TWENTY-FOUR

When the alarm went off the next morning, I couldn’t believe I’d actually let Debbie talk me into this.

Swearing, I dragged myself out of my warm bed. I’d fed Sarah an hour and a half ago, and thoughts of leaving her with a stranger so I could go back to work to pay off a huge creditcard debt had kept me awake ever since.

Feeling rather like a criminal, I had a sudden desire to don a black catsuit and balaclava. Instead, I pulled on the black trousers, boots and grey knitted polo-neck I’d left out the night before having spent fifteen minutes pondering the dress code for an early morning gatecrashing of a successful businessman.

After all these months, I had come to the conclusion that there was only one unbreakable rule of motherhood. Never, ever wake a sleeping baby. As I looked at Sarah peacefully asleep in her crib I almost decided to call Debbie and cancel this ridiculous escapade.

The situation was desperate, I reminded myself, and once I was ready, I reluctantly picked Sarah up and carried her out to the car. She stirred and let out a cry as I gently lowered her into the baby seat. I froze and thankfully she settled back to sleep.

What on earth was I doing? Much as Debbie protested that we were just being assertive, what we were about to do was pretty close to stalking. By the time Debbie pulled up, looking even less thrilled about the situation than I did, I had decided to call the whole thing off. One look at her set face, however, and I knew there was no getting out of it now.

‘This had better bloody work,’ she grumbled as she bundled herself into my car.

There were some faint fingerprints of light creeping across the sky as we pulled up outside a building sporting the House Arrest logo. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when I saw the top floor was lit.

‘Well, at least it looks like someone is here,’ I commented.

Debbie didn’t even respond and I looked at her. Her gaze was fixed firmly on a bakery three shops down. Lights were on in there as well and I could detect the unmistakable smell of coffee and hot bread drifting through the cold air.

‘Wait here,’ she ordered and disappeared into the darkness.

Less than five minutes later she returned bearing half a dozen coffees and a bag full of warm bagels and croissants. It smelt wonderful, but I wasn’t in the mood for a picnic.

‘Deb, we hardly have time to stop for breakfast. Let’s just go inside, get humiliated and leave. We can eat after that.’

‘Sophie, have a little faith. I have a plan. There are very few human beings in the world who can resist the smell of coffee and fresh bread, particularly at this indecent hour. At least if we come bearing gifts, he might hesitate before he throws us down the stairs.’

In the absence of any better plan, I agreed with her.

Thankfully the door at the bottom of the building wasn’t locked, so, laden down with our provisions, samples and Sarah, who by some miracle had stayed blissfully asleep during her transfer to the baby sling, we trudged up two flights of stairs. I couldn’t help but think that Peter Davies might not be so cavalier about his security after this morning.

Putting the bakery supplies on the reception counter, Debbie hesitated and then rang a buzzer attached to a sign saying ‘Please ring if desk unattended’.

There was a rustle from behind a partition and then a face appeared around the corner. ‘Hello?’

Feeling particularly silly, I stood frozen to the spot, but Debbie stepped forward. ‘Peter Davies?’

The face nodded suspiciously – clearly he was not used to unannounced visits at this hour.

‘Mr Davies, my name is Debbie Campbell and this is my colleague Sophie Anderson. We have a product we believe would work really well in your stores and we’d like to show it to you.’

Obviously deciding that we weren’t axe murderers, the man stepped forward. He was about fifty, with the lean, wiry body of a long-distance runner. He didn’t look pleased by the interruption.

‘And you decided that,’ he checked his watch, ‘five-thirty in the morning was the best time to catch me in a good mood?’

I almost turned and ran out the door, but Debbie stood her ground. ‘No, Mr Davies, I don’t believe five-thirty is a good time for anybody. We came this morning because we really believe our product should be in your stores, but we can’t get past your receptionist during conventional hours.’

His expression changed slightly. ‘Susan does have a tendency to be overly protective,’ he admitted. ‘But,’ his face became stern again, ‘that doesn’t give you the right to just waltz in here whenever you like. How did you know I would be here, anyway?’

I thought it was probably time I gave Debbie a hand. ‘We saw the article in Financial Review. It said you started work early. And,’ I added, as he didn’t respond, ‘we brought you some coffee and bagels.’

He hesitated. For a moment I was certain he was going to tell us to leave, but then his gaze rested on Sarah. ‘All right, you’d better come in. And call me Peter. Mr Davies is too formal for this time of the morning.’

It wasn’t exactly a warm invitation, but at least he hadn’t kicked us out. We followed him to his office, which was surprisingly small, and covered with posters promoting the London Marathon. Debbie and I exchanged glances. This guy made Andrew look unmotivated.

‘I didn’t know what kind of coffee you drink, so I bought every kind I could think of,’ Debbie began, pushing the tray towards him. ‘Take your pick.’

As he selected a latte, I pulled our samples out of my bag. I figured we had less time than it took to drink a coffee in order to convince him. To add to the pressure, I could see Sarah starting to stir.

‘Our product is baby books,’ I began and saw him grimace. ‘Baby books that are designed for real people,’ I hurried on. ‘Not books that have storks and cherubs all over them.’

I passed him a vibrant pink book and followed it with a green one. ‘The concept is that people buy a cover and the pages and they then mix and match whatever pages they want. Christenings might be relevant for some people, naming ceremonies for others.’

‘Makes sense,’ he said, nodding as he flipped through the mocked-up pages. ‘Do you have at-cost prices?’

Debbie handed him her file. While he looked through it, Debbie and I chose our own coffees and sipped nervously. None of us touched the bagels.

‘And how soon could you have them delivered?’ he asked, still reading.

‘The covers are arriving in three weeks.’ I couldn’t see much point in hiding the truth. ‘The pages could be printed by then too.’

That got his attention.

‘You’ve ordered the products and are still looking for distribution? That was brave.’

Neither Debbie nor I responded. Brave wasn’t the word I would have chosen.

Peter put the file down and looked at us. ‘Look, ladies. This isn’t how I do things. I have twenty outlets and people to source products for me. I don’t get involved with decisions about small product lines any more.’

My hopes, which had started to build as he read through the file, vapourised. Another knockback, I thought.

‘But…’ Peter interrupted my vision of Sarah and me queuing for soup and bread at the Salvation Army, ‘I actually think these look great and I admire your energy. The coffee and bagel bribe didn’t go astray either. So if you’ll reduce your price to give me fifty-five per cent of the retail value, I’ll buy five hundred of them. If they sell I’ll take more.’

He scribbled a name and number on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table. ‘Call this person later today to sort out the details.’

‘Sorry, Peter, we can’t do that,’ Debbie said calmly, ignoring the piece of paper in front of her.

I looked at her incredulously. This man was offering us money and as far as I was concerned we should just take whatever he was prepared to give us and get out of there before he changed his mind.

‘We can absorb the price drop, but only if you take one thousand copies,’ she continued.

Peter pursed his lips and scribbled some numbers on the pad in front of him. ‘All right, I’ll take nine hundred,’ he said, a faint smile playing across his face. ‘Deal?’

‘Deal,’ Debbie replied, scooping up the piece of paper and then standing and holding out her hand.

I smiled in what I hoped was a businesslike manner as we left, resisting my urge to hug him for saving my daughter and me from poverty.

‘Yes!’ I punched the air as we reached the stairwell. Nine hundred books at the lower price meant we wouldn’t quite cover the costs of importing the covers, but if I could swing a longer credit period for the printing and artwork fee, I would only have to borrow money for a couple of weeks. And if we could sell some more books to House Arrest or someone else, then maybe we could actually make some money too. The feeling of relief that rolled over me made me light-headed.

Debbie grinned at me. ‘Know anywhere that will serve us champagne at this hour?’