by Jules Wake
‘It’s bloody door-to-door sales, mate. Just tell us what the fucking commission rate is,’ muttered the guy next to Siena.
‘Sorry sir, did you want to contribute?’
‘Nah, carry on mate.’
Alan nodded. ‘I want to emphasise we’re a family run company, not one of these big conglom corpalates. Family run. We care.’ He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘We want to give our customers the opportunity to make significant improvements to their homes. Improve energy efficiency. Saleability of their property. I can’t begin to list the pros, they’re endless. And that, ladies and gentlemen, makes these products really easy to sell. Seriously they walk off the shelf. Walk off the shelf, I say. No hard sell needed. Although today I’m going to run through some handy tips for clinching that sale. We don’t want to hear those death of a salesman words, ‘I’ll think about it’. No, we want signatures on dotted lines. What do we want? Signatures on dotted lines. Deposits upfront. Commitment. So we’ll be doing some role-playing exercises. And developing some handy tips for clinching that sale. Overcoming objections. And in exchange we can offer you a fantastic commission on every sale.’
A hand shot up further along the row. ‘Excuse me. Is there a salary? I was led to believe this wasn’t commission only.’
Alan gave a non-jocular laugh. ‘It’s not commission only. We’re giving you training, free of charge, your own patch. Committed individuals, who stay with the company for six months, can achieve a monthly salary. Before lunch I’m going to teach you some of our trigger phrases. Keep you on-message.’
He stepped towards a flip chart and turned over the blank page to reveal a list of words.
Siena began to scribble in her notebook.
‘First is ‘Quality’. Customers love quality. And a good deal.’
Lunch came and went, and when he strode into the afternoon session, Alan seemed to think it was a virtue that half his audience had departed.
‘See, this job is for the bold, the fearless. You guys are up for the challenge. You want to do well. So, you will do well. And if you do well, you can earn a lot of money.’
‘Now, we’re going to do some role-play. Team up into pairs.’
Siena’s partner was an older black guy with the drooping jowls of a bloodhound and pudgy hands which gave her an enthusiastic, clammy handshake.
‘Don’t you worry darlin’,’ He patted her thigh and she flinched. He withdrew it smartly. ‘Sorry my love. Didn’t mean to be over familiar. I do apologise.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said, realising it had been an unconscious friendly gesture. She relaxed, letting the sudden tension dissipate. She realised it felt completely different to that stomach clenching sensation when someone kept deliberately touching when they knew you didn’t want to be touched.
‘I was trying to say, I’m an old hand at this. You look a bit green. Done much in the way of sales before?’
Siena shook her head. ‘Nothing. In fact,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘I’ve never even had a job.’
‘Good for you darlin’. No preconceptions then. That could be in your favour. The punters like a bit of honesty now and then. You need to be good cop and bad cop. Come on let’s get started and Uncle Gareth will show you how it’s done. I’m not sure Alan here could sell his own grandmother a box of biscuits.’
Siena turned the page and cleared her throat. This could be fun. She’d always rather liked drama at school.
‘Good morning sir, can I interest you in—’
Gareth held up a hand, palm towards her.
‘No, no, no, girly. Do you know the first thing I’m gonna do, if you turn up on my doorstep saying that?’
Siena shook her head.
‘Slam the door in your face, missy. No matter how good-looking you are, and excuse me for saying, but you are one attractive young lady. Now you can use those looks to your advantage. Me, I don’t have that advantage.’
Siena tried to pull a non-committal kind of face.
‘Don’t worry, I use my looks.’ He pulled a hangdog expression, his mouth turning down and his eyes sad. ‘Everyone loves an underdog. My patter is very much apology. “Hey I’m really, really sorry to bother you. It’s my job, it’s a lousy job but …”’
Siena stared at him, uncomprehending.
He patted her leg again, this time on the knee. ‘You gotta start by pulling them in, building empathy with them. Build rapport before you even go near the sales patter. Who wrote this crap?’ He shook his head. ‘Get your pen out. You need your own hook. You need to bat those baby blues. Flirt a little. Be supremely confident. A good-looking girl doing this job because she believes in the product. She don’t have no other job, not because she can’t get one, but because this is a good one. A good product. I tell you young lady, you have got a serious advantage here.’
Over the next hour, gorgeous Gareth as she renamed him in her head, shared every last scrap of wile and guile that he had with her and by the end of it, she felt she knew what she was doing.
Alan came to check up on their progress.
‘So Siena, with one ‘n’. Pretend you’re knocking on my front door.’
Gareth winked at her. ‘You go girl.’
‘Hi, sorry to disturb you, can I say this is a lovely house. I love what you’ve done with the garden. Have you ever thought of selling?’
‘No,’ said Alan with a smug smile on his face.
‘See, there’s that close down the question, the one I told you about,’ piped up Gareth. ‘Now remember what you do.’
‘And I don’t blame you,’ Siena was enjoying herself, blossoming under Gareth’s paternal gaze, ‘this is a lovely house. Although, if you don’t mind me saying so, you could make it even more appealing. I see next door is looking a bit tired. Their front door could do with a lick of paint, don’t you think?’
‘No, Siena remember. Open questions. Don’t ever give them the chance to say no.’
‘Sorry.’
‘And don’t apologise. You’re in charge here, if they don’t choose to buy your product, it’s their loss.’
Siena nodded, thinking fast.
‘Their front door could do with a lick of paint. If you were going to paint yours, what colour would you go for?’
‘Much better,’ said Gareth nodding at Alan, encouraging him to join in.
‘A door says such a lot about you. Creates first impressions. Says the people who live here care. Now if you paint your door, you’ve got to maintain it. Johnson’s Doors are virtually maintenance free. Guaranteed for twenty-five years. Now I think you could probably do a lot more with this lovely house. Show people in the neighbourhood that you care, unlike the neighbours who don’t or maybe they can’t afford to invest in what’s important. Now with a bit of TLC, you could really show your neighbours, friends, that you’ve got pride, dignity and money. People respect that.’
Alan straightened. ‘Hell yeah. Where do I sign on the dotted line?’
Gareth held up a hand and Siena high-fived him.
‘You go girl. You are ready to go out on the road.’
Alan nodded. ‘Yeah, I think you are. Do you know what, I think I can see a very long and successful relationship with Johnson Home Improvements for you, Siena.’
Jason returned as Siena was grating cheese, dancing around the kitchen and melting butter in the frying pan.
‘What the fu—’ Jason stumbled to a halt in the kitchen doorway.
‘Hi,’ Siena turned, pushing unruly hair away from her face.
Jason looked pained.
‘What’s wrong?’ She followed his eyes as he scanned the table, the kitchen counters and the sink which was piled high with saucepans.
‘It looks like Armageddon in here. What are you cooking?’
‘Omelette. I’m celebrating.’ Now she had a job, she’d been food shopping and treated herself to a bottle of wine.
‘Omelette? For five thousand? You must have used every utensil in the kitc
hen.’
Siena looked around. Surely he was exaggerating. She’d used a few plates, a couple of bowls, two chopping boards, several knives and one cast iron pan. ‘It’s not so bad.’
He came closer. ‘Have you ever cooked an omelette before?’
‘Yes.’ Typical English man, no clue about cooking.
‘Really? I’ve never seen it cooked like that before.’
Of course he hadn’t. Judging from the contents of the kitchen, he didn’t know one end of a frying pan from the other. He was used to eating meals from plastic trays in sleeves of cardboard. He was no judge.
‘Wait until you taste it. Have you eaten?’
He hesitated.
‘Go on, try it. What have you got to lose?’
He still looked reluctant, until she tossed the pancetta into a Le Creuset frying pan with a sizzle, the scent quickly filing the air. She saw his hesitancy fade as the red peppers and slices of new potatoes went in. She let them cook for a minute. Much as she loved to cook, she didn’t get the chance very much. A lot of what she did was trial and error but she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Mr Superior. It would have been nice to impress him but a basic dish like this was hardly going to hit the mark.
Even though she did think that perhaps he might be coming around, when she saw his nose lifting in appreciation of the warm cooking smells.
As the vegetables and bacon softened in the butter, she folded in frothy whipped egg whites into beaten egg yolks.
Jason frowned. ‘Do you know you can beat the eggs and put them in? I’ve never heard of anyone separating them and then putting back together.’
Siena shrugged. ‘Your loss then.’ She winked at him. ‘I suggest you withhold judgement until you’ve tried it. Would you like a glass of wine?’
She asked him to pour as she concentrated on pouring the omelette batter into the pan. The trick was to cook the bottom and then slide it under the grill to cook the top.
When she whisked the fluffy omelettes onto warm plates with a side salad of leaves and popped one in front of Jason, she smiled at the look of pleasure on his face when he tasted them.
‘Wow, this is amazing.’
She smiled and took a happy slug of red wine. ‘Told you I knew what I was doing.’
‘I take it all back.’ There was a silence between them and then as if he’d suddenly remembered his manners, Jason asked, ‘So how did you get on today?’
‘It was great. I met some really nice people,’ she pulled a face, ‘and some not so nice people. But I’m all trained and ready to go out on the road.’
‘Trained?’
‘Yes.’ Siena felt rather pleased with herself. ‘Apparently I’m an active seller.’
‘And what’s one of those when they’re at home?’
She ignored his scepticism. What did he know? He hadn’t been there today. She was looking forward to going out, helping people improve their homes. Help them reduce and eradicate unnecessary maintenance.
‘An active seller is proactive. Forward thinking. Takes charge. We make the best sellers.’
‘You mean you’re pushy and don’t take no for an answer.’
‘No,’ Siena drew herself up. ‘We develop empathy with the customer and build a relationship.’
‘Good luck with that, you’re going to need it.’
Siena rolled her eyes. What did he know?
‘How’s the red wine?’
‘Good. No, great. I guess if you’re French you know a bit about wines.’
Siena shrugged. She knew what she knew. She’d never really thought about it before. ‘I’m not really French. I’m English. I just grew up there.’ Neither one thing nor the other.
‘I really like this one. What is it?’
‘It’s a Bordeaux Supérieur.’ The best the supermarket had to offer.
‘What’s that when it’s at home?’
‘A wine from the Bordeaux region obviously; but the grapes, mainly Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, come from the older plots.’
‘It’s very nice.’ He toasted her and took a long sip and then spoilt it by adding with a naughty grin, ‘Would you usually serve this with omelettes?’
‘But of course,’ she toasted him back with a wry smile. ‘Eggs and red wine, always. Haven’t you heard of nouvelle vin? Forget all those stuffy principles of white wine with fish and red wine with beef. That’s all terribly vintage chapeau.’
‘Really?’ Jason looked half convinced until she gave a gurgle of laughter.
‘No,’ she raised her glass and took an appreciative slurp. ‘I thought I deserved a treat after today.’
‘So it went well, did it?’
Half an hour later they were still chatting as Siena emptied the last of the bottle into the two glasses. She was rather grateful that he got up to do the washing up. There did seem to be an awful lot of it.
‘Only because you cooked, mind,’ he warned.
She’d remember that cooking was much easier than the boring tidying up, besides she wasn’t sure how much longer her manicure would hold up. She’d never gone this long between salon visits before.
Chapter 6
After two days sleeping in hotel rooms where the beds were great but the heating systems seemed to be programmed to suck every last bit of moisture out of your system, Jason pulled up outside the house desperate for a long, cold drink. The trip north had been mainly successful. He’d signed a bottling contract and got a deal with a distributor for the Cheshire area. All in all, a fruitful trip. It also sounded as if things in the brewery had also gone well. He’d maintained regular, if slightly obsessive, contact with Ben and he felt confident that there was nothing to worry about.
He’d deliberately not contacted Siena. The omelette and wine had been convivial the other night but it wasn’t something he wanted to encourage. Not that it mattered. In fact he was guessing she’d probably packed her bags by now. With a soft chuckle shook his head. Door-to-door sales. He’d bet she hadn’t stuck it for more than an hour.
The house was in darkness when he slipped his key in the door. Sliding off his boots in the hall and letting the wooden bannister take his weight, he mentally pictured taking the first long pull of cold lager.
He padded down the hall to the kitchen without bothering to put the lights on and as he crossed to the fridge he felt a prickling sensation run down his back. Dismissing it as a symptom of bone-deep weariness, he opened the door and letting the light from inside the appliance spill out, he went to grab a bottle of Bud but stopped when he thought he heard a muffled sob. He paused, but all he could hear was the hum of the fridge, the slight clink of bottles rubbing together on the glass shelf inside. He grabbed a Budweiser, already anticipating the cold slide down his throat and turned.
Like a spotlight, the beam from the fridge haloed Siena, hunched over the table, head buried in crossed arms. Jason could see her ribs lift and shudder through the thin cotton of a white silk shirt which lit up like a lighthouse.
‘Siena?’
Like a turtle she tucked in tighter, another muffled sob escaping.
‘Siena. Are you OK?’
The light picked out and highlighted her narrow frame. Not wanting to blind her by putting the main light on, he closed the fridge door and switched on the less invasive light on the extractor fan.
He heard her let out a shaky shuddery sigh, as if each breath she parted with was hard fought.
‘Siena?’
As he got closer he could see her ribcage heave as if she were fighting to keep the sobs inside and something about the way she’d tucked into herself spooked him. He’d seen histrionics, tantrums and drama queens. He had two sisters. But this quiet, contained desperate crying tore at his heart.
She took in a juddering breath and he crouched down next to her. ‘Hey, what’s the matter?’
She lifted her head.
‘Bloody hell,’ he hissed, regretting making her start, but Christ alive, her face was a mess. He reached out to tou
ch the swollen, grazed cheekbone taking in the red-rimmed eyes and the tear-stained face. Something inside him clenched at the utter defeat in her eyes. Siena’s eternal sunshine was missing. ‘What happened, sweetheart?’
Her throat worked, swallowing and her eyes filled with tears as she simply shook her head, as if the effort of getting the words out was too much. Her eyes went glassy and unfocused and she seemed to blank out for a couple of seconds. He had a horrible feeling, she wasn’t quite there, making him worry she might faint.
Without thinking he scooped her up and swapped places on the chair, with her on his knee, enfolding her into his arms.
‘Ow,’ she moaned quietly as he pulled her tight to his chest.
‘Sorry.’ He loosened his hold but kept her head tucked under his chin and rubbed her shoulder. She shifted, wincing, and he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, light and fresh. Very Siena. Confident, unafraid of the world, self-assured, self-possessed but with that upbeat positive attitude which he couldn’t help but admire. Yes, she irritated the hell out of him, but that probably said as much about him as her.
Her breath hitched and then she began to cry softly, the tears falling onto his neck and soaking into the cotton of his shirt.
‘Hey, there come on.’ He felt totally inadequate but let her cry for a minute, figuring she needed to let it out. Gradually her sniffs subsided and he leaned behind him and grabbed the kitchen roll, ripping off a square. ‘Here.’
‘S-sorry.’ She blew her nose and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. ‘Ouch,’ she twisted slightly as if to relieve the pain.
‘What’s happened, Siena?’ he took her other hand. ‘Did you have an accident?’
‘No.’ She gripped his hand and sucked in a breath.
‘What? You fell over.’ She did like her skyscraper heels.
‘No, it happened at work.’
He stiffened. ‘What, while you were out knocking on doors?’
She nodded.
‘Someone slammed a door on you?’
‘No. It was a man.’ He had to strain to hear her voice.