‘Did you do anything nice at the weekend?’
But he seems too busy to have registered the question and offers no immediate response, leaving my mind to shuffle through all manner of possibilities about what he got up to. Pottering about a garden? Having his bottom spanked by a high-class call girl? Feasibly, it might have been both.
‘I did. Thank you,’ he says, so long after the question I’d almost forgotten I’d asked it.
I try to work out whether the fact that Niles himself is in this meeting has any meaning. But just as I’ve convinced myself it might be a positive sign, I remember that they’ve only scheduled ten minutes, four of which have been taken up waiting for Jacinta. Even accounting for the shortfall, this is probably the precise amount of time you’d need to sack someone. She finally appears, her expression so impassive as to be entirely unreadable.
‘As you know, Julia, we’ve had to make some tough decisions lately,’ Niles says. ‘But it isn’t all bad news. The Fable & Punk brand has to go; that’s become patently obvious. But with that, comes an opportunity for expansion.’
Of the twenty-eight Fable & Punk stores, he tells me, seventeen will be sold off. The rest will make way for a majorgrowth plan for The Neutral Company. The remaining eleven units will be refitted and rebranded, with staff retained where possible. Niles seems confident this will have shareholders and investors alike wetting their pants. At this point, Jacinta steps in to talk about a multichannel approach and relocation strategies and throughout her whole speech the only words going through my head areI am completely fucked.
But then she says something that takes me so by surprise I am initially convinced I must have misheard.
‘We want you to be a part of this, Jules.’
I blink. ‘Me?’
‘We are a company that values talent and experience. Plus, I like your style. I don’t believe in surrounding myself with yes men. Or . . . women. People.Yes people,’ he settles on. ‘The point is, this is an exciting period of transition which offers some excellent opportunities – for the right personalities.’
My heart begins to rev. ‘Are you . . . saying I get to keep my job?’
‘No – that will go. But we’re offering you a promotion,’ Jacinta steps in. ‘There’s a group role we need to fill as a result of my own increased responsibilities. You’d be working closely alongside me initially, with a view to you becoming deputy.’
My jaw drops. I feel a rush of relief that is close to spiritual. Until this point I hadn’t appreciated just how badly I’d never wanted to retrain as an undertaker.
‘Obviously, we need to move quickly so we’d ask that you give us an answer within a week. Is that okay?’
‘Y— I . . . of course,’ I stutter.
‘HR will send through the details later today, but I’m confident the salary will more than meet your expectations and there will of course be a generous relocation package.’
‘A . . . sorry, what?’
‘The Manchester base is being wound down,’ she says. ‘Your job would be here in head office. In London.’
Chapter 47
Is there a German word for shock, relief, elation and panic all rolled into one? There should be.
I end the video call with Niles with my heart flapping until eventually, I realise I need to stop, breathe and think about this rationally. If I wasn’t already acutely aware of how lucky I am to have been offered a new job – with a promotion and pay rise – then I certainly become so in the next twenty-four hours, when one colleague after another exits the building after a series of Zooms.
Kayla is given the option to stay at the Manchester branch – reporting to a new regional manager – while the roll-out of The Neutral Company takes place, at which point she can reapply for her job. She immediately opts for voluntary redundancy. There is no shortage of positions locally for someone at her level. The same, sadly, cannot be said for me.
I spend the weekend after the meeting assessing my options and investigating alternative employment here in the North-West for someone with my experience. It is thoroughly depressing.
‘Thereareother retailers based here in Manchester, but none of them like Fable & Punk,’ I tell Sam, on the steps of the clubhouse on Sunday after he’s just finished team training with the men, while I’m heading to Rusty Racquets. ‘And the higher you go up a career ladder, the fewer your options.I can find literally nothing. I must have looked on every job website there is.’
‘Would you consider a less senior role?’ he says, tentatively. ‘I do realise that would be a bitter pill after all your hard work over the years.’
There are some jobs a few rungs down I could feasibly go for. But, even if I were to swallow my pride and go head to head against candidates too young to remember life before Taylor Swift, how would I make ends meet given the drastic salary drop? I have already considered the possibility that I’m being too materialistic here. That I could in theory survive on 10p noodles like I did as a student or get rid of the car and cycle everywhere. I wondered if I could hit on a lucrative side hustle, like learning to crochet so I could make stylish coasters to sell on Etsy, or sourcing unloved items from charity shops to repurpose.
But who am I kidding? I’m never going to fund Frankie through three years of university that way, let alone cover my mortgage for the next decade.
‘I’ve thought about it. But I did some sums this weekend and I can’t see how it could realistically work,’ I tell him.
‘So you’re actually considering the alternative? Moving to London, I mean?’
‘I’ve got no choice,’ I say. But I realise that Sam couldn’t ever understand what this feels like. He’s unlikely to find himself in a similar situation with a job like his.
