took an unknown brand, repackaged it and sold it to the world! He turned a failing company
into a huge, successful corporation. And now we're all getting to meet him. Don't you find
that thrilling?'
'Yes,' I say at last. 'It's… thrilling.'
'This could be the opportunity of a lifetime for all of us. To learn from the genius himself!
You know, he's never written a book, he's never shared his thoughts with anyone except Pete
Laidler…' He reaches into the fridge for a can of Panther Cola and cracks it open. Connor has
to be the most loyal employee in the world. I once bought a Pepsi when we were out on a
picnic, and he nearly had a hernia.
'You know what I would love above anything?' he says, taking a gulp. 'A one-to-one with
him.' He looks at me, his eyes shining. 'A one-to-one with Jack Harper! Wouldn't that be the
most fantastic career boost?'
A one-to-one with Jack Harper.
Yup, that boosted my career great.
'I suppose,' I say reluctantly.
'Of course it would be! Just having the chance to listen to him. To hear what he has to say! I
mean, the guy's been shut away for three years. What ideas must he have been generating all
this time? He must have so many insights and theories, not just about marketing, but about
business… about the way people work… about life itself.'
Connor's enthusiastic voice is like salt rubbing into my sore skin. So, let's just see quite how
spectacularly I have played this wrong, shall we? I'm sitting on a plane next to the great Jack
Harper, creative genius and source of all wisdom on business and marketing, not to mention
the great mysteries of life itself.
And what do I do? Do I ask him insightful questions? Do I engage him in intelligent
conversation? Do I learn anything from him at all?
No. I blabber on about what kind of underwear I prefer.
Great career move, Emma. One of the best.
The next day, Connor is off to a meeting first thing, but before he goes he digs out an old
magazine article about Jack Harper.
'Read this,' he says, through a mouthful of toast. 'It's good background information.'
I don't
door.
I'm tempted to leave it behind and not even bother looking at it, but it's quite a long journey
from Connor's place to work, and I haven't got any magazines with me. So I take the article
with me, and grudgingly start reading it on the tube, and I suppose it is quite an interesting
story. How Harper and Pete Laidler were friends, and they decided to go into business, and
Jack was the creative one and Pete was the extrovert playboy one, and they became
multimillionaires together, and they were so close they were practically like brothers. And
then Pete was killed in a car crash. And Jack was so devastated he shut himself away from the
world and said he was giving it all up.
And of course now I read all this I'm starting to feel a bit stupid. I should have recognized
Jack Harper. I mean, I certainly recognize Pete Laidler. For one thing he looks — looked — just
like Robert Redford. And for another, he was all over the papers when he died. I can
remember it vividly now, even though I had nothing to do with the Panther Corporation then.
He crashed his Mercedes, and everyone said it was just like Princess Diana.
I'm so busy reading, I nearly miss my stop and have to make one of those stupid dashes for
the doors, where everyone looks at you like: You complete moron, did you not know that
your stop was coming up? And then, as the doors close, I realize I've left the article behind on
the tube.
Oh well. I'd kind of got the gist of it.
It's a bright sunshiny morning, and I head towards the juice bar where I usually pop in before
work. I've got into the habit of picking up a mango smoothie every morning, because it's
healthy.
And also because there is a very cute New Zealand guy who works behind the counter, called
Aidan. (In fact, I had a miniature crush on him, before I started going out with Connor.) When
he isn't working in the smoothie bar he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always
telling me stuff about essential minerals, and what your carb-ratio should be.
'Hiya,' he says as I come in. 'How's the kick-boxing going?'
'Oh!' I say, colouring slightly. 'It's great, thanks.'
'Did you try that new manoeuvre I told you about?'
'Yes! It really helped!'
'I thought it would,' he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my mango smoothie.
OK. So the truth is, I don't really do kick-boxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure centre,
and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so
enthused about it, and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to
admit I'd given up after only one session. It just seemed so lame. So I kind of… fibbed. And I
mean, it's not like it matters. He'll never know. It's not as if I ever see him outside the
smoothie bar.
'That's one mango smoothie,' says Aidan.
'And a chocolate brownie,' I say. 'For… my colleague.' Aidan picks up the brownie and pops
it in a bag.
'You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about her refined sugar levels,' he says with
a concerned frown. 'That must be — four brownies this week?'
'I know,' I say earnestly. 'I'll tell her. Thanks, Aidan.'
'No problem!' says Aidan. 'And remember: one-two-swivel!'
'One-two-swivel,' I repeat brightly. 'I'll remember!'
As I arrive at the office, Paul appears out of his room, snaps his fingers at me and says,
'Appraisal.'
My stomach gives an almighty lurch, and I nearly choke on my last bite of chocolate brownie'.
Oh God. This is it. I'm not ready.
Yes I am. Come on. Exude confidence. I am a woman on her way somewhere.
Suddenly I remember Kerry and her 'I am a successful woman' walk. I know Kerry's an
obnoxious cow, but she does have her own travel agency and make zillions of pounds a year.
She must be doing something right. Maybe I should give it a go. Cautiously I stick out my
bust, lift my head and start striding across the office with a fixed, alert expression on my face.
'Have you got period pain or something?' says Paul crudely as I reach his door.
'No!' I say in shock.
'Well you look very odd. Now sit down.' He shuts the door, sits down at his desk and opens a
form marked Staff Appraisal Review. 'I'm sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. But what with
Jack Harper's arrival, everything got buggered up.'
'That's OK.'
I try to smile but my mouth is suddenly dry. I can't believe how nervous I feel. This is worse
than a school report.
'OK. So… Emma Corrigan.' He looks at the form and starts ticking boxes. 'Generally, you're
doing fine. You're not generally late… you understand the tasks given to you… you're fairly
efficient… you work OK with your colleagues… blah blah… blah… Any problems?' he
says, looking up.
