I Owe You One: A Novel(49)

“Ah yes,” says Uncle Ned as he looks around. “Very good, very good.”

“I was wondering if we could turn the temperature up,” Nicole is saying earnestly to Greg. “Then we could do hot yoga.”

“Hot. Yeah.” Greg gulps, his gaze fixed adoringly on Nicole. “Hot sounds good.”

“What’s that?” I say, suddenly noticing the wheelie case that Nicole is dragging.

“Makeup for the Instagram shoot,” she says. “Next time I’ll hire a makeup artist.”

A makeup artist? I’m about to reply when Uncle Ned taps me on the arm.

“Now, Fixie,” he says, gesturing at the leisure section. “This is where you could introduce a fishing department. Rods, nets, waders …”

“Er … maybe,” I say diplomatically.

“Jesus, this place,” says Jake, coming toward us, a scowl on his face. “It gets more low-rent every time I see it. What’s that?” He lifts a packet and peers at it disparagingly.

“Muslins for making jams and jellies,” I tell him.

“Jams and jellies?” he echoes in tones of utmost scorn. “Who the hell makes jams and jellies?”

“Our customers do! It’s a really popular hobby—”

“So, is everyone here?” Jake cuts me off without even listening. “All the staff? Because I think we should have a word.”

“Hi, Morag!” I wave as Morag comes in through the door. “OK, we’re all here,” I say to Jake. “At least, everyone who works today. Christine’s on the other shift, and—”

“Whatever,” says Jake impatiently. “Let’s begin. Right.” He raises his voice. “Gather round, people. As you know, my siblings and I are running the show while my mother’s away, and we want change. Wholesale change.” He thumps a fist into his palm and I see Stacey’s eyes widen. “This place needs a boot up the backside. We want upselling. We want cross-selling. We want profiteering.”

I open my mouth to protest—does he actually know what profiteering means?—but Jake’s on a roll.

“This is a game changer, guys,” he’s saying. “This is where the rubber hits the road. We want to turn this place into a must-have, high-end, desirable store. Where tastemakers come. Where the beautiful people hang out. The Abercrombie and Fitch of lifestyle stores. And that’s the image I want you all to project. Stylish. Hip. Sexy.”

“Sexy?” says Morag, looking alarmed.

“Yes, sexy,” snaps Jake. “On-trend. Modern. With it.”

I can see his eyes ranging over the assembled staff with increasing dissatisfaction. Greg is gazing gormlessly at Nicole with his bulgy gray eyes. Stacey is leaning against a display, chewing gum. Morag is still bundled up in her sensible padded coat, her gray hair rumpled from the breeze. To be fair, you wouldn’t walk into the store and think, Wow, what a hip and sexy staff.

“My turn! Let me say something now.” Nicole gives Jake a little shove, and he scowls but lets her take the floor.

“I’m excited,” Nicole begins. “Who’s excited?”

There’s a baffled silence, then Greg says, “Me!” in a throaty voice, and Nicole beams at him.

“There are so many possibilities here. The sky’s the limit. But are you all maximizing your potential?” She eyes Morag, who shuffles backward nervously. “I want to help with that, with the use of specialized psychological profiling and teamwork. Let’s use your personal qualities. Let’s achieve more, letting our imaginations lead us.” She makes a broad, sweeping gesture, nearly knocking a jug off the shelf behind her. “Let’s use Instagram. Let’s use mindfulness. Let’s make change. Let’s climb that mountain. Because we can do it. Together.”

She breaks off into an even more baffled silence. I can see Stacey mouthing What the fuck? to Greg, and I should reprimand her, I suppose, but the truth is I feel exactly the same. What is my sister on about?

“Right!” I say, as it becomes clear Nicole has finished. “Well, thanks, Nicole, for that … er … inspiration. I think that’s it for speeches,” I add, “but basically we’re looking at how to improve the store, so any ideas you have, please share them. Thank you!”

“Wait!” comes Uncle Ned’s voice, as the staff begin to disperse. “I may be an old buffer …” He laughs self-consciously. “But I have been asked to keep an eye on this outfit, and I have learned a few tricks along the way.…” He gives another stagy chuckle.

“Absolutely, Uncle Ned,” I say politely. “Please go ahead. For those of you who don’t know Uncle Ned,” I add, “he was Dad’s brother and has a lot of experience in business. Uncle Ned, what are your ideas?”

“Well, I must echo Jake. It’s all about appearance. Appearance, d’you see?” He wags a roguish finger. “My first impression is this: You girls should be wearing more-attractive costumes. A pretty blouse and heels—that’s what customers want. Let’s see more lipstick, perfume … let’s see some flirting with the customers.…”

My face feels paralyzed. He’s saying this? To the staff? Aloud?

“Sorry!” I gasp, finally finding my voice. “Let me clarify what my uncle is saying, to avoid any … uh … misinterpretation. “By ‘heels’ he meant ‘any heel appropriate for your general foot health.’ And by ‘lipstick’ he meant ‘lipstick is optional for employees. Male or female,’ ” I add hurriedly. “And by ‘flirting with the customers,’ he meant … ‘cordial relations with customers are advised.’ ”