‘Soldiers!’
Twenty-five-year-old Becky Rose raised her head from bread and watched her sister Megan burst through the door of sandwich-making enterprise, It’s A Wrap, looking less than her usually super-composed self. Megan’s channelling-Amanda-Holden red trouser suit was crinkled like she’d been contorted into a magician’s suitcase and locked in there for hours and her usually perfect sleek bob of blonde hair was now more comedian Milton Jones than it was Irina Shayk. Megan was also sweating, Becky noticed. Megan didn’t ever sweat. She barely even glowed getting changed in the heady close-to-rainforest humidity of the leisure centre. Becky, on the other hand – shorter, not blonde, never really feeling confident in body-sculpting all-in-ones – always made a puddle on the floor big enough to give home to a couple of ducks…
Becky stopped spreading the multi-grain loaf and opened her mouth to answer her sister. Her colleague, sixty-three-year-old Hazel, beat her to it.
‘Megan, dear, I know it’s your business and I’m just staff, but we did decide at the crisis meeting last September that it wasn’t economically viable, nor risk-assessment friendly, to start branching out into the breakfast arena.’
‘What?’ Megan asked, looking confused. She blew out a breath, moving through their lunch-making industrial kitchen, to the door of her office. She dumped files she was holding onto her desk before coming back in and facing her employees. ‘I never called it a crisis meeting.’
She had called it a crisis meeting, Becky remembered. Another sandwich-making business had started up just a couple of miles away in Durrington and Megan had been insistent that all their customers were going to leave for the lure of new and exciting… and apparently a company with a budget that allowed them to advertise on local radio. Of course, bankruptcy hadn’t happened, and Becky knew that was because It’s A Wrap offered things their customers couldn’t get anywhere else. The kind of personalised that took time, effort and a little bit of magic. And that was solely down to her.
‘Boiled eggs and soldiers,’ Hazel remarked, mixing up a bowl of their legendary cheese and spring onion filling. The cheese was sourced locally – from cows who all had names which apparently made them exceedingly happy and therefore the producers of award-winning flavoursome cheddar – and the spring onions were grown in the small garden at the back of their premises. ‘I know we really, really considered breakfast baps, but we agreed no one likes a cold sausage and—’
‘Who said anything about boiled eggs?’ Megan asked. ‘God, this radio is far too loud again. I’ve told you before, if it’s up past five on the volume button the yoga people next door come round and complain.’ Gone were the days when Becky and Megan used to make their parents mad with music cranked up to eleven and all the best Girls Aloud moves vibrating the floorboards. Becky couldn’t actually remember the last time they had been to the leisure centre together either…
As soon as Jess Glynne was turned lower, mum-of-triplets, thirty-something Shelley looked up from her tortilla-rolling like she hadn’t spiritually been in the room before, but had now had a deep, seismic awakening. ‘Alright, Megan? How did the meeting go?’
‘Finally!’ Megan exclaimed, arms flailing out. ‘At least one of you listened to me properly before I left.’
‘I was listening to you,’ Hazel said, frowning as she forked the mixture. ‘You said you had to pick up something of Dean’s from the dry cleaner.’
Becky grimaced a little. Dean always needed something dry cleaned. He was the messiest eater she had ever encountered. He could make a mess out of swallowing air. ‘And you just said something about soldiers.’
‘Yes!’ Megan said, pressing buttons on the coffee machine and slipping a tiny espresso cup underneath the spout. ‘But the ones dressed in khaki camouflage. Not the ones made out of toast.’
‘Oh,’ Hazel said like she had suddenly had her eyes opened to online shopping. ‘Well, now I’m confused. Is Dean joining the army? I thought he was quite settled with the conservatory-building people.’
‘The contract!’ Becky exclaimed, suddenly. ‘You got the contract!’ She immediately realised what her sister meant. ‘You got the contract at the army camp!’
‘I got the contract at the camp!’ Megan repeated, all high-pitched and excitable. She picked up the tiny cup and swigged the coffee back in one. ‘I pitched for my absolute life. I’m sure there was a brigadier in the room – well, he looked like he could be a brigadier if he wasn’t already – but they all seemed pretty unmoved at the beginning, even when I mentioned we grow our own vegetables and herbs…’
Becky smiled at her sister’s excitement. It had been Becky’s idea to grow their own vegetables and herbs. Megan hadn’t been on board straightaway, as she was all about costs and bottom lines, until Becky convinced her that quality was more important these days. If customers had enough money to buy sandwiches instead of making them, they would certainly pay an extra few pence for something memorable. And that was where Becky excelled. She made her sandwiches memorable and kept the customers coming back. And it all went completely under Megan’s radar. But, Becky supposed, you couldn’t be all over everything when you were the boss. And Becky was, kind of – a lot – hiding it from her…
‘So, what did you do?’ Shelley asked, adjusting the hairnet they all had to wear over their heads because no one wanted a stray strand in their baguette…
‘I…’ Megan started, grinning from ear to ear.
‘You got your tits out! Didn’t you? You got your tits out!’ Shelley announced at the volume of the roar of an Isle of Man TT motorbike.
‘Shelley!’ Hazel admonished. ‘I thought we agreed on what was acceptable language in the workplace.’
‘Well,’ Shelley began, glove-covered hand pointing while holding a flapping-yet-to-be-filled tortilla. ‘You said the word “bitch” the other day and I didn’t say a thing about that. And you didn’t contribute to the swear box.’ She inhaled with authority. ‘That’s £1 you’ve cost the Women’s Refuge. I hope you can sleep at night… in your king-size… with more springs than… than… those onions.’ She pointed at the container Hazel was mixing up.
Hazel shook her head and sighed. ‘I was talking about my neighbour’s dog’s puppies at the time.’
‘Puppies! Baps! She definitely got her tits out, whatever you want to call ’em!’
Megan clapped her hands like she was a schoolteacher losing control of her children. ‘Ladies, I’m telling a story here.’
‘I want to hear, Megan,’ Becky told her sister. The army camp contract was a big deal. And if it was as large as she was thinking, it could mean employing a new staff member – maybe even two – or starting earlier in the morning… Actually, that last idea didn’t really appeal. Becky didn’t function well unless she had had time for two mugs of coffee and a blast of feel-good on Spotify.
‘I did their assault course,’ Megan announced, pride shining in her eyes, underneath coming-off mascara and wayward liner. It sounded like she really had been put through it. No wonder she was still perspiring.
‘What?’ Hazel exclaimed, putting down her spoon and paying Megan her full attention.
‘Fucking hell,’ Shelley stated before slapping her hand over her mouth. Then she seemed to realise that she’d sworn and now needed another set of gloves. She quickly mouthed a sorry.
‘I’m with Hazel here,’ Becky said. ‘What?’
‘Well,’ Megan began. ‘I could just tell that whatever I said it wouldn’t be enough. I knew we wouldn’t be the cheapest option. I’d pushed all the quality, organic, locally sourced angles and they looked more bored than I look when Dean turns on the snooker. So, I had to think on my feet.’
‘Don’t tell me you did it in those heels!’ Hazel said, eyes dropping to look at Megan’s favourite pair of killer stilettos she always wore to meetings. Black patent leather, luminous yellow sole. They practically spoke ‘this maker of bread-couture means business’.
‘I did,’ Megan squealed. ‘And I had a rather nasty coming-together with the cargo net but, I was doing it for It’s A Wrap. I was doing it for us, our roll-filling family.’
Becky felt immediately warm inside. She loved it when Megan was like this. It proved that there was a little part of her that was still a team player. It also showed that the business meant more to her than just turning a profit. Making money was obviously all-important, but Becky liked the notion that It’s A Wrap was also about serving the community. And their community was heavily sprinkled with members of the armed forces, which made this particular win all the more special. Maybe, to celebrate, she could suggest they book a court for a game of badminton together some time. Tara never seemed interested in getting together now she had moved in with Jonathan and Becky had been close recently to watching Dexter in its entirety for the second time… from the very beginning.
‘You’re not covered in mud though,’ Becky suddenly said. Her sister’s outfit might be crumpled like a discarded McDonald’s take-out bag, but it wasn’t spattered with the brown stuff assault courses were renowned for.
‘I put a coat on.’
‘Megan!’ Becky said, astounded. ‘It’s twenty-five degrees outside.’ No wonder her sister was sweltering.
‘I’m aware,’ Megan answered. ‘I’ve upped the air-con in here a tad.’ She sniffed. ‘The coat’s ruined. I don’t know how I’m going to explain that to Dean, but I’m sure it was one of his old ones… I think.’
‘Something else for the dry cleaning?’ Hazel suggested.
‘So, what obstacles did you do?’ Shelley wanted to know as she pulled on another set of gloves.
‘Well,’ Megan said, adopting an expression Becky only usually saw when her sister was perusing the cocktail menu at the local bar, The Bank. ‘First off was a balance beam.’
‘Oh, even in those shoes I bet you nailed that one,’ Becky said proudly. Her sister had always had excellent coordination. Megan had been the queen of gymnastics at school. Becky had been better at team games. Helping her class on the way to netballing victory in a cup game was a particular school career highlight. A lowlight had been losing ten-nil the only time Megan had come to watch.
‘I did,’ Megan agreed. ‘All the soldiers were shouting and making a fuss about my shoes and I just ignored them and thundered on.’
‘What was next?’ Hazel inquired, her job of combining cheese and onion momentarily forgotten about.
‘A trampette onto a low wall – the shoes weren’t ideal for that either, but I only made the minutest of tears in the fabric. Then it was hopping quickly through two rows of tyres.’ Megan smiled. ‘That one was like trying to avoid too close a contact with the kitchen floor tiles in Dean’s parent’s house at Christmas.’
‘Are they that cold?’ Hazel asked.
‘No, they have a very ancient dog who sometimes… you know… can’t make it through the night.’
Poor Nancy had to be twenty by now. Becky liked Nancy a lot more than she liked Dean’s mother.
‘I can’t believe the shoes survived,’ Becky said. It was impressive. Maybe she should invest in some killer heels. Except the ‘killer’ part on her feet would probably mean giving her murderous blisters. She was so much more a dressing for comfort kind of girl. Jeans and jumpers, not pencil-skirts and pashminas.
‘I can’t believe you did an assault course to get a sandwich-making contract,’ Hazel said. ‘Shouldn’t they be testing you on your knowledge of fillings, or your spreading skills?’
‘Oi oi!’ Shelley erupted like she was a lairy hen about to line up the tequila. ‘Deano will know all about her spreading skills.’
Hazel shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘Speaks the mother of triplets.’
‘Anyway,’ Megan said, waving her hands. ‘I didn’t do the clambering through the wet and frankly grimy-looking tunnel, or the bit where you have to get down and crawl under a net like someone out of Strike Back. But I did the cargo net, well, most of it. Until my shoe got stuck and I had to be rescued by Gunner Mitchison.’ Megan breathed deeply. ‘He was six foot three and almost as wide. You know, in a taut, muscular way.’
‘I still don’t know how the fate of their catering came down to you being able to bounce onto a wall and bunny-hop through some tyres,’ Hazel remarked.
‘Well,’ Megan said, ‘when I finished they all applauded and the man who might be a brigadier said he had never seen such effort put in to winning a bid before and he said, and I quote, “if your food is even half as tremendous as your determination, then my troops will be going into battle completely satisfied”.’
‘Was he taking the piss?’ Shelley asked, one eyebrow raising.
‘I… don’t think so,’ Megan answered, her sense of victory seeming to evaporate a little.
‘Had your tits slipped out?’ Shelley questioned. ‘Were they all copping an eye full of your great British baps?’
‘No!’ Megan answered, pulling up the neckline of her outfit a little self-consciously. ‘Of course not. It was all purely professional. I was just showing them all that I was prepared to go the extra mile to get It’s A Wrap the gig. And, that being the case, they can therefore have complete faith in our lunch-preparing expertise.’
‘It’s amazing, Megan,’ Becky told her sister. It was really good news. It was worth a lot of money to the business. It could be the growth they needed to push the enterprise to the next level. Maybe they should even submit an entry to the South Wiltshire Business of the Year awards. Becky made a mental note to suggest that to Megan later.
‘My boys want to go into the army when they grow up,’ Shelley announced with a sniff.
‘But they’re nine,’ Hazel remarked. ‘How can they possibly know what they want to do?’
‘My Frank says they’ve got skills he never had when he was a boy. Like, we found out last weekend that they’ve been digging a tunnel at the bottom of the garden.’
‘Oh, Shelley, that doesn’t sound like a good thing,’ Becky said. ‘What if they burrowed all the way out and ended up… I don’t know… not in your garden.’
Shelley’s expression oozed pride. ‘They said they wanted to dig until they’d reached the Chinese.’
‘Oh dear,’ Hazel said. ‘Well, what are you going to do? Because you can’t leave them unsupervised if they’re going to try something like that. It’s not safe like it was when I was a girl.’
‘My Frank’s gonna see if he can build them a zip wire,’ Shelley announced. ‘A distraction technique. But it should also help improve their other abilities, you know, balance and… hanging on.’
‘That’s lovely, Shelley,’ Megan interrupted, looking at her watch. ‘And, as much as I’d like to chat about the triplets’ attempt at The Great Escape, I’m going to head home and have a shower. And you three need to crack on if we’re going to get the deliveries out in time, yes?’
And there was Cool Corporate Megan back again. The roll-filling family vibe dissipated. But, Becky supposed, that was why her sister owned and ran the business and she just made the product…
‘You’ve remembered you’re going to the nursing home at eleven, Megan, haven’t you?’ Becky checked, recommencing her buttering.
‘What?!’ Megan exclaimed, eyes out on stalks. ‘No. I’m booked in for a pedi at eleven. And I’ve literally just told you what my feet have been through this morning. No one needs the care and attention of Saffron more than me.’
‘But you’re pitching for their summer party,’ Becky said. ‘Sadie from the charity shop recommended us and the manager called me on Tuesday and I made the appointment. I put it in the computer diary and in the paper one.’ She itched to get off her stool, go into Megan’s office and hold the leather-bound book aloft. Times and dates were one of her fortes.
‘Well, you’ll have to cancel,’ Megan stated, already halfway back to the door.
Cancel? Hadn’t Megan just got all gleeful and excited about this new business she’d secured with the military? They couldn’t afford to turn down potential work. They might currently be in a good position, but when the Great British high street was struggling, everything was always somehow balanced on a plastic catering knife edge.
‘I’m not cancelling.’
Becky swallowed after she’d delivered the sentence. Where had that authority come from? Ordinarily she only used that tone when the prawn man was late…
‘What?’ Megan said, her hands going to her hips.
Becky could feel Hazel and Shelley looking between the two of them like they were opposing factions of a Nigel Farage talkRADIO show.
‘You shouldn’t cancel,’ Becky said again. ‘You can charge good money. They’ll want scones and cake as well as sandwiches. We can even source some unique teas, there’s a website I found—’
‘Becky, we make sandwiches, rolls, wraps and paninis. We don’t do cakes.’ Megan spread her arms wide around the snug workspace. ‘I’m not really one hundred per cent sure we have the capacity to butter all these baps for the army, but we’ll have to make it work somehow.’ She sighed. ‘What we don’t have time for is silly little teas at the nursing home. I mean, it’s hardly bigtime, is it?’
Had her sister just said ‘silly little teas’? Tears pricked Becky’s eyes then, but she bit the inside of her lip and desperately tried to hold it together. She wasn’t going to back down over this. This was important to her. And it should also be important to Megan.
‘Well, I’ll go then,’ Becky stated. ‘I’ll do the pitch.’
Megan let out a laugh. An actual, proper laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Becky asked. ‘I’ll go to the nursing home and tell them what It’s A Wrap can do for them and see what they were thinking of in terms of cake. If we can’t do the cake then—’
‘And pricing?’ Megan asked. ‘And working out exactly how many loaves of bread and rolls it all equates to? And how many more extra fillings we need to order in? Timescale, Becky? Stock control?’
Her sister was making it sound akin to organising that maybe-brigadier’s military invasion, or booking a slot with Tesco for pre-Christmas Day delivery… It couldn’t be that hard!
‘Well,’ Becky started, ‘I can see what their requirements are first, how many people they expect to come and then—’
‘No,’ Megan said bluntly. ‘No, you won’t. Because I don’t want the contract. And… you can’t possibly do the meeting on your own.’
All Becky could do was watch as Megan flew from the kitchen like she was now powered by rocket fuel and her feet didn’t hurt a bit. And, returning to her workstation, a little bit fragile, it felt like forever until Shelley reached a silent hand to the knob of the radio and turned the volume back up to six.