have?
The phone rings on my desk, interrupting my thoughts, and I pick it up.
'Hello, Emma?' comes a familiar dry voice. 'This is Jack Harper.'
My heart gives an almighty leap of fright and I nearly spill my coffee. I haven't seen him
since the hand-in-bra incident. And I really don't want to.
I should never have answered my phone.
In fact, I should never have come into work today.
'Oh,' I say.'Er hi!'
'Would you mind coming up to my office for a moment?'
'What me?' I say nervously.
'Yes, you.'
I clear my throat.
'Should I bring anything?'
'No, just yourself.'
He rings off, and I stare at my phone for a few moments, feeling a coldness in my spine. I
should have known it was too good to be true. He's going to fire me after all. Gross
negligence negligent grossness.
I mean, it is pretty gross, getting caught with your boyfriend's hand in your top at work.
OK. Well, there's nothing I can do.
I take a deep breath, stand up and make my way up to the eleventh floor. There's a desk
outside his door, but no secretary is sitting there, so I go straight up to the door and knock.
'Come in.'
Cautiously I push the door open. The room is huge and bright and panelled, and Jack is sitting
at a circular table with six people gathered round on chairs. Six people I've never seen before,
I suddenly realize. They're all holding pieces of paper and sipping water, and the atmosphere
is a bit tense.
Have they gathered to watch me being fired? Is this some kind of how-to-fire-people training?
'Hello,' I say, trying to keep as composed as possible. But my face is hot and I know I look
flustered.
'Hi.' Jack's face crinkles in a smile. 'Emma relax. There's nothing to worry about. I just
wanted to ask you something.'
'Oh, right,' I say, taken aback.
OK, now I'm totally confused. What on earth could he have to ask me?
Jack reaches for a piece of paper and holds it up so I can see it clearly. 'What do you think this
is a picture of?' he says.
Oh fucketty fuck.
This is your worst nightmare. This is like when I went for that interview at Laines Bank and
they showed me a squiggle and I said I thought it looked like a squiggle.
Everyone is staring at me. I so want to get it right. If only I knew what right was.
I stare at the picture, my heart beating quickly. It's a graphic of two round objects. Kind of
irregular in shape. I have absolutely no idea what they're supposed to be. None at all. They
look like they look like
Suddenly I see it.
'It's nuts! Two walnuts!'
Jack explodes with laughter, and a couple of people give muffled giggles which they hastily
stifle.
'Well, I think that proves my point,' says Jack.
'Aren't they walnuts?' I look helplessly around the table.
'They're supposed to be ovaries,' says a man with rimless spectacles tightly.
'Ovaries? ' I stare at the page. 'Oh, right! Well, yes. Now
you say it, I can definitely see a an
ovary-like'
'Walnuts.' Jack wipes his eyes.
'I've explained, the ovaries are simply part of a range of symbolic representations of
womanhood," says a thin guy defensively. 'Ovaries to represent fertility, an eye for wisdom,
this tree to signify the earth mother'
'The point is, the images can be used across the entire range of products,' says a woman with
black hair, leaning forward. 'The health drink, clothing, a fragrance'
'The target market responds well to abstract images,' adds Rimless Spectacle Guy. 'The
research has shown-'
'Emma.' Jack looks at me again. 'Would you buy a drink with ovaries on it?'
'Er' I clear my throat, aware of a couple of hostile faces pointing my way. 'Well
probably not.'
A few people exchange glances.
'This is so irrelevant,' someone is muttering.
'Jack, three creative teams have been at work at this,' the black-haired woman says earnestly.
'We can't start from scratch. We simply cannot.'
Jack takes a swig of water from an Evian bottle, wipes his mouth and looks at her.
'You know I came up with the slogan "Don't Pause" in two minutes on a bar napkin?'
'Yes, we know,' mutters the guy in rimless spectacles.
'We are not selling a drink with ovaries on it.' He exhales sharply, and runs a hand through his
dishevelled hair. Then he pushes his chair back. 'OK, let's take a break. Emma, would you be
kind enough to assist me in carrying some of these folders down to Sven's office?'
God, I wonder what all that was about. But I don't quite dare ask. Jack marches me down the
corridor, and into a lift and presses the ninth-floor button, without saying anything. After
we've descended for about two seconds he presses the emergency button, and we grind to a
halt. Then, finally, he looks at me.
'Are you and I the only sane people in this building?'
'Um'
'What happened to instincts?' His face is incredulous. 'No-one knows a good idea from a
terrible one any more. Ovaries.' He shakes his head. 'Fucking ovaries !'
I can't help it. He looks so outraged, and the way he says 'ovaries!' suddenly seems the
funniest thing in the world, and before I know it, I've started laughing. For an instant Jack