Food Fight

by Anne Penketh

  “Is this true? Meadow? Has Josh agreed to this?”

  “Of course he has. We wanted something Green and we came up with Meadow. She’s adorable.”

  What a right-on baby this would be. Susan suspected the name might have something to do with Glastonbury. It must have been around that time last year that the baby was conceived.

  Susan didn’t dare tell Mimi that she too had been conceived in a tent at the festival, where she and Rod had happily wandered round in their wellies for three days of magic despite the miserable weather. On occasions the sun had come out. It had been one of the rainiest, coldest Junes on record. She could vividly remember Elvis Costello, and swaying with Rod in a kind of mystical waltz to New Order. How happy and carefree they’d been. She’d been so wrapped up in her relationship with Rod that she hadn’t noticed the drugs and the travellers people asked her about back in Brighton. Glastonbury had been in the news and they’d had no idea.

  How had Rod got a ‘weekend pass’ from his wife? Susan never asked. She knew nothing about Rod’s spouse, and he never volunteered any information. It was as though she didn’t exist. Lily wasn’t the only friend who took a dim view of the relationship. But she was so bewitched by Rod that she couldn’t tear herself away.

  Susan had convinced herself he would leave his wife, but in retrospect she realised that if she were brutally honest he hadn’t actually made that promise. Ever. How self-deluded she’d been.

  Seven months after Glastonbury, Rod was gone, and that was the end of her festival days. Serge had enjoyed music, but had preferred the comfort of the concert hall.

  There’s nothing to stop me going back to Glastonbury in the future, she thought.

  She was allowed to see the baby twice within a few days while she was in England. Her first glimpse was in the hospital. A little face with closed eyes and tufts of hair.

  “Your hair was just like that,” she said to Mimi, as she stroked the baby’s head. The second time, Mimi was back at home, breast-feeding of course, and Meadow was suckling noisily, breaking off from time to time to gurgle or burp. But she seemed to be a cheerful soul, and Mimi was confident and efficient as she winded her on her shoulder.

  Susan was surprised by how easily Mimi settled into motherhood. She showed unusual patience when the baby cried, and seemed to know instinctively whether the distress was due to hunger, tiredness or tummy pain. The maternal bonding was in stark contrast with her own experience: Mimi had been a miserable baby to nurse, and seemed to reject her whenever she could. It had taken weeks to diagnose an allergy.

  Josh fussed around, cradling the baby, changing her, tending to their every need. Another contrast she couldn’t help but notice. She saw that a cot which she had bought for them, ready for later use, had been installed in the dark living room which was cluttered with Josh’s books piled on the dining table and in floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There was just about room for a small sofa, an armchair and the TV.

  “How long is Mimi going to stay off work?”

  “She’s going back in a month.”

  She stopped herself from saying that surely the struggle against America could wait for one more month. Why cast a shadow? The two of them were obviously happy.

  “Have your parents seen Meadow yet?” she asked him.

  “My father’s in Devon, and he’s not been up yet. But my mum came yesterday. She’s in Chigwell.”

  “That’s not too far,” she said. “They’re divorced?”

  “Yes. My mother remarried after dad went off with a younger model, as they say.” Classic. “But they both get on fine. It just means my family became six times bigger.”

  “A typical English family. When was that?”

  “They split up when I was still at school, so that was tough for us all.” She noticed the glottal stop when he said ‘split up.’ The whole country seemed to have adopted estuary English since she’d left for Washington.

  “And the new family?”

  “I’ve a younger brother, who stayed with my mum. David, my mother’s husband, had two of his own kids who are grown up now. And let’s see, my step-mum had three kids from her first two marriages.”

  “Christmases must have been fun.”

  “We were rarely all together at the same time. But yes, you could say that. We had to have a pact about Christmas presents though, or we’d have gone bankrupt.”

  She’d often wondered how different her life would have been had she not been an only child. And of course she’d run out of time to give Mimi a brother or sister.

  “Well let me know if you need anything,” she said. “It’ll be a wrench for Mimi when she goes back to work. I hope her workload isn’t too bad.”

  “We’ll be fine, Susie,” he said. She never mentioned the warning from the lawyer. DeKripps was a world away from Wandsworth, and she had a grandchild.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “You’re back, great!”

  She’d rung Mark as soon as she returned to Washington.

  “You feeling strong?”

  “DeKripps had better be ready for a fight.” She flexed her muscles and inspected her fist as though about to enter a boxing ring.

  “How’s Mimi’s baby?” He liked Meadow’s name. Susan told him she was as cute as anything, that Mimi was fine, and that Josh was a considerate and helpful father.

  “But let’s get down to business, shall we? This is a strategy meeting after all.”

  “So tell me about DeKripps,” he said, moving his chair next to hers in front of his desk.

  “Well, we – I mean they – are powerful. The food industry is nearly one fifth of the US economy. High Fructose Corn Syrup is cheap thanks to the government subsidies,” she said. “Actually, it probably shouldn’t be called HFCS as it’s not really fructose.”

  What was it then? “Fructose occurs naturally, but HFCS is man-made. It’s corn stalks put through a process with enzymes which makes a new compound of fructose and glucose. Stop me if I’m boring you. What else?”

  He wanted to know about the corporate structure, and the company values. “Would you say DeKripps’ culture is based on rules or principles?” Rules, definitely, she said eventually, thinking of the company’s lobbying efforts and its relationship with the regulators.

  “I’m afraid to say that we’ve been trying to persuade the FDA to let us call HFCS corn sugar, which sounds more natural, but it doesn’t look like they’ll let us.”

  She also described her role at DeKripps which had helped the company diversify by drilling down into the focus groups which had been her speciality. The face to face interviews had yielded a rich seam of information about family habits, what they’re thinking, from workplace to supermarket to dinner table, she said.

  But now, the majority were conducted online in the US. “It’s a shame. You don’t get the same dynamic. Anyway, never mind, I can’t do anything about that now.”

  “So what’s the DeKripps brand best known for now, Susie? Excuse my ignorance.” Mark said he’d never paid much attention to food brands until now, and admitted to ordering in on most nights.

  The core product remained the breakfast cereals. But that had broadened to include yoghurt, and even biscuits, although she admitted that she wasn’t particularly proud of their added sugar. Then chocolate bars, desserts and ice-cream had been tacked on. And then Guilty Secrets. Frank had always said that we gave the consumer what they wanted, she went on. “But I used to remind him about Henry Ford. ‘If I’d asked people what they wanted, they would have said faster horses.’”

  She told Mark how she would identify with the public service aspect of DeKripps, as exemplified by Frank, rather than the power aspect as embodied by Barney.

  “But why do you want to know all this?”

  “We need to know who we’re up against. Can you remember any time when DeKripps made a concession to the consumer, or whether they would brazen it out in the case of a bad product launch?”

  She was twirling a strand
of hair round her ear. “You mean like Coca-Cola when they pulled New Coke and then brought in Coca-Cola Classic?” He nodded.

  “I’d have to think about that. Yes, actually we did the same. Of course we had the FDA on our heels, and I wasn’t in Washington at the time, but a few years ago we withdrew Kookies because they had undeclared peanuts in them. We were deluged by customers complaining about their faces swelling up because they were allergic. I don’t remember how it all ended, but DeKripps said there was a slip-up. I certainly didn’t think at the time that concealing the additive was deliberate. And we were able to turn it to our advantage by talking about our values.”

  “That’s interesting,” he said. “A slip-up. There might be a pattern to explore here. And where do you stand on sugar?”

  “Which kind of sugar?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, “you tell me.”

  “We’re talking about refined sugar, really.” Susan explained how the miracle sweetener HFCS had led their scientists to the Project Candy experiments and Guilty Secrets. She described the positive consumer reaction to Delight when they began adding HFCS. And the cultural differences when branding products. Less sugar added to UK foods than in the US, and even less in France.

  “And is the consumer told about added sugars?”

  “Yes and no. The FDA let us put the total amount of sugars on food labels, but doesn’t distinguish between natural and added sugars. But then on the food facts it lists the different types.”

  “Which presumably most people wouldn’t know about, right?”

  “Yes. Probably.” She remembered Kramer and his rant at the bookstore. “But I should say all that’s totally legal.”

  “And is there a link to diabetes and obesity?”

  “That’s the hundred million dollar question,” she said.

  “Personally, I didn’t think so before. But if you consider that the average American consumes sixty pounds of HFCS, compared to zero before it was invented in 1980, and during that time obesity and diabetes have exploded, you have to ask yourself the question.”

  She held up a hand as though to stop him. “I know, Mark, don’t tell me, I should have asked myself earlier. But surely there’s a difference between improving taste by adding sugar, and addiction.”

  He was concentrating and didn’t respond immediately. He must have noticed she was on the defensive.

  “So finally, tell me, let’s say this goes to court, and the DeKripps executives are put on trial. What do you want to achieve. Why are you doing this?”

  “Revenge.”

  “Wrong.” He shook his head in mock dismay.

  “No, no, I’m joking.” She took a deep breath. “I want to expose how DeKripps has done wrong – how it is deliberately playing with public health to boost profits.”

  “Exactly.”

  *

  They were sitting in the corner of a dimly lit coffee bar in Georgetown. Susan hadn’t wanted to take the risk of bumping into anyone from work. She ordered coffee for Mark – whose presence she had insisted on – and for the journalist from the Washington Gazette.

  Barry Pringle was the Gazette’s health and science reporter. It was one of the few surviving beats on a paper in retreat. Mark had suggested contacting Barbara Miles from the Scrutineer, but Susan worried that she was too close to Barney. She handed the documents to Pringle and sat in silence as he worked through them, underlining sections with his pen as he read.

  He didn’t look like he heeded the advice in his own reports, judging from the solid paunch.

  Eventually, Pringle put the papers down.

  He looked at her, then Mark.

  “This is dynamite,” he said. “At least it could be. There’s certainly enough here to smoke them out. Is there anyone on the record about this being addictive?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “Apart from anecdotal stuff. Obviously they’re being very careful.”

  He started quizzing her about her role at DeKripps, but Mark interrupted. “Look, we have to be really careful about this. If you attribute any of this to a former DeKripps executive, the company is immediately going to know it’s Susan. This leak can’t have any fingerprints on it, I’m afraid.”

  “Okay. You can trust me,” the journalist said. “This is on background. You didn’t give this to anyone else, did you?”

  “No, it’s exclusive to you.”

  Pringle wanted to know how the company had got round the FDA.

  “We, I mean they, didn’t tell them. It was secret,” said Susan.“ Criminal, in fact.”

  After nearly an hour, they separated, and Pringle agreed to let them know about the publication plans.

  “Don’t forget, if you have any more questions, contact me,” said Mark.

  “Sure. Thanks again.”

  “Okay Susie. Listen up,” he said as they watched the reporter disappear down the Metro escalator. “When we get the heads up about this article, you’d better be nowhere to be seen.”

  “Where should I go? London?”

  She turned over the possibilities. Her London house was rented out. Wandsworth was out of the question. Lily’s place was too cramped for the two of them for more than a couple of days, and she couldn’t think of anyone else who could take her in. That left her mother. If only Serge were here, she might have found a bolt-hole in Brittany.

  “I could stay with my mother in Dorset. Even if the paparazzi start looking for all the Perkins in the phone book, they’re unlikely to narrow it down to there. But I also need to protect Mimi.”

  “Perfect.”

  They chatted for a while longer before she asked him again, “Are you sure it’s necessary for me to go underground? Have you been watching too many cop dramas?”

  “All I watch is Mad Men,” he said. “And even Don Draper couldn’t help us here.”

  Mark said it would be wise to take precautions, as situations could develop that were unpredictable. She locked eyes with his seeking reassurance.

  “So, thanks again.” She stood up to leave. She might not see him again for a while, she realised, but didn’t want to appear needy.

  “I’ll be in touch. See you.”

  He opened the door to show her out. “Oh, and there’s one more thing. Get a new phone when you get back to the UK and change your number. We don’t want anyone from DeKripps pressuring you.”

  She looked surprised.

  “Susie, get this straight. If you expose DeKripps after leaving the company, you’re in contravention of their whistle-blowing policy which precludes contacting the press. They’ll try to discredit you if you’re suspected of the leak. They’ll come after you and your family. It won’t be pretty. And they’ll set the press pack on you.”

  She remembered Barney and his threat to bring down Kramer. “Well, there’s only me and Mimi,” she said. “And my mother, of course.”

  She saw the lawyer’s gaze settle on her ring finger.

  “Oh. My husband died three and a half years ago. I’ve never got round to taking it off. ”

  “I see. I’m sorry.”

  “Anyway, I’d like to see them come after Mimi – she can take care of herself.”

  A few days later Susan headed for the airport, with hardly a farewell glance at the characterless apartment she’d called home. She grabbed one last box of Guilty Secrets from the fridge, steeling herself to ignore the others in the pile.

  As she waited for a cab outside the apartment, she glanced nervously behind her and tried to damp down the stirrings of paranoia. Why was that guy leaning against a streetlamp with his hand in his pocket?

  She turned again to stare defiantly at him and watched as he pulled out a phone from his raincoat. Who was he calling? He seemed oblivious to her presence but isn’t that part of the training?

  Her thoughts were on fast-forward on the ride to Dulles. The taxi crossed the sparkling waters of the Potomac on the Arlington Memorial Bridge then climbed up through the trees lining the Spout Run Parkway. This is it, fir
st Big Tobacco, now Big Food. A trial. People may go to jail thanks to her. The idea was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. Barney in jail! Then she thought, dismally: What if I end up in jail? I stole company property and violated a confidentiality agreement.

  Her thoughts turned to Mark. He’d seemed genuinely pleased to see her. She closed her eyes to picture him better. She was just thinking about his bitten fingernails when the cab driver interrupted her reverie.

  “That’s fifty five dollars, please, Ma’am.”

  She dropped her suitcase at the airline counter and headed for the gate. As she glided down the escalator towards the immigration controls, a full screen ad caught her attention.

  She saw the lady with the lamp, on her way to the fridge with the tousle-haired boy. It was a giant billboard for Guilty Secrets.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Susan let herself quietly into Lily’s flat and listened for the sounds of flute practice in the bedroom. Nothing. She placed the velvet-lined black leather flute case on the table and crept away. She’d only got as far as the sofa when the bedroom door opened and Lily came out, stretching her arms, dressed in a turquoise tank top and jeans.

  “What’s this?” She noticed the case on the table straight away.

  “Open it and see.”

  “Oh no. You haven’t. You couldn’t have.”

  Lily snatched the case and opened it to reveal the glittering silver instrument inside. “I can’t believe you’ve done this! This has cost you a fortune!”

  “Do you like it? I was so worried about picking the wrong one. I should have asked you, but I wanted to surprise you. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course it’s okay!” Lily examined the instrument carefully before giving Susan a hug. “How can I thank you enough? You’ll be first on the list for free tickets to my next concert.”

  “How can I thank you?” said Susan. “You’ve been such a support for me. Aren’t you going to try it?”