better to
make her sound worse than she is. I mean, all she’s trying to do is make a meal for her family and her boyfriend. It’s not a crime. She just seems to get no enjoyment out of it, so
it’s hard for anyone else to enjoy it either. Sometimes it feels like we’re separated by more than just eight years – sometimes it feels like we’re doomed to be for ever
distinct and separate; parallel – never meeting, like the layers of rock out on the cliffs.
‘So, Ben,’ I venture when the atmosphere has thickened to the point where I could scoop it up with a spoon and use it to top a mini timbale, ‘you’ve been talking to Mum
and Dad about your business ideas?’
Dad’s face darkens.
Ben, on the other hand, beams delightedly, as if he’s been waiting for just this question. His ruddy cheeks crimson further. ‘Well, Kate, we were just discussing that when you came
in. I’ve been looking for some time now for expansion, development and growth opportunities in the South West region.’
It sounds like he’s reading from a press release.
‘Oh right,’ I say. I don’t really understand when people talk about ‘business’ like that. It’s like when someone says they work in ‘systems’ or
‘analysis’. To be honest, when I hear any of these expressions, to me it’s like someone telling me they’re a fundamentalist Christian. I’ll do my best to listen to
what they say, but I’ve already pretty much switched off.
‘Yuh,’ says Ben, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair so that he seems to be sitting in state, like a Pope. I suppose commerce is the new religion, but he doesn’t look
especially Papal with his stomach still hanging out.
‘Just been talking to your parents about developing some new revenue streams for Baileys’,’ he continues. ‘Shaking things up a bit, you know?’ He taps his fingers
on the chair, contentedly beating a little rhythm.
It all sounds fairly boring to me; I can’t understand why his uninspiring corporate speak has Mum and Dad seething on the sofa next to me. I can virtually feel their anger.
‘Yah,’ Ben says. ‘What I’m aiming to do is turn the business around from a well-established but essentially moribund concern into something pretty exciting. Everyone
thinks all the action is happening in London, but they couldn’t be more wrong.’
Dad rolls his eyes and Mum smiles tightly by his side. I nod encouragingly at Ben, who ploughs on regardless of the fact that two thirds of his audience appear to hate his guts. And all three of
us can
see
his gut.
‘Yuh, consider Copella apple juice – old family business, stuck in the doldrums until it was given a proper kick up the arse by someone who knew what they were doing. Now look at
them – millionaires! Yeo Valley, too. The South West’s full of chances for someone who’s got vision.’
‘Like you,’ says Dad. The sarcasm in his voice is unmistakable. But not to Ben.
‘Absolutely, Mr Bailey – or can I call you Dad?’
Dad is too surprised to say anything.
‘That’s why I’m coming to work with you, Dad. And Mum. To help you out. To inject a bit of fire into the business.’
‘I’m not sure I feel quite comfortable with that, Ben,’ says Mum. I don’t know if she means she objects to him calling her Mum or to him injecting fire into their sleepy
family business. I think either is a possibility.
‘No, really,’ Ben barrels on, beaming heartily. ‘I insist. We’re family. Practically. Right, Dad?’
By now Dad’s beard is bristling, as if he’s an animal readying itself for a fight. I can see he’s about to blow, so I launch into another question to stop him having the chance
to speak.
‘So, Ben, you’ve already started working for Baileys’?’ I ask. I’d thought it was more something that was under discussion than an actual reality.
‘Yup,’ says Ben slapping his hands down on his thighs. ‘All official. We were just hammering out the details when
make her sound worse than she is. I mean, all she’s trying to do is make a meal for her family and her boyfriend. It’s not a crime. She just seems to get no enjoyment out of it, so
it’s hard for anyone else to enjoy it either. Sometimes it feels like we’re separated by more than just eight years – sometimes it feels like we’re doomed to be for ever
distinct and separate; parallel – never meeting, like the layers of rock out on the cliffs.
‘So, Ben,’ I venture when the atmosphere has thickened to the point where I could scoop it up with a spoon and use it to top a mini timbale, ‘you’ve been talking to Mum
and Dad about your business ideas?’
Dad’s face darkens.
Ben, on the other hand, beams delightedly, as if he’s been waiting for just this question. His ruddy cheeks crimson further. ‘Well, Kate, we were just discussing that when you came
in. I’ve been looking for some time now for expansion, development and growth opportunities in the South West region.’
It sounds like he’s reading from a press release.
‘Oh right,’ I say. I don’t really understand when people talk about ‘business’ like that. It’s like when someone says they work in ‘systems’ or
‘analysis’. To be honest, when I hear any of these expressions, to me it’s like someone telling me they’re a fundamentalist Christian. I’ll do my best to listen to
what they say, but I’ve already pretty much switched off.
‘Yuh,’ says Ben, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair so that he seems to be sitting in state, like a Pope. I suppose commerce is the new religion, but he doesn’t look
especially Papal with his stomach still hanging out.
‘Just been talking to your parents about developing some new revenue streams for Baileys’,’ he continues. ‘Shaking things up a bit, you know?’ He taps his fingers
on the chair, contentedly beating a little rhythm.
It all sounds fairly boring to me; I can’t understand why his uninspiring corporate speak has Mum and Dad seething on the sofa next to me. I can virtually feel their anger.
‘Yah,’ Ben says. ‘What I’m aiming to do is turn the business around from a well-established but essentially moribund concern into something pretty exciting. Everyone
thinks all the action is happening in London, but they couldn’t be more wrong.’
Dad rolls his eyes and Mum smiles tightly by his side. I nod encouragingly at Ben, who ploughs on regardless of the fact that two thirds of his audience appear to hate his guts. And all three of
us can
see
his gut.
‘Yuh, consider Copella apple juice – old family business, stuck in the doldrums until it was given a proper kick up the arse by someone who knew what they were doing. Now look at
them – millionaires! Yeo Valley, too. The South West’s full of chances for someone who’s got vision.’
‘Like you,’ says Dad. The sarcasm in his voice is unmistakable. But not to Ben.
‘Absolutely, Mr Bailey – or can I call you Dad?’
Dad is too surprised to say anything.
‘That’s why I’m coming to work with you, Dad. And Mum. To help you out. To inject a bit of fire into the business.’
‘I’m not sure I feel quite comfortable with that, Ben,’ says Mum. I don’t know if she means she objects to him calling her Mum or to him injecting fire into their sleepy
family business. I think either is a possibility.
‘No, really,’ Ben barrels on, beaming heartily. ‘I insist. We’re family. Practically. Right, Dad?’
By now Dad’s beard is bristling, as if he’s an animal readying itself for a fight. I can see he’s about to blow, so I launch into another question to stop him having the chance
to speak.
‘So, Ben, you’ve already started working for Baileys’?’ I ask. I’d thought it was more something that was under discussion than an actual reality.
‘Yup,’ says Ben slapping his hands down on his thighs. ‘All official. We were just hammering out the details when
Similar Books
