hadn’t said anything about that. My eyes darted to the closed door. I contemplated making a run for it and leaving Donna to sort out her own mess. My boss had tiny beads of sweat forming on her top lip and looked the most needy I’ve ever seen her.
Sophie Stone to the rescue, it is then.
I took a deep breath, peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth and began.
‘So you see,’ I declared, fifteen minutes later, ‘using social media in a targeted and strategic way can result in an open and instant dialogue with our readers in a way that our newspaper can’t achieve. It would also allow our sponsors and advertisers to get direct feedback from their campaigns and promotions.’
The presentation was going very well. The board seemed genuinely interested and the questions they had asked had all been straightforward. Even Donna looked happy! I was feeling dangerously smug.
‘I’d now like to open up Facebook and Twitter so we can look at how other businesses are using it.’
I opened up Facebook, bending down to shield my password. It would open up automatically to my personal page and I sent up a silent prayer that none of my friends had posted anything salacious recently.
‘Case studies.’ I flicked over to Donna, accusingly. Time to improvise.
‘Would anybody like to suggest someone to look for on Facebook?’ I looked around the room, hoping for some audience participation.
‘You can have a look at my Facebook page if you like,’ said the Human Resources Director, cramming a chocolate digestive into his mouth and brushing the crumbs off his moustache.
‘Er.’ I shot Donna a second glance. So much for the board not knowing their Explorer from their elbows. Donna, very unhelpfully, gave a little shrug.
‘I was thinking more of a company, a brand, or a celebrity?’
‘Jeffery Archer,’ called the Financial Director. ‘Damn fine story teller, went to school with a cousin of mine.’
Please be on Facebook, Lord Archer, I pleaded silently, typing his name into the search box. I let out a breath of relief as his profile page appeared on screen.
I pointed out the various sections of the page: his likes, his info, his photos and demonstrated how to post a comment on his wall.
‘Another suggestion?’
That had gone reasonably well. I smiled confidently. I was clearly cut out for this executive lark. I mentally chastised myself for taking so long to grasp the nettle of my career. I could have been doing a much more senior job by now, if only I’d pulled my finger out.
‘The Times!’ called out one of the men I didn’t know. That got a mumble of approval. The board members sat up taller and leaned forward to watch as I located the right Facebook page.
It was a piece of cake. I explained how the national newspaper drop-fed snippets of news to its readers and used its Facebook page to sell online subscriptions. Murmurs and nods ran round the table like a corporate Mexican wave.
‘What about our local competitors?’ asked the Chairman. ‘Are they on it?’
Gordon Bennett, the Chairman had asked me a question! I was on his radar. This is it! The start of my journey to the top. Knock his socks off, Sophie. Blow him away with your superior intelligence!
Bumbags. I don’t know the answer. The old, unmotivated Sophie couldn’t be bothered to check up on competitors. The new Sophie could kick her. Hard. Think, think, he’s waiting!
I could feel my face heating up as I typed in the name of a newspaper from a small town about half an hour away. Oh, thank goodness! It was there. Bit embarrassing though. They were much smaller than us and by the look of it had been on Facebook for a while. I’d have to try and say something negative about their efforts.
‘This one is not quite in our league,” I said, conspiratorially, receiving one or two nods of approval, ‘but it is fairly local.’
The last post by the newspaper was ten days old and there were comments from readers – some of them not particularly nice – which had not been answered. Bingo! Prime example of how not to do it.
‘Once a business enters into the fray of social media, it’s vital to maintain that commitment or customers will lose interest.’ I punched the table to hammer home my passion for the topic.
Totally confident in my pitch now, I began to walk from one side of the projector screen to the other, smiling and making eye contact with each member of the audience.
‘Here is a classic example of how not to do it. They started well, posting new information and pictures every couple of days, responding to readers’ comments, etc. But now it looks like the novelty’s worn off. They’ve made a complete dog’s…’
The Managing Director inserted his little finger up his nose. He began to root about, head on one side, oblivious to my stare.
‘A complete dog’s…’ I repeated, transfixed and thrown off my train of thought.
He pulled his finger out of his nose and examined his quarry with the look of a man who had hit the jackpot and, thankfully, wiped his finger on his handkerchief.
What was I trying to say? My mind had gone completely blank.
‘Dog’s…’ I tried again, racking my brains for the end of the phrase. Something beginning with b. Come on! What was happening to me? It was as if my brain had left the building.
Donna gave a huff of exasperation behind me.
‘Bollocks!’ I yelled.
All the eyes in the room stared at me. Several jaws dropped. Donna gasped.
I just swore. I never swear. My first big swear and I’ve done it in the boardroom. Shitbuggerbollocksandfuck. I think I’m going to cry.
Mortified didn’t begin to cover it. My legs had turned to mush and my face was on fire.
The tense silence was broken by the Chairman, who looked at me over the top of his half-moon reading glasses.
‘I think the word you are looking for, young lady,’ he said imperiously, ‘is breakfast.’
‘How could you?’ snapped Donna two minutes later as we made our way back down to our own floor in the lift.
I looked sadly at the button for the top floor. I would never need to press it again.
‘You’ve let me and the entire department down.’
As soon as the lift doors opened, Donna was off. I skulked behind her.
‘You were so busy showing off, wiggling your backside about and grinning like the village idiot, that you lost concentration.’
It was the bogey man’s fault, not mine. The dirty pig. Now my chances of promotion were non-existent. Ironic really, I’d made a right dog’s breakfast of it.
‘Apart from that, though, I thought it went quite well, don’t you?’ I ventured, trying to salvage something from the wreckage that was my career. Donna glared and slammed her office door.
Half an hour later, I was easing a sandwich out of its wrapper when Donna’s door opened briefly.
‘Sophie! In here!’
I sighed. She’d already torn me to shreds over the whole fiasco, couldn’t we all forget about it now?
I stuck my head reluctantly into the lion’s cage.
‘The board was very impressed with our presentation.’
Our presentation?
‘Apart from the dog’s breakfast element of course. And they would like us to handle a special project to set up social media for the newspaper. Run by you.’
‘You’re taking the Pringle?’ I gasped. My relief that my foray into
hardcore swearing appeared to be over was hijacked by the euphoria of Donna’s news.
Donna frowned.
She thinks I’m an imbecile.
‘The MD wants to see a six-month action plan, an idea of any extra budget, and,’ she paused, ‘it goes without saying that nothing goes live without my approval.’
‘Understood. Absolutely. Thanks, Donna.’
I hovered at the door. ‘Um.’
She stared back, icily.
‘Do I get a pay rise?’
‘No.’
‘Can we change my job title to Social Media Strategist?’
‘No.’
I skipped back to my desk, with a celebratory air punch.
Step one complete. A promotion! Well, as good as.
I couldn’t wait to get home. My mates would be happy for me, we’d all laugh about the silly nonsense over the inheritance and I’d forgive them for not supporting me. An email to my mum would get me back into her good books. She would be ecstatic and tell all her ex-pat friends about her successful daughter, especially show-off Barbara whose son was one of the top managers at Sainsbury’s.
Tomorrow, I would call Mr Whelan and officially accept the terms of the will. And after that my future awaits!
Back at my desk, I returned to my sandwich and checked my mobile. Missed call from Nick Cromwell. I was popular today. He would have to wait until after work; senior people like me didn’t make personal calls in office hours.
fourteen
I rifled through the post on the shelf and ran up the stairs to the flat.
Stay positive and brazen it out.
Butterflies were performing the cancan in my stomach. I wasn’t sure what sort of reception I was going to get: Emma had stormed off the bus throwing murderous glances my way and Jess wouldn’t be able to resist casting aspersions.
It was a horrible feeling, not having them on my side.
Of course! I could invoke the house rule to get myself off the hook. The rule was that we had to celebrate everything, every triumph, every bit of good news, no matter how small. We kept a supply of cheap Cava in stock for any such occasion.
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