The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year. Jenni Keer
years ago she’d knitted a two-foot-high Harry Hill on a whim, and it was shown on his TV Burp. Encouraged by her best friend Jess, she’d been producing knitted celebrities ever since. Not many people could boast Ed Sheeran, Harry Potter and Wolverine on their sofa. Currently mid-Poldark (a bare chest, tricorn hat and scythe), she rather thought he might end up on her bed.
She opened the door to a sulky-faced George – heavy-framed glasses magnifying his puffy eyes. Lucy was surprised how much they suited him. Clark Kent George wasn’t as intimidating as Superman George.
‘The scrat-bag is back.’ There was no hello, or how are you.
‘Scrat-bag?’
‘The cat-thing.’
‘The adorable, homeless, half-starved cat?’
‘No, the bag of fleas that insists on wedging its scrappy backside up between my washing appliances and smells like a dead badger.’ Was that a microscopic twinkle in his eye or had she imagined it?
‘Would you like me to come and remove it?’ Why he felt she was his personal cat-catcher was beyond her.
‘I’m hardly popping by for tea and cake.’ He noticed her nostrils flare and softened his tone. ‘It must have slipped in between my legs this morning as I was leaving for work. I thought I saw something but I wasn’t sure and didn’t have time to investigate. Forgot all about it. Came back tonight, after a particularly long day up at the NEC, flicked on the TV, fell asleep and woke up with it nestled in my lap.’
‘Hence the eyes?’ she asked, thinking a dozy George with a bony cat nestled in his lap was an adorable image.
‘Hence the eyes. And these damn glasses are causing me all sorts of problems, not least because I keep misplacing them.’ He wiggled them Eric Morecambe style and left them balanced wonkily across his nose. Although there was still no smile, Lucy was beginning to suspect he had a Jack Dee approach to humour where a straight face was all part of the act. Both his eyebrows shot up as though he was waiting for an answer to the question he hadn’t actually asked. The glasses slipped back into place.
‘I’ll come over, but I really can’t take it in again.’
‘I’m not asking you to take it in. I’m asking you to get it out. Look.’ He tipped his head to one side, as if that would make him seem more reasonable. ‘I’ve had a long day. Eight hours talking about cardboard boxes and printing machines, and a two-hour drive each way. I want to walk into my utility room and be able to breathe. If you can’t take it, perhaps you could palm it off on the old lady between us?’
‘Um, no, I don’t think she’s—’
‘Well, whatever, Lisa, could you get it out of my house before my eyes swell up so much I can’t see to put one foot in front of the other?’
‘Okay, but this is the last time.’
She waited for a thank you but was disappointed.
And it’s Lucy, not Lisa, she added silently.
Monday morning and Lucy was ready for work with a full half an hour to spare. She’d slept badly, having spent two hours worrying about the new general manager and the possible consequences of the planned company shake-up. For most of the night she rolled restlessly around the bed, tangling her legs in a knot of sheets and her mind in a knot of worries. But by the time the milk float rattled its way down Lancaster Road and daylight punctured the bedroom in long, thin shafts, Lucy decided the changes at work were the kick she needed. New boss – new me, she reasoned.
Brenda was right, it was a matter of confidence, but she didn’t need a bit of fancy jewellery to bring it to the fore. She enjoyed working at Tompkins more than she could have imagined when she first started and, somewhere in the back of her mind, her mother’s birthday waved its immaculately manicured hand and gave her a determination to embrace the new and not look back.
Sam Mulligan was a petite thirty-something woman with short, cropped black hair, power-dressed to maim, kill and take no prisoners. Her no-nonsense approach meant smiles were harder to come by than tickets for a Beyoncé concert. The contrast of her black tailored suit with the bright red of her glasses, matching manicured fingernails and glossy scarlet lipstick reminded Lucy of a black widow spider. It was an image she couldn’t get out of her head for the rest of the day and one that seriously hindered her plan to be more confident around the new boss.
Richard Tompkins gathered most of the staff upstairs to formally introduce Sam and then retreated to his glass-fronted office to conceal his golf clubs in the corner cupboard and shuffle papers. The set of poseable Marvel superheroes that usually graced the back bookshelf in unfeasible sexual positions had also been evicted before the arrival of the new manager, Lucy noticed.
Sam took the opportunity to set out some ground rules.
‘I’m not Vernon and I work differently, so there will be changes. For a start, I am moving my desk into the sales office, at least to begin with. I want to be in the thick of it with you, not tucked away behind a glass door and only sought out when there is a problem.’
Anxious glances were exchanged and Adam tugged at his tie as though he needed more air. Vernon had been a hands-off manager who trusted his team to get on with things. Now it seemed the office supervisor was going to be supervised.
‘Before I begin to tinker with the engine, I need to see how this machine is running. Then I can establish which components are squeaky and need oiling, and which are beyond repair. I plan to spend some time in all the departments, including the warehouse and a couple of days on the road with the delivery drivers and the reps, so I can get to know this company inside and out.’
Suddenly Adam wasn’t the only one fiddling with his clothing.
‘I want you to carry on with your jobs as if I’m not there. I can assure you no major changes will be implemented until I’ve apprised myself of the current running of the company.’ She paused and smiled. ‘Talk to me, I’m here to get the best from you all and ensure Tompkins Toy Wholesaler becomes the leading supplier of toys and games in this region. I would prefer if people called me Sam. There’s no need for formality. I consider input from the staff essential if we are to work efficiently as a team. Don’t be afraid to speak up as I come from a retail background so there are a lot of areas within distribution that are new to me. Right, let’s streamline this machine and see if we can’t turn it into a Formula One winner.’
Adam began an enthusiastic clap but stopped when he realised he was giving a solo performance.
‘Well said, Sam.’ He flashed her a smile and gave her a conspiratorial wink, as though she was his best buddy. ‘And I, in turn, would like to say a few words and welcome you to our little family, because I think of my team as family. You’ll find I run a tight ship, but it’s full of happy sailors and…’
‘I swear, if he wheels that joke out again…’ muttered Connor.
‘Thank you for the welcome, Adam, but I think we need to press on.’
‘Absolutely, mon capitan.’ The smile remained on his lips but had fallen from his eyes.
‘That said, if you would come with me?’ and she motioned for him to follow.
Moments later they were heaving the dated, solid pine desk out from her office and setting it up in the corner of the sales office.
Absent-mindedly counting the agate beads on her bracelet through her fingers, Lucy tried to concentrate on the order she was processing, but she felt hot and her left foot was repeatedly bouncing up and down over her right. According to Brenda, agate was a stone of strength, courage and calm. As her fingers worked their way frantically around the bracelet, she remained unconvinced.
‘Thank you, Adam. Now I can start to assess the company from the ground up.’ Sam settled into her chair, pulled out an A4 notepad and, occasionally glancing around the sales team, she made copious notes. Everyone, including Adam, was head down and focused.