Chapter 17
Emma
This is it. This is the gig of a lifetime.
The conference centre is humongous. Every construction company of any note is here.
I even spot the Bowman Group and their uber-professional stand, everyone on it suited and booted.
But luckily, no sign of their leader. I am combing the crowd, however, but don’t spot him.
Even in Europe he would attract a crowd—they certainly are a multinational company.
Even though we’re in an offshoot of the largest hall, the foot traffic has been amazing.
Up in numbers even from the London event.
Louise speaks a little German. Ben, one of my workers, speaks Spanish.
So we do have a little advantage over some of the other English companies.
I can hear them struggling on. So lots of smiles and hand gestures are the order of the day.
“We’ve been inundated with requests for cupcakes.
Our reputation has definitely travelled,” Louise tells me.
“I’ve taken their details, though, and I’m going to find a way to get some delivered to them.
” She winks conspiratorially at me. She never misses an opportunity to promote our business.
“Are you ready for this afternoon?” She keeps checking me out, studying my face. But to be honest, I’m not nervous.
“I am. Are you?”
She’s manning the computer equipment, making sure the tech is on point. We’ve been into a few of the talks and seminars, which have been brilliant. But to be fair to myself, no better than the talk I have prepared. I’m feeling bullish and confident.
I haven’t even had a chance to look at who else is on the list. When I sit down to lunch—at the back of our stand—I see his name in bold and scrolled writing for the next day.
Keynote speaker. Prime slot. Grand Hall.
Talking about “Resilience in the Construction Industry.” Diversification and the eco builder. I flash the card at Louise.
She flashes a smile at me. “Well at least he’s not here today. I’ve just walked past the Bowman lot and no sign of him. I asked if he was coming, they said not until tomorrow, and they thought he wouldn’t be on the stand. He has a meet and greet afterwards.” She rolls her eyes.
“A meet and greet? Who does he think he is? A bloody rock star. A celebrity?” I decry.
She shrugs at me. “Well, in this world, he probably is. Look how everyone was all over him at the London conference, and also when we met him for ‘the meeting.’” She looks pointedly at me about that. “And there’s loads of that sort here.”
Lunch finished, we both relocate to the entrance of our stand and survey the hall. She’s not wrong. He would stand out, even in the sea of suits.
“Well thank god he’s not here now. Let’s go set up and keep this positive vibe, and this lot awake. The bar will be calling. I need to ensure I’m memorable and don’t lose out to a bottle of beer.”
My banners look stunning. My name in huge letters.
Emma Lincoln.
CEO, Synergy Recruitment Ltd underneath, slightly smaller.
With my strap line ‘Recruiting the world to your doorstep’ in bold.
The room fills up, lots of excited chatter, a good day has been had by all.
Their swag bags are full to bursting. I can hear some of the talk, plans being made for the bar and restaurants.
I’ve got an up-to-date playlist courtesy of my sons, who’ve filled me in on who’s hot at the moment.
It’s pumping on the speakers, and I see some of the women shimmying into their seats along to the music.
Louise is sat grinning like a deranged person, the event tech at the side of her running the computer and flashing the graphics. It all looks amazing.
The host comes onto the stage, and as the auditorium lights dim, the stage is lit. I’m announced, and…
I stride onto the stage, blasting my positive energy right to the back seats.
They’re eating out of the palm of my hand.
I’m gesturing and eye-rolling like a superstar actress.
Everyone is laughing at the right moments, all my quips landing effectively.
My section on the tax efficient benefits of employing workers goes down like a storm.
I can see the front row using their newly acquired notebooks and pens to take notes.
Everyone is coming along with me for the ride.
I’m just starting in on my favourite section—how to recruit the best workers for your business—when the screen behind me flashes black. I hear Louise gasp a little from the side of the stage, but I carry on, confidence oozing from me.
I start on my initial opening gambit. “Ensuring you have the best workers for your positions. There are a few factors to consider.” I spin around, expecting to see bullet points.
Instead I see the schedule for the Zumba classes in my building, complete with photographs of all the ladies in an array of fitness gear, faces I know smiling at me.
I hear a titter from the audience and look over at Louise, who looks stricken, frantically making ‘keep rolling’ motions with her hands.
“Well, obviously any candidate should be fit for purpose. It’s of paramount importance.
We put everyone through their paces.” Emphasis on all the right words, I carry on as a snippet of Zumba Reggaeton type music starts up.
I turn towards the tech, who has gone green as a reel of the instructor shouting and counting flashes onto the screen.
“Anyone up for it?” I laugh and point at the screen. A quick glance out into the audience confirms people are smiling, but I’m internally quaking. My breathing starts to pick up with panic.
“The next stage—”
I hear the audience laugh and look at the huge screens that are now showing a boxercise class, again from my building. Mainly ladies puffing and blowing in time to music from the Rocky franchise. The instructor is encouraging them to hit the punching bags harder. Go for the eye of the tiger.
The music cuts out sharply, but a picture of one of our octogenarians, Gladys, walloping the punching bag is frozen in place.
Louise is standing over the tech now, her finger bashing the computer screen.
My voice is stuck in my throat. What the hell am I going to say to that?
Panic is making my eyes go black at the edges.
“Well, I bet you're all so glad she’s retired.” I thumb towards the screen, showing Gladys in her leggings and T-shirt.
“I’d recruit her,” someone shouts out from the crowd. And they all start to snigger.
“Evidently, sometimes things don’t work out as we planned, but rather than take Gladys’s approach”—I point to the big screen, and thankfully that gets a laugh—“we can negotiate and find the right fit for your positions. We would work tirelessly, doing whatever it takes to ensure your vacancies are filled with the right people.”
From the corner of my eye, I see my presentation flash back onto the screen. It’s obvious now to everyone in that room that we have a serious technical issue.
The crash of a chair pulls my and all the audience’s attention towards the noise.
It’s Louise from behind the curtain. Maybe it would be best to just end the presentation rather than eke this pain out any longer.
God knows what will show up next. Hopefully not the knit and natterers.
Or the choir. I can’t even restrain my eye-roll at that possibility.
“So, in conclusion, we aim to ensure you have the perfect fit person. In all aspects of your roles. And will do everything in our power to ensure that person stays with you, being a benefit to your workforce.” I smile around out towards the crowd.
They all have huge smiles on their faces, too.
Clearly thinking about Gladys. “The tax benefits are—”
Oh. My. God. The screen goes black again, and a ‘Do-Ring’ doorbell sound emits from the speakers. Everyone is staring at the screen behind me, intently waiting for the next instalment of the shit show that is now my presentation.
I turn in horror to the tech, who is now red in the face, Louise hitting him on his shoulder.
All I can do is watch the car crash I think is coming again.
My mother appears on the screen. Oh My god it’s a live feed!
And, if you look closely enough, it actually states live in the corner of the screen.
My house in St. Albans appears on screen, with my mother at the front door.
I’m desperate for this to end. Distance myself from this mess. “Who the hell is this?” I say into my microphone, as if I don’t know the woman on the screen. “Can we cut the feed please.” I sound authoritative to my own ears, and am mentally patting myself on the back for not losing it.
“Hi, Michelle, what has she ordered now?” My mum is talking to the delivery driver. I didn’t know she was on such good terms.
“Can we cut this random feed please,” I shout out to the tech, moving towards him behind the curtains. But he’s waving at me, as if he has no control of the computer at all.
“Where is she today? Jetting around the world again?” the delivery driver asks. “I must come here every other day with parcels.” She has a trolley piled high with boxes. What the hell is all that stuff? Surely Michelle is at the wrong door.
“I know it’s the boys, usually,” my mum answers her. “Emma’s in Germany at a construction conference.”
My cover is totally blown. And I hear the room snicker, some actually laughing out loud. My name on banners is now not my best idea.
“Christ, what’s that?” My heart sinks and I watch along with a few hundred people as my mother picks up box after box of sex toys. They’re not even discreet. So much for no one knowing what you buy.
“Oooh. Strawberry lube. Do you drink that?” My mother is turning bottles of the stuff around in her hands, reading the labels.
“Oh, no, not for drinking. Shame, it looks delicious. What about that chocolate? It states edible.” She puts it down, picking up different flavours as the delivery driver is egging her on.
My mother loves a laugh. The bawdier the better.
“What’s in that one?” Michelle, the driver, picks up a box. “Life-size anatomically correct male.” She reads precisely, and starts to cackle.
I close my eyes, I know what my mother will do next. And I hear the immortal words. “Let’s get it out and have a look before the boys come home. It must be for that hen do Emma’s arranging. She’s gone all out.” She giggles like a schoolgirl.
I glare over at Louise. She ordered all that stuff, but changed the delivery address as we could be sure someone would be home to collect it all. It’s for one of the women in accounts’ hen do next month.
I stand and watch as the camera on my ‘Do-Ring’ shows my mother and the delivery driver inflate a full-size, plastic, naked man.
With a serious anatomical appendage. I’m transfixed, my feet stuck to the floor, my mouth opening and closing like a guppy fish as the hall erupts into full scale laughter.
When my mum starts doing the tango with the damn thing, people are crying, rolling off their chairs.
Louise is now in tears, and not from laughter. The pair of inquisitive women on the screen are pulling out vibrators, and my mother is wafting them around to see what they do as some start to flash and spin.
Then the screen goes black and all sound from the speakers stops abruptly.
I look over at the tech guy, who now has the plug in his hands and has cut the feed to the screens. The noise level of laughter from the audience is off the scale.
I look at Louise helplessly. Bollocks to it. Might as well go for a mic drop ending.
I shout into the microphone, “And that, friends, are the lengths,” I exaggerate the word, and point to the now black screen, “we will go to if the tax and VAT man come calling.”
I drop the mic and walk from the stage, straight past a distraught Louise and a quaking tech guy. Let me out of here. NOW!