Bumps

by Zoe Barnes

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Bump number one - Just when Taz Norton's life is on a smooth upward glide - youngest sales manager at a flagship department store, own flat, cat and vintage motorbike - her lover leaves her for her ex-best friend.

Bump number two - is finding out she is pregnant the same day she is asked to handle the biggest store promotion in the company's history.

Bump number three - is the one in front of her. Goodbye toes and glamour, hello heartburn, morning sickness and support tights. Typically, Taz decides to be Superwoman. No one is going to tell her she can't get to the top and be a single mum as well. But no one told her it was going to be so damned hard . . .

Release date: March 7, 2013

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 464

Sample

How it all began …

‘I might have known you’d over-react,’ said Gareth Scott sourly.

Taz stared back at him, open-mouthed. Behind her, a warm June breeze fluttered her living room curtains, filling the flat
with fragrance from the flower beds beneath the open window. Bees buzzed; lawnmowers droned lazily in gardens vibrant with
flowers; cats dozed in the sunshine. But she didn’t notice any of it. This had just become the worst day of Taz Norton’s life.


It took her a second or two to get her breath back.

‘Now hold on, Gareth. Let me get this straight. It’s my birthday, you’ve just told me you’ve been two-timing me with my flatmate
– how am I supposed to react?’


The question hung in the air, sizzling with rage.

Melanie, who until now had been almost cowering behind Gareth, tried to touch Taz’s arm. Taz shook it off with a venomous
glare, and Melanie shrank away.


‘Please Taz … I don’t want us to stop being friends.’

The ludicrousness of it all made Taz burst out laughing.

‘Friends? Is this how you treat your friends, Mel? No wonder you haven’t got any.’


‘Oh Taz, please Taz, you don’t know how sorry I am about all this, we never meant to …’ protested Melanie, flinching.


Every cliché in the book, thought Taz bitterly. Every bloody cliché. How could I be so blind?

‘Oh I see. So this just kind of happened, right? You just fell into bed with each other and couldn’t help yourselves?’


‘Not exactly, but …’ Melanie looked across at Gareth, her eyes pleading with him to help her. Taz didn’t give him the chance.

‘But nothing.’ Taz took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. ‘Just tell me how long this has been going on.’

‘Since …’ Melanie stared down at her feet. ‘Since that party at Chippenham.’

The sting of betrayal bit a little deeper into Taz’s soul.

‘The charity ball? The one I gave you my ticket for because I had to work late?’

Melanie nodded dumbly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, hanging her head. ‘Really sorry.’

‘We’ve been seeing each other for about three months now,’ said Gareth helpfully. Taz rounded on him, all guns blazing.

‘I may be blind, Gareth, but I can still add up.’

For a couple of seconds they were eyeball to eyeball. Then Gareth turned his treacherously handsome face away, making some
pretext of looking at the clock on the mantelpiece.


‘We should really be going,’ he commented. ‘If we want to miss the worst of the traffic.’

‘You bastard,’ hissed Taz, hurting so violently that all she could do was turn her back on Gareth and Melanie.


Her eyes swept around the ground-floor conversion she’d shared with Melanie for over two years, ever since the two of them
arrived in Cheltenham, ready to conquer the world. Everything had gone so well for them, Mel getting the advertising job she’d
always dreamed of and Taz steadily climbing the management ladder at Seuss & Goldman, Cheltenham’s premier department store.


And then along came Gareth Scott: twenty years older than Taz, good-looking, powerful, sexy. Everywhere she looked were remnants
of a nine-month affair that should never have happened. Expensive wallpaper chosen by Gareth. Sofa-bed with wine-stained cushions, on which Taz and Gareth had spent so many uninhibited Sunday afternoons. Porcelain
figurine of a naked dancer: a present from … who else?


‘For God’s sake Taz, must you be so childish?’ snapped Gareth. ‘This thing we had – OK so it was a lot of fun, but it was
just physical, we knew it was never meant to last. We were always going to see other people …’


‘You mean you were always going to see other people,’ said Taz tartly. ‘You just conveniently forgot to mention it to me.’ She glanced
at Melanie. ‘I wonder who’ll be next on the list.’


Gareth snorted, raking his slightly-greying hair back from his forehead with exasperated fingers.

‘Can’t you get it into your head, Taz? It’s completely different with Melanie.’

‘We love each other, Taz,’ pleaded Melanie. ‘Gareth’s got a new job and we’re going away together.’

Melanie clung to Gareth’s arm, her soft grey eyes silently pleading for forgiveness. You manipulative bitch, thought Taz.

‘I think it’s time you went,’ said Taz quietly.

‘But I need to get the rest of my things,’ protested Melanie.

‘Now,’ said Taz. ‘Before I forget what a nice, reasonable person I am.’

Gareth picked up Melanie’s overnight bag from the settee.

‘Come on Mel darling, you don’t need anything from here,’ he said, stooping to kiss Melanie’s cheek with such tenderness that
Taz knew it was meant as a final snub. ‘I’ll be taking care of you from now on.’


The door of the flat closed with a soft click. Footsteps receded, then there was the sound of a car engine; and Taz was alone.
She stood and stared at the living-room wall for a long time before picking up the remains of her birthday cake and slinging
it violently at the wallpaper. Gareth’s wallpaper. The cake slid slowly down, leaving oily trails of melted butter icing.


‘Sod off Gareth. See if I bloody well care.’

Her eyes were dry as she flopped down onto the carpet and hugged a cushion to her chest. Minky, her cat, slunk in from the
kitchen and rubbed up against her legs, mewing and purring for food; but Taz didn’t even notice.


It was at least half an hour before she got up and went into the kitchen, where she ate a whole family bag of tortilla chips.
And another ten minutes before her eyes strayed to Gareth’s empty coffee cup, still sitting unwashed on the draining board.


But a few seconds after that, she was sobbing into the empty bag.

‘You’ll get fat,’ commented Taz, with a sly wink at her friend across the outdoor finger buffet.


Binnie Lethbridge – soon-to-be ex-manager of Seuss & Goldman’s china department – glanced down guiltily at her seventh mini-quiche
of the afternoon.


She and Taz looked at each other, then down at Binnie’s stomach, extravagantly balloon-like beneath her floral maternity smock.
Then they both fell about laughing.


‘Fat, yeah, right. Like anybody’s going to notice.’ Binnie ate yet another, rounding up the crumbs with a quick flick of her tongue. ‘Mmm, yummy. Oooh.’ She pulled a face and
shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘I think I need the loo again.’


‘Again!’

‘Wait till you’re pregnant, then you’ll understand. Here, mind my plate for me will you? And don’t scoff all the crostini.
I’ll be back in a mo.’


Taz yawned and consulted her watch. Still only half past two. Just how long could it take to finish a croquet match?

Behind her, the manicured lawns of Cheltenham Croquet Club quivered to polite applause as yet another wooden ball was thwacked
through a coloured hoop. It was all very English, complete with crustless cucumber sandwiches, white drill shorts and individual
mandarin pavlovas, but it wasn’t very Taz. Taz Norton was far more at home at the sharp end of a business deal, doing her
damnedest to prove that she fully deserved to be Seuss & Goldman’s youngest departmental manager.


She tried to force herself to take an interest in the game. After all, she’d been sent here to represent the store, she ought at least to look as if she was enjoying herself.


‘I bet you enjoy a good game don’t you, m’dear?’

The touch of a hand surreptitiously fondling her bottom nearly made Taz Norton jump out of her skin, and sent half of Binnie’s
crostini flying. She spun round and found herself glaring at a middle-aged Lothario in a beige linen suit.


‘Excuse me?’

‘Croquet.’ The smile under the clipped moustache was verging on a leer. ‘Do you play? You look like a … sporty sort of a gel.’

Yeah, thought Taz, suddenly wishing her smart green skirt was a couple of inches longer. She treated him to the kind of polite,
sub-zero smile she used on awkward customers at work.


‘Sorry, no. I’ve never had the inclination.’ She prayed that Binnie would hurry back. How many times could one pregnant woman
go to the lavatory in an afternoon?


‘Ah. So few ladies do these days. But you appreciate the game of course?’


‘Croquet? Of course.’

Taz wished she could be sure he was just talking about the Seuss & Goldman Croquet Challenge. Creep, he ought to be ashamed
of himself.


‘And it’s such a wonderful day out for you ladies, isn’t it? Showing off your new summer frocks.’

‘Wonderful.’ Her smile was so fixed it was becoming painful.

Taz’s gaze wandered over his left shoulder. Rescue me, Binnie, she willed silently. But there was still no sign of her.

‘Actually, this isn’t just a day out for me, it’s work,’ she confessed.

‘Really?’ In the distance, shouts of ‘Well played!’ rose above well-bred applause.

‘Yes, I’m here to represent Seuss & Goldman.’

‘S&G, eh? Well, well.’ The mention of Cheltenham’s most prestigious department store prompted the moustache to twitch with
renewed interest. A snap of the fingers. ‘I say, you’re the company secretary’s daughter, aren’t you? Knew I’d seen you somewhere before …’


Taz played her ace.

‘I’m a departmental manager.’ She relished the look of astonishment this provoked. ‘In charge of menswear. Now, if you’ll
just excuse me …’ To her relief, she had just caught sight of Binnie. ‘I think my colleague is calling me over.’


Refilling her plate, Binnie bit into a vol-au-vent and nodded towards the retreating figure of the man in the linen suit.

‘Honest Taz, I leave you for five minutes and you’re chatting up blokes. Mind you, you’ve got good taste.’

‘You’re kidding. Who is that?’


‘You don’t know? That’s Angus Cornforth, you know, the Goldman family lawyer.’

‘Good God.’ Taz stared after him. He was now chatting to a couple of girls from the Ladies’ College, his arm round one and
his free hand heading straight for the other one’s bottom. ‘He goosed me!’


‘You’re well in there then,’ grinned Binnie. ‘He obviously likes you.’

‘You mean he likes anything in a tight skirt.’ Taz eased a finger under the waistband of her brand-new Betty Jackson suit.
‘I knew I should have bought the fourteen, I can hardly breathe in this.’


‘You look great. Anyhow, you have to suffer to be beautiful.’

A few more pastry-crumbs fell onto Binnie’s dress, but she didn’t bother to brush them off. Taz wondered if being pregnant
shrivelled up the bit of your brain that made you care what you looked like because lately Binnie Lethbridge looked like she’d
swallowed a Laura Ashley bed-settee. It had been quite painful to witness her dramatic transformation, from foxy to frumpy
in under seven months.


‘You could do worse than Cornforth, you know,’ Binnie went on. ‘He’s filthy rich.’

‘I don’t care if he’s the Sultan of Brunei. I’ve had enough of older men to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.’


‘Aren’t you over Gareth, then?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Well, it’s not every group finance manager who redecorates your living room then buggers off to set up home with your flatmate.’

There was an awkward silence. Binnie sipped lemon squash and surveyed the match on court. ‘Well played! Did you see that roquet?’

‘What?’

‘Roquet. It’s when you make your ball hit somebody else’s.’

‘Oh.’

‘You see, when the out-player missed, the in-player roqueted his ball, stopped it out into court and got a rush on her partner
ball.’


Binnie laughed at the look of complete bafflement on Taz’s face.

‘Sorry, I used to play a bit at university.’ She patted her bump with a swollen-fingered hand. ‘In the days when I could still
see my feet. So … have you heard from Gareth since he ran out on you?’


‘No. But Melanie rang up last week.’

‘No! The cheeky little madam.’

‘She wanted her hi-fi system back.’

‘Well I hope you told her where she could shove it.’

‘Actually I told her I’d sold it.’

‘And have you?’

‘Course not.’ Taz giggled. ‘But I reckoned it was about time I had a new hi-fi.’

‘Nice one,’ said Binnie approvingly.

Taz turned and gazed out at the court, but she was seeing Gareth and Melanie on the day they’d told her they were leaving
Cheltenham. Together. To think that she hadn’t suspected for a moment. That was what really pissed her off – letting him …
no, letting anyone put one over on her.


‘So,’ said Binnie. ‘Still with Gareth is she?’

‘As far as I know. She didn’t say where they were and I didn’t ask. Good riddance to bad rubbish.’ Taz stretched her aching neck, closed her eyes and leaned her head back, letting
the sun bathe her tired face. Her hat was making her head itch, and she yearned to take it off. What with the Gareth business
and the summer sales about to go into overdrive at Seuss & Goldman, lately she’d been feeling a bit run down.


‘At least he never moved in with you,’ pointed out Binnie, ‘and it could have been worse.’

Taz took a glass of fresh lemonade from the buffet, and rolled the cool glass over her burning skin.

‘Oh yeah? How?’

‘You could have married the cheating scumbag.’ Binnie grinned.

‘Don’t be silly,’ laughed Taz. ‘I’m only twenty-five. I’m not letting some guy con me into staying home and washing his socks
while he goes off and becomes vice-president of Lonrho.’ She realised what she’d said and turned quickly back to Binnie. ‘I
didn’t mean you and Jim …’


‘It’s OK, I know what you meant. I don’t mind giving up my job. I thought I would, but I’ve got the baby to think about, and
Scotland’s a great place for a kid to grow up.’


‘Won’t you be bored, just being at home? You could find a job up there. When the baby’s older.’

‘I guess. But on Jim’s salary we don’t need the money any more, and Jim’s mother’s dead set against child-minders. To be honest,
it’s funny but since I got pregnant I just don’t … well … care about work the way I used to.’ Binnie chuckled. ‘That’s hormones
for you. I used to have shoulder-pads like that woman out of Dynasty, the one who was always falling into bed with Dex Dexter.’


‘Alexis?’

‘That’s the one.’

Taz squinted into the sun. At thirty-seven Binnie looked fat, bloated, uncomfortable … and curiously happy. The poor woman
had haemorrhoids, varicose veins, high blood pressure and permanent backache, yet in spite of it all she looked so contented, like a prize Jersey cow in calf. Taz shuddered. She’d never be like that, not her. No way.


Never in a million zillion years.

It was drizzling half-heartedly by the time Taz had dropped Binnie off at home and driven back to Seuss & Goldman. In the
staff car park, Taz threw her hat onto the back seat, then eased undone the button on her skirt. Bliss. At last she could
breathe again.


The Victorian gothic facade of Seuss & Goldman loomed like a benevolent vulture over the broad, treedotted expanse of Imperial
Gardens. Over the hundred and twenty years of its existence, the buildings had been added to from time to time, sometimes
in unexpected ways but always sympathetically; incorporating the domed remains of the old Winter Gardens after the war, and
acquiring a rather fine glass atrium and new offices during the expansion of the Eighties.


But in all that time, the essence of S&G had never really changed. It had become a byword for quality, and not just in Cheltenham.
In the last thirty years, Seuss & Goldman had opened stores all over the UK and on the Continent, and now the board had their
eye on the other side of the Atlantic. As a matter of fact, so did Taz.


There was no doubt about it, Taz had done well to get onto the S&G graduate training programme. That was four years ago, when
she was fresh out of a redbrick uni with a 2:1 in French and Business Studies and a head full of dreams. In those four short
years she’d risen from dogsbody to head of menswear – not bad for a girl who’d failed GCSE Maths. She’d learned a lot in those
four years. The dreams were still there, as powerful and compelling as ever; they were just a bit more realistic.


A glance in the mirror verified that her bobbed brown hair was neat and tidy, and a quick slick of lip-gloss refreshed her
flagging make-up. Time to face the troops.


Walking up the access road at the rear of the store, past the almost invisible entrance to the food hall, Taz pushed open
the door which led to the security lodge.


‘Afternoon, Joe,’ she nodded to the grizzled guard on the desk as she signed for her name badge. ‘How’s your wife’s leg?’


‘Champion, miss. Surgeon fixed her veins up a treat.’

Pinning on her badge, Taz walked across the lobby to the staff staircase, almost colliding with Ted Williams, the slimy second-in-command
from the food hall, heading for the incinerator with bags of out-of-date crisps.


‘Been dodging class have we?’

Taz confined herself to a brief smile and a nod; there was something about Ted that made her flesh creep. Climbing the back
stairs took her quickly to the first floor, and into the Deco splendour of the menswear department. Her department. That thought gave her a childish thrill of pride every time she walked onto the sales floor.


She paused for a moment to survey her realm. To the left was men’s formalwear, the stock rather too densely packed together
on account of lack of space and too many ornate pillars. She’d have to get something done about that. Beyond formalwear were
countrywear and Cara Mondini’s sports and leisure department. To Taz’s right was men’s casualwear, rather brighter and less
crowded than formalwear, with more space and innovative styling. This led eventually into computing and electrical, but the
last of the Polo jackets marked the limit of Taz’s jurisdiction.


There wasn’t time to stand and ponder. There was work to be done. As she headed for countrywear she knew that something wasn’t
quite right. For a start, there was no sign of Marion Grey, the senior sales consultant. And the sound of raised voices was
coming from one of the cashpoints …


Long before she reached the sales desk, Taz spotted Kate Avery, her new eighteen-year-old trainee, practically barricaded
behind the till as a smartly-dressed woman waved a credit card in her face.


Taz felt more than a twinge of annoyance. Where on earth was Marion? And there was no sign of Leroy McIntosh either. Honestly,
you couldn’t turn your back for ten seconds without everything falling to bits. Taz took a deep breath and clicked on a professional
smile.


‘Excuse me. Is there a problem?’


Kate turned a flushed face towards Taz. A face that screamed, ‘Rescue me!’

‘Oh, Ms Norton. This lady …’

‘I demand to see the manager. Now!’ said the customer, eyeing Taz disdainfully.

‘I am the departmental manager.’


‘Oh.’ The booming voice softened by a couple of decibels. ‘I see.’

‘Can I help, Mrs …?’

‘Seward. Verity Seward. I wish to purchase a cashmere sweater for my husband, but this halfwitted girl says there is a problem
with my credit card.’


‘I see. Well, whatever it is I’m sure we’ll soon have it sorted out.’

Taz glanced at Kate. Poor kid, she looked like she wanted to shrivel up and die. But one of the first lessons any management
trainee needed to learn was how to avoid being bullied by overbearing women with golf-club accents. She took the gold Amex
card and dialled through. It was just as she’d thought. The Sewards were well over their card limit and had fallen behind
with their monthly payments. So much for the Jaeger suit and the Gucci bag.


‘Apparently, the card company requires a nominal payment of ten pounds before your purchase is authorised.’

‘But that’s preposterous …’

‘This sort of thing does happen occasionally.’

‘Well it has never happened to me.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ said Taz soothingly. ‘Or the company wouldn’t authorise the transaction at all. So, if you
could just make this one small payment …’


With extremely bad grace, Mrs Seward unzipped her purse and took out a neatly-folded ten-pound note.

‘Thank you so much.’ Taz passed the banknote to Kate, together with a note of the authorisation code. ‘Now Miss Avery will
process your sale.’


Afterwards, Taz drew Kate to one side, asking, ‘Are you OK now?’

‘I’m sorry. But she was so rude! I just … panicked.’

‘You get customers like that, I’m afraid. They lose their temper because they’re embarrassed. The trick is not to let them
intimidate you into doing the wrong thing. But always be polite. Let them think they’ve got the upper hand.’


‘It’s so difficult.’

‘It gets easier with practice, I promise.’ Taz thought of her own first day as junior management trainee. She’d been given
the job of cleaning the costume jewellery, took all the price labels off then couldn’t remember which one belonged to which
necklace. ‘Don’t worry. Everyone makes mistakes.’


‘Even you?’ Kate looked doubtful.

‘Especially me. But don’t tell anyone!’

Particularly not Marion Grey, thought Taz as she saw the senior sales consultant bustling over from the men’s changing rooms
with an armful of trousers. Marion was fifty-three, had been at Seuss & Goldman since she was fifteen, and acted as if the
store was her own personal property.


‘Kate, don’t stand around doing nothing, make yourself look busy. In my day … Oh. Miss Norton.’ Marion’s expression was not
so much apologetic as disdainful. ‘You’re back then.’


‘I left early. Mrs Lethbridge was feeling a bit under the weather, so I took her home.’

‘Oh the poor dear, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Taz knew that Marion had a soft spot for Binnie. Binnie was, after all, doing
what women were supposed to do: giving up her high-powered job to have babies and feed her husband home-made casseroles. Exactly
what Marion herself would have done, if she’d ever found a man brave enough to marry her. ‘She should be at home with her
feet up, in her condition. Letting women work right up to the birth, it’s not right.’


‘I’m sure she’ll be fine once she’s had a rest. Anyhow, she’s going on maternity leave next week.’ Taz looked Marion up and
down. ‘I thought I asked Leroy to take charge of the changing rooms while you supervised the sales floor.’


‘Yes, well, you did, but I thought it would be better if Leroy tidied up the stockroom, and then that nice gentleman from
Bishop’s Cleeve came in, enquiring about ready-to-wear suits …’


‘Marion!’ hissed Taz. ‘Your job is here on the floor, and if I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it. Is that clear?’

‘I was only using my initiative,’ she sniffed.

‘Yes. I appreciate that. But I’m sure you also appreciate how important it is for us all to pull together as a team.’

Even Marion couldn’t think of an answer to that one.

As soon as she could, Taz went into the departmental office to catch up on paperwork. It was quite a contrast to the relative
luxury of the sales floor. A small, rickety table served as a desk; cracked lino didn’t quite cover the bare boards; and a
calendar hung forlornly on a wall which hadn’t been repapered since 1976. Taz chuckled as she sat down. If the customers saw
this, it would really open their eyes.


The phone rang. Taz picked up the receiver.

‘Menswear, Tasmin Norton speaking. Oh, hi Nikki.’ Taz got on well with Nikki Fraser, the store manager’s PA. ‘Look, it’s not
about those quarterly sales figures is it? I’m still collating them.’


‘No, not that. Ms Latchford wants you to come up to her office at five thirty today.’

Taz had a sudden sinking feeling. A royal summons, to the boss’s office? Such an unusual event could spell only one thing:
trouble.


Four heads jerked round as Taz knocked on Diana Latchford’s door and stuck her head inside.

‘You wanted to see me? Oh.’ Taz hesitated at the sight of three other departmental managers, already huddled around the oval
table at the far end of Diana’s office. ‘Sorry, I thought …’


Diana Latchford was standing by the window, a cool late-forty-something in mauve Escada; her hair greying gracefully. Behind
her a huge picture window looked out onto the tastefully grand buildings of the Queen’s Hotel and the Ladies’ College beyond. She glanced up as the door opened,
but scarcely interrupted her flow.


‘… a carefully-balanced mix of new and established product lines. And that is why – do come in and help yourself to a coffee,
Taz – that is why all next year’s promotional events are going to be so important.’


Taz poured herself a black coffee from the percolator. Hmm, Blue Mountain, must be something important. She parked her bum between Ken and Cara Mondini. Brendan Ryan from womenswear graced her with a brief
grunt but he was too busy hanging on Diana’s every word to pay her much attention.


Diana pushed back her perfect sleeve to glance at her Cartier wristwatch.

‘Well, seeing as we’re all here now we may as well start. I need to be at a meeting by seven thirty.’

‘Nikki’s not taking minutes then?’ asked Cara.

‘There’s no need, I want to keep this informal.’

Diana took her seat at the table. She had a coffee too, but in her own white bone-china cup with gilded edging, and no lipstick
stains on the rim. Diana Latchford was the nearest thing in retailing to the Immaculate Conception.


‘Naturally, you’ve all read the memo about the new Los Angeles store.’

‘Is it still on schedule to open in March?’ ventured Taz.

‘If the works are completed on schedule.’ Diana pursed her lips. ‘And they will be, if the site director values his life.’

‘So when’s the precise opening date?’ Ken fiddled absent-mindedly with his Biro, doodling York hams on his blotter. He looked
every inch what he was: an ex-pork butcher from Tewkesbury, hopelessly out of his depth.


‘Provisionally, we’re looking at the fifth of March,’ cut in Brendan, jabbing buttons on his electronic organiser. ‘Subject
to confirmation by the board later this month – that’s right isn’t it?’


Diana eyed Brendan in the way a schoolteacher eyes up a know-all pupil. Brendan even looked like a schoolboy, with that floppy fringe and that fresh, clean-cut complexion.


‘Quite so. Now, as you know, Seuss & Goldman has invested heavily in this exciting venture and it is vital that we gain maximum
benefit from publicity on both sides of the Atlantic, particularly as we’re planning to open in New York in eighteen months’
time.’


‘I thought it was going to be Chicago,’ said Cara, a former tennis champion and still impressively svelte at forty-three.

‘Then perhaps you should re-read the last information sheet from head office.’ Diana cleared her throat impatiently. ‘Now.
We have decided that next year’s in-store spring promotion will have an American theme. And that is why I am asking you, as
key departmental managers, to come up with a range of ideas.’


‘Us?’ said Ken blankly.

‘There’s an American amateur basketball team coming over on an exchange visit next spring,’ commented Cara, leafing through
her diary. ‘They’ll be playing exhibition matches in Cheltenham. I suppose there might be a chance for some kind of tie-in
…’


Brendan wrinkled his nose.

‘Basketball? God no. What S&G customers want are culture and style. Theatre sponsorship, a quality in-store shopping experience …’


‘Culture and style? You mean like Wally the Wombat?’ laughed Ken.

Flush-faced and annoyed, Brendan rounded on Ken.

‘You know as well as I do, Wally the Wombat was a product-led promotion for a new high-yield Australian range of …’

‘Brendan, Wally the Wombat was a midget in a fun-fur suit, handing out free samples of face cream.’

Cara joined in, enjoying a rare opportunity to embarrass Brendan.

‘That’s right. And what about that “simply darl