Moving On

Copywriter

Copywriter

DURING HER FIRST WEEK AT MARKETING SOLUTIONS, she learnt three things about Jeff. The first was that his name was spelt Geoff. The second was that he liked his coffee black with half a spoon of sugar. She knew this because he told her, on her very first morning. ‘Just so you know, when you make it for me.’ No trace of a smile. Nothing to indicate whether he was joking or not.

‘Take no notice of him,’ Kit said. Kit was another copywriter. She was from the Isle of Wight and had a very fancy accent. Her clothes looked expensive – grey trouser suit, long jacket – and her dark auburn hair was caught up in a blue bandana, and her nails were long and black. ‘He looks for attention: don’t give it to him. And don’t ever make him coffee.’

Geoff shot her a look of puzzlement. ‘Why do you hate me?’

‘Because you’re impossible. Be nice to Ellen and I’ll stop hating you.’

There were two others in the creative department. Alf was co-founder of the agency, bushy haired and bearded and jovial, and Tim’s art director. They worked in the office where Ellen had been interviewed, right next door to the studio where she and the other creatives were situated.

Thomas, the sixth member of the team, was Kit’s art director. In his free time he doodled cars, and sometimes he went on doodling cars while he and Kit tossed ideas back and forth. He wore glasses with thick black frames, and brought a dark brown bottle of ginger beer to work every day that he poured into a glass halfway through the morning and drank through a paper straw.

Ellen and Geoff sat facing each other across the two-desk arrangement that seemed to be the norm, with Kit and Thomas similarly positioned at the far end of the room. Ellen was given a computer to work on, which terrified her until Kit took her through the rudiments of the word processing programme they used, and by the end of the week she could tap the keys without feeling knotted up inside.

In addition to the creative department there were six account handlers who liaised with the clients, one accountant who managed the company finances, and Debbie the receptionist, returned from honeymoon in Sardinia by the time Ellen started.

Her first job, a press ad for a new yogurt aimed at weaning babies, terrified her. It was one thing coming up with ideas for her portfolio when she was alone in the safety of her room, and quite another to be sitting across from her art director, who was now waiting, with an open sketch pad, for them to hit on an idea.

The yogurt was called Babygloop. She couldn’t decide if the name was ingenious or awful. She reread the bullet-point information she’d been given by the account handler. Real fruit and full-cream milk and pureed for smoothness and the perfect first taste . Half-page press ad , she read, to feature in women’s magazines .

She was afraid Geoff would scoff at her efforts, or regard her pityingly if she said something stupid, but she was now a copywriter and this was what copywriters did. She scrambled about for something intelligent to say. Something creative. Babies. Food. Mess.

‘Babies are messy,’ she said, ‘particularly babies who are just learning to eat solid food.’

He began to scribble. She watched a baby’s plump face emerging. He added a headband with an L-plate stuck to it.

Encouraged, she searched for something else. ‘Yogurt is slathery and gloopy.’

‘So is every other baby food,’ he pointed out, still sketching. ‘Pureed everything.’

‘True – but Babygloop is tastier. If you were a baby, would you choose yogurt or pureed carrots for your dinner?’

‘Yogurt is dessert rather than dinner, though,’ he said.

It was like they were playing ping-pong, she throwing something out, he batting it back. She decided she liked it.

‘Would it matter with babies whether you fed them sweet or savoury? Yogurt is more fun than carrots. It’s the perfect messy food. It gets everywhere.’

‘All over the high chair,’ he said, placing the baby into one. His pencil flew across the page. ‘All over the floor.’ Adding dollops as he went. Putting a baby-sized spoon into the dimpled little fist.

‘It’s impossible for a baby to eat tidily,’ Ellen said, gaining more confidence. ‘They just can’t do it. Making a mess is their area of expertise.’

‘No table manners,’ he agreed, pinning a rosette to the baby’s top, writing THE MESSIEST around it.

‘Deplorable,’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed near a spoon.’

‘Never use a napkin.’ He drew a crumpled napkin on the baby’s head.

‘Have even been known to wear dishes on their heads,’ she said.

He rubbed out the napkin and replaced it with an upside-down dish. He studied it for a few seconds, and then reached again for the eraser. He replaced the dish with a yogurt tub.

Pause.

‘But actually,’ Ellen said slowly, ‘the thing about Babygloop is that it’s so delicious they’ll want all of it to get into their mouths. So there’ll be no messing.’

He looked up. ‘No messing?’

‘Minimal messing.’

‘Yup.’ He tore off his page and started a new one. The finished ad depicted baby, mouth agape, eyes fixed on an approaching spoonful of yogurt. The baby’s face and clothing were pristine.

The ad read:

The treat your baby’s been waiting for. No messing.

For all their cuteness, babies have deplorable table manners. They get as much food on them as in them – but that’s about to change. Say hello to Babygloop yogurt, made specially for weaning babies, with lashings of real fruit and full-cream milk. Babygloop yogurt is so smoothly delicious, they won’t want to waste a single blob. No messing.

Disclaimer: There might be some messing. Babies are unpredictable.

Tim approved it, and it was submitted to the account handlers for presentation to the client. If it got the go-ahead, it would be Ellen’s first official ad. She couldn’t wait to see it in print. She’d send copies to Frances and Danny. She might frame it.

The third thing she learnt about Geoff was that he drank real ale. She knew this because that was what he ordered when they all went to The Greedy Ostrich for drinks after work on Friday.

‘I’d like to say it’s to welcome you,’ Tim told her, ‘but we do this every Friday.’ He bought her a white wine, and grumbled about having to pay for everyone else’s drinks too, but Ellen guessed that treating his employees to the first round was also part of the Friday tradition.

‘You’ve done well,’ he told her. ‘You’ve had a good first week. I hope you’re enjoying it.’

‘I really am.’

The ad made it into print, and Ellen bought six copies of the magazine. Thinking up ads was fun, like Tim had said – but she also enjoyed writing the company brochures and leaflets that followed Babygloop.

And Geoff slowly grew on her, once she got used to his laid-back way of communicating, his occasional sardonic comments, his bouts of silence as he scribbled in his pad. He was even-tempered, and patient when she was uninspired, and quick to praise her good ideas.

He was also easy on the eye. That never hurt.

In July she was summoned to the office next door, where Tim and Alf were waiting. ‘You’re a natural at this game,’ Tim said. ‘You’ve got a fine creative mind, you’ve come up with some very original work, and you’re solid at the boring stuff too. You’re coping with Geoff?’

‘I am. I’ve got used to him.’

‘Glad to hear it. That partnership’s important. So,’ he went on, ‘your three-month trial is up tomorrow.’

‘It is.’ It hadn’t escaped her notice.

‘You’ll probably be poached by the competition when word gets out, but in the meantime we’d both be very happy if you stayed on with us.’

‘We certainly would,’ Alf put in.

She’d half expected it, but still it was very welcome news. ‘I’d be delighted, thanks so much.’

‘Excellent. And we promised you a few extra peanuts a month.’ He named a sum that was more than she’d been expecting, and she thanked him again and shook hands with both.

‘Welcome to the team, Ellen – properly this time,’ Alf said.

‘Permanently,’ Tim added. ‘I’ll have a new contract drafted up.’

Life was good. After a time, she and Geoff took to indulging in occasional mild flirtation, and she enjoyed it, and that was as far as it went. As far as she would allow it to go. The last thing she wanted was the complication of getting involved with someone she worked with. Not again.

All going great here , Danny wrote in a postcard from California. Bobbi and I have moved in together. She says hi, and hopes to meet you some day. Are we all grown up now?

The image on the postcard was a cartoon American bald eagle, looking stern against a Stars and Stripes background. Ellen found a postcard showing a cartoon Big Ben and wrote back.

Moving in together sounds pretty grown up . Hi to Bobbi – I’ll be over for the wedding. Send sunshine, it’s freezing here.

That might have been her. If she’d got together with Danny when he’d asked, she’d never have moved to London. If he’d told her he wanted to transfer to the head office in California she’d have said go for it, and gone with him. She could be sitting in the sunshine now instead of looking out at the London rain. She could be living a different life.

But chances were she wouldn’t be working in advertising. She guessed a job in that sector would be a lot harder to come by in America, and there would be the hassle of looking for a work visa too.

She was happy in London. Her job was great, and the city was fascinating, and she and Claire had fun.

And if love wasn’t part of it, it surely would be soon.