by Hazel Osmond
‘Most advertising skirts around this or makes vague reference to “peace of mind”, but we want to make this lack of worry into a positive image. And to do that it’s back to the knickers. We make them happy. We give them personalities.’
Lesley stood up and set off at a cracking pace, explaining exactly how the ad would look. ‘We’re going to use models of knickers that convey different kinds of women, from career girl’ – Lesley started to shuffle through the pack of storyboards – ‘to young mum to sex kitten. And they’re going to be so happy they’re going to sing.’
‘This won’t be preachy,’ Ellie said, stepping forward again, ‘it will be fun. We believe that while life has moved on, this kind of advertising hasn’t, and it’s time it did. We think modern women are ready for humour where this product is concerned. We think the youth market particularly would really relate to how ballsy this is.’
She chanced a glance at Jack. His face was unreadable, his eyes watching her intently. Ellie swallowed with some difficulty, knowing that this was make-or-break time. It was the moment when she had to sing the song.
‘Right.’ She heard her voice falter a little. ‘Obviously we’d have professional singers for this, but for now you’ll have to put up with me. So here it is … “The Thong Song”.’
She knew she was going to die right there in the room, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Sod Jack Wolfe and his granite face. She allowed herself a few moments to remember that time at school when she’d hit Derek Cooper around the head with Jane Eyre because he’d kept calling her a swot. She was brave; she could do this.
Then she was off, warbling a bit, but in tune: ‘You might like cotton. You might like lace. A satin thong might put a smile on your face. But whatever your choice, whatever the day, Sure & Soft will make your knickers say, “You can wear us. You can flaunt us. You can cut your skirts real high. You can chance the highest winds. You can flash a bit of thigh. Any day, every day, you know we’ll be just fine. So listen up there, girl, here’s the bottom line … No need to get sad, no need to get bothered – with Sure & Soft you’ve got everything covered.”’
Ellie stopped and felt light-headed, realising she hadn’t been breathing properly. Her pulse was all over the place. She looked around the room at the faces, although it was hard to see Hugo’s, as he had his head in his hands. Mike had his mouth open. Someone coughed.
So this was what it felt like, that mortification before the security guard escorted you from the agency.
Hugo suddenly blurted out, ‘It’s a crazy idea, Jack. I wasn’t sure about it.’
Lesley and Ellie looked at each other and simultaneously thought what a slimy, two-faced toad he was.
And then Jack started to laugh.
Hugo tried to ascertain if it was a happy laugh or a ‘you mad witches’ laugh and, until he could decide with certainty, played it safe with a half-smile, half-frown combination of his own devising. It soon became apparent, though, that it was laughter. Jack Wolfe was actually shaking his head and really laughing. Ellie winked conspiratorially at Lesley.
‘Brilliant,’ Jack said, ruffling his hair with his hand and then smoothing it all down flat again. ‘Absolutely bloody brilliant. In fact, I would say it’s so bad that it’s good. Cheesy, ironic, even post-ironic, damn it. Singing knickers! People will love them.’ He turned the full force of his smile on Ellie and Lesley and his grey eyes didn’t seem quite so glacial as usual. ‘Well done. That took guts. At last, something different, something original.’
He stood up and automatically everyone in the room stood up too. ‘Get it worked up … a model of one pair of the knickers to give the client an idea of how the animation will look. And get somebody to record the song, just with any kind of music that’s got the right rhythm for now. If the client goes for it, we’ll have some music specially written. Think you can get it all done by the end of next week?’
They nodded. They’d have agreed to have it done by that night if necessary.
‘Good. OK, then. That’ll give us time to do a rehearsal properly. Hugo, you can be in charge of that. Oh, and pull together a focus group too, will you? Run the rough idea past some suitable women and see how they like it.’ He paused. ‘Pauline Kennedy will have taken over as marketing director of the Sure & Soft team by then, will she?’
Hugo gave an enthusiastic nod. ‘Oh yes. Old Hetherington’s filling in time now really, counting off the days until he can spend all his time on the golf course. He’ll be leaving the big decisions to her.’
‘Good. Pauline’s much more open to new ideas than Hetherington’s ever been. From what I know of Pauline, I think this will definitely appeal to her.’ Jack started to gather up his papers. ‘I also know she can’t stand the MD of at least one of the other agencies invited to pitch for the account.’
‘Oh, I d-don’t think there’s any suggestion that Sure & Soft want to m-move agencies,’ Hugo stammered. ‘I mean, they’re simply being seen to do the correct thing with this review. They’re terribly pleased with the service I’ve … we’ve provided over the years.’
Jack gave Hugo an amused look. ‘There is nothing guaranteed with clients, Hugo. But if we’re fighting fit, with a cracking idea and Pauline Kennedy’s the one making the decisions, that’s half the battle. I’ll be here to hold your hands on the day. Let me know if you hit any problems between now and then.’ He chuckled and Ellie saw a nasty glint come into his eyes. ‘Shame Gavin’s going to miss out on the whole thing.’
Hugo waited a nanosecond after Jack had left the room and then turned his beaming face to Ellie and Lesley. ‘Fantastic work, girls. I knew it was a winner the minute I saw it.’
One of the words Lesley said to him was ‘off’, and even Zak and Jon cheered.
CHAPTER 4
‘All I’m saying is I don’t think we’ve got the sex-kitten pair right yet,’ Lesley announced, as she laid the knickers out on the coffee-shop table. ‘We’ve gone down the black and red “electrocute yourself on the static” nylon route and I think they should be more upmarket sexy.’
The man on the next table inhaled the froth on his cappuccino and coughed noisily. Ellie rubbed one of her feet and looked at her discarded shoe with hatred. A whole afternoon hunting down potential knickers that could be made into a model for the client presentation had mauled her toes and created a blister on her heel. She should have put on her well-worn baseball boots this morning. Right now she didn’t care if she never saw another pair of knickers in her entire life.
‘We need something really erotic,’ continued Lesley, ‘like you get in Agent Provocateur or somewhere like that … You know the kind of place I’m talking about, don’t you? If you want, I could draw you up a list of—’
‘Excuse me, but I have bought underwear before, you know. I’m not wearing something under my clothes that I’ve constructed from two coconuts and a surgical mask.’
The man on the next table looked at Ellie and did some more froth-inhaling.
‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if you had,’ Lesley said, trying not to laugh. ‘I know how much you luuuuuurve fashion.’
‘Ooh, that was below the belt. Literally.’
Lesley gave her a round of applause. ‘Very good. You should be a copywriter.’
‘Thank you.’ Ellie did a little half-bow. ‘Just because you have totally failed to convert me to the vanity and self-absorption that is fashion does not mean I cannot appreciate nice things.’
‘Just not wear them.’ Lesley was again attempting not to laugh.
‘You are pushing your luck,’ Ellie said goodnaturedly. ‘I thought we’d declared a truce on trying to smarten me up. I thought we’d agreed that I’d start spending less on books and more on fashion when you started sleeping with men rather than women.’
There was a crash as the man on the next table dropped his cup. Ellie watched him dabbing coffee off his cardigan and then turned back to Lesley, who was checking her phone.
‘OK, I
’ll do a detour on my way in tomorrow, have a look at a couple of shops.’
‘Not ones where they sell knickers in packs of three.’
‘I am ignoring that remark,’ Ellie said, slipping her shoe back on. ‘Tomorrow I will be reinvigorated, but not tonight. Tonight I have a date with a large bowl of warm water and some foot balm.’ She stood up very slowly. ‘So what about you? What are you up to while I’m having my wildly exciting night-in soaking my feet?’
‘Meeting someone here, actually. She’s a pharmacist … finishes at five.’ Lesley broke off from checking her text messages and suddenly looked young and vulnerable. ‘Third date, Ellie. She’s called Megan. Gorgeous, soft Welsh accent. I like this one a lot.’
‘As in want to keep seeing?’ Ellie asked, and made a poor job of trying to keep the amazement off her face when Lesley gave a little nod in reply. Ellie had become used to Lesley’s strictly-for-fun, quantity-not-quality approach to her love life. To see her awaiting the arrival of a girlfriend with something that smacked of nervousness was a bit like finding Casanova reading a wedding magazine.
‘Well, best of luck, then,’ was all Ellie could think to say, but Lesley wasn’t listening anyway. All her attention was focused on a spot somewhere behind Ellie’s left shoulder. Ellie turned to see a slim girl with her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail coming towards them. She had a scrubbed, shiny look and a light, bouncy walk. She trotted past Ellie and landed a big kiss on Lesley’s cheek.
Ellie could only describe the expression on Lesley’s face as ‘goofy’.
It had been a long time since Ellie had felt like a gooseberry, surplus to romantic requirements, but she felt like one now. In fact she wasn’t sure Megan and Lesley even knew she was there any more.
Ellie gave a little cough. ‘Right, I’ll be going. OK? I’ll be in late in the morning …’
‘Yeah,’ said Lesley, staring at Megan.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Megan, tearing her eyes away from Lesley for a second to smile at Ellie.
‘Likewise,’ said Ellie, and left them to it.
Later, on the bus, Ellie rubbed a clear patch in the steamed-up window and looked out at the traffic. Nose to bumper again. The rain was tanking down and only the cyclists were going anywhere, slaloming through the cars and buses. A driver up ahead stuck his hand out of the window and made a rude gesture as a bike clipped his wing mirror.
She wondered where Lesley and Megan were now. Not sitting on a bus, that was for sure. Probably still drowning in each other’s eyes. Ellie wiped at the window again. It had been positively unnerving to see Lesley acting like a jittery teenager when Megan had walked towards her. Lesley had always been in charge in relationships, picking up and dropping women as regularly as she dyed her hair a new colour.
Such a tiny little blonde thing too, Megan, and she looked as though she might even be sporty. Lesley hated any kind of sport. What a turn-up if this was ‘the one’.
The bus lurched forward a few yards and then stopped again. If Megan was a sticker, Ellie could stop fretting about Lesley’s chaotic love life. No more having to field phone calls from sobbing women whom Lesley had dumped. Megan was kind of wholesome-looking too. And she had a profession. A real one. Not like that snake dancer. Or the healer. Or that woman who did performance art.
Ellie prayed that Megan liked Elvis and pencils.
As the bus edged nearer to her stop, thoughts of Lesley and Megan were replaced by visions of a steaming bowl of hot water. Her feet twinged in anticipation as she got off the bus and rounded the corner at speed, pulling her coat around herself more tightly to keep the rain and cold at bay.
She stopped. Her feet would have to wait.
Sitting on the doorstep was Great-Aunt Edith, slightly worse for wear by the look of her, and sporting a pink Lurex top and a tweed skirt under what looked like a grey velour poncho. Her umbrella appeared to be all spokes and not much material. Ellie hurried towards her.
‘Locked yourself out of your house again?’
Edith grinned sheepishly. ‘I had the key when I went into the Queen’s Head. Then …’ She made a vague motion with her hand.
Ellie suspected that Edith’s regular appearances were more to do with loneliness than lost keys. That house of hers round the corner was probably feeling a bit too big for Edith tonight. Gently she helped her to her feet and into the flat.
Once Edith was settled on the sofa, Ellie put the dying umbrella in the sink, abandoned her torturing shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor and made some sandwiches and tea. She doubted whether Edith had actually had anything to eat today, although judging by the way she was now singing ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ from her perch on the sofa, she had kept her fluid levels up.
How come other people’s great-aunts smelled of lavender water and face powder, while hers smelled of gin? Ellie peeped round the kitchen door to check on her again. Yup, still upright, still singing. The loud noise she was producing definitely matched her personality rather than her stature. As Ellie’s father used to say, ‘Edith is tiny enough to put in your pocket, but there’s no way to keep her there.’
Ellie loaded everything on to a tray and carried it through to the living room.
‘What was it this evening, then? Book club, darts club or whist?’
‘Ah now, something different.’ Edith picked up a sandwich. ‘We went for an interesting talk on the role of the servant in Shakespearian literature, and that led to a discussion on dining customs in Elizabethan times, and then, well, it naturally seemed to lead to the pub. Did you know that small ale was a watered-down version of the proper-strength stuff?’
‘Yes, I did know that, Edith.’ Ellie passed her a cup of tea. ‘They don’t do small gin, obviously.’
Edith took a bite out of her sandwich and her eyes twinkled. When she had finished chewing, she said, ‘That would be sacrilege, my dear. Your great-uncle George always used to say to the servants in India, “Small glass, large gin.”’ Edith had impersonated Great-Uncle George’s voice perfectly and Ellie had a sudden recollection of his bristly chin and watery blue eyes.
Edith reached for another sandwich and hummed merrily away while eating it. So much energy. For as long as Ellie could remember, Edith had lied about her age and had recently taken to telling people she was in her mid seventies, whereas Ellie was sure she was nearly eighty. Edith worked diligently to put people off the scent by dressing in what her affronted daughters called an ‘age-inappropriate manner’. Where hair and make-up were concerned Edith believed you could never have too much of a good thing. Tonight, in addition to the pink Lurex and tweed ensemble, she was modelling red wedge sandals, gold hoop earrings and her trademark peroxide ‘helmet hair’.
Edith stopped mid-bite. ‘Oh, the knickers, I forgot to ask … Yes or no?’
‘Oh, a big yes. A big thumbs-up from the Wolfman.’
Edith clapped her hands, scattering bits of sandwich all over herself. ‘I am so pleased, darling. Clever you and clever Lesley. You were always a bright little thing and you’ve grown up to be a bright big thing too.’
‘You make me sound like a fluorescent elephant.’
‘Now stop it, Ellie. You can’t fool me with that jokey thing. You’re embarrassed at being paid a compliment. You never could take them. You know exactly what I meant – lovely on the outside, clever on the inside.’ Edith raised her teacup in a toast. ‘Here’s to you.’
They chinked teacups, Edith sloshing a lot of tea over her hand.
‘It was a bit hairy, though, Edith, presenting the idea. Jack wasn’t very nice to the other two teams.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose they pay him to be nice. I expect he can be quite a scary prospect with all that height and those dark, brooding looks.’ Edith gave a little shiver.
‘Tall with dark looks? I don’t think so, Edith. He’s tiny with a bald head and wears thick, thick glasses.’ Ellie laughed a little at her own joke.
‘Oh, I’d presumed with a name like that he
’d be a bit more imposing. A bit of a knickers-flutterer.’ Edith looked disappointed. ‘I’d imagined he was the kind of man who could walk past you and make you want to rip his clothes off, closely followed by your own.’ She grabbed another sandwich. ‘Well, that’s a blow. I was picturing some Heathcliff-type figure and you’ve given me Mr Magoo. Most, most … underwhelming.’
Ellie was tempted to put Edith right, but she resisted. It was comforting that in one person’s mind at least, Jack was not Heathcliff.
‘No Sam tonight, then?’ Edith said when she had finally finished the sandwiches.
‘Out entertaining Germans again, I’m afraid.’
Ellie braced herself for what she knew was coming next – those eight little words that she didn’t want to hear, particularly tonight when her bed was calling out to her to come and sleep in it.
‘Well, how about a game of Scrabble, then?’ Edith said with a manic look in her eye.
Ellie groaned but got the board out anyway. Every game with Edith followed the same pattern. A few minutes of normality and then she would start to put down filthy, blush-making, paint-stripping words and pretend that she didn’t know what they meant.
Most opponents faced with the prospect of having to explain them to her simply gave in. Not long after that Edith usually won. When Ellie’s parents had been alive, her obscene Scrabble had become so bad that they had banned her from playing it with the children.
Half an hour into the game and Ellie knew that if the vice squad raided her flat tonight, both she and Edith would be hauled off to prison, no questions asked. Ellie wasn’t even sure what one of the words meant.
After having pulverised Ellie in three successive games, Edith started to yawn alarmingly.
‘Come on, you,’ Ellie said. ‘Let’s call it a day.’
Edith did not object and sat quietly while Ellie slid the letters back into the box, folded up the Scrabble board and went to put it away. When Ellie returned, Edith was getting carefully to her feet. Ellie put her arm out for her to lean on and they walked slowly to the door of the spare bedroom.