‘Yeah, me too. She’s looking for someone to take her place,’ Nora says. ‘She’ll lose a lot of money otherwise.’
They all turn to look at me.
‘Come on, Jules,’ Nora says, hopefully. ‘Aren’t you tempted? Sunshine. Blue skies. And a few lovely days of tennis.’
‘Surely after losing by only two points, the trip is worth it just for that?’ Rose points out.
I was already dying to go. I might be worried about money and the turmoil at work, but the idea of not having to see Sam out of my bedroom window is suddenly very appealing. More than that, those two crucial points that lost us the match feel impossible to ignore. Several days of coaching could make all the difference.
‘Go on then. You’ve twisted my arm.’
The three of them give a little cheer.
After we’ve cleared away the plates and locked up the clubhouse, we head out into a crisp, starlit night and crunch down the gravel path before saying goodbye. As I let myself into the house, I find something lying on the floor, which has been posted through the letter box. It’s been wrapped up in thick blue paper held together with a little sticker that reads, ‘The Roebury Bookshop’.
I pick up the parcel and fold away the wrapping, to find a book with the titleThe Inner Game of Tennisby W. Timothy Gallwey.
I open the first page, where a handwritten note is tucked inside.
‘This book helped me a lot once (though it was a while ago so hope it’s as good as I remember). Also, I thought I’d pass on that phone number you definitely didn’t want or need in the pathetic hope that you change your mind. : ) Sam x’
Chapter 30
The results of the market research are in. As a result, I’m summoned to group headquarters on Monday, along with Angus and a handful of other senior Fable & Punk staff. It strikes me that the air of unease among some of us about the takeover has settled a little recently.
But this is generally accepted as the calm before the storm, and I can’t help feeling apprehensive the moment I step into reception.
Although this review will form the basis of the ‘synergies’ we keep hearing about, I remind myself that we already have a loyal customer base. You only have to spend half an hour in a branch or read our Google reviews to understand that.
Niles is seated on one side of a long table, flanked by several sharp-suited executives who collectively have the air of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He stands, shakes a few hands, invites us all to sit. The market research results are presented by a young woman called Morgan, with a pinched mouth and tongue-twister of a title –Assistant Head of Tactical Consumer Insights, Trends and Bollocks, or something along those lines. I push the thought out of my head and lean forward keenly.
‘We used both quantitative and qualitative research for this study, but it’s the latter that proved most enlightening,’ she says, clicking onto her first slide. ‘There are clear conclusions on areas of improvement and some suggested directions in which to take the brand.’
Two focus groups were hired, consisting of twelve people in the ‘ABC1’ demographic – with managerial, clerical or professional occupations. They were paid £70 each to spend an hour in a hired room in a Holiday Inn Express in Solihull, with unlimited tea, coffee and chocolate biscuits. Their task? To robustly cogitate and deliberate on ‘brand awareness’ for the company.
The results start well, in the same way that the maiden voyage of theTitanicdid.
An online questionnaire rates Fable & Punk highly on product quality, ease of purchase and customer service. I catch a brief glimpse of Aurelie and can see the tension in her neck begin to release. But as Morgan continues to outline what went down in Solihull that day, there is a shift in atmosphere.
‘The key issue we identified with this brand is a lack of clarity. A similar theme came up time and again. Are we a bag retailer? Do we sell mirrors or shoes? Does a consumer walk into this store expecting to find mugs, dresses or weird little salt and pepper shakers in the shape of toadstools?’ she says, scrunching up her nose in distaste.
I straighten my back defiantly.
‘We sellallof them,’ protests Oliver, with a bewildered air that garners a withering look from Angus.
But it seems that this is not an acceptable premise to the twelve good men and women in Solihull, who might as well have lined up and blown raspberries at us all.
‘Identity crisis. Doesn’t know what it is,’ was the solemn verdict of Janice, a forty-two-year-old chiropodist.
‘Looks like an explosion in a jumble sale,’ decided Derek, the sixty-one-year-old regional manager of a car showroom.
‘Went in for golf clubs once but they didn’t sell any. The assistant was nice though,’ says twenty-nine-year-old Jordan, estate agent specialising in Cypriot rental properties.
We listen to all this in stunned silence, waiting for Angus to leap to our defence.
‘Didanyonelikeanything?’ I pipe up, when it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to. It comes out sounding more confrontational than I’d intended, from the look on Morgan’s face.
‘The overwhelming message is that Fable & Punk has a major identity crisis,’ she replies. ‘The idea of selling “a bit of everything” is deeply problematic. It’s anothingbrand. It just doesn’t work.’
