Page 15 of The Promise of Tomorrow
‘Something’s come up regarding the budget biscuit plan. The product idea I had – I’ve seen it through different eyes and am even more excited about how it could take off, and how it could persuade the board to take this pitch seriously.’
‘With me desperate to sink my teeth into mouth-watering moussaka? And Derek hating unplanned meetings? Especially at the end of the day?’ Rory stretched out an arm. ‘Lead the way.’ Elena jumped up, brushed down her trouser suit and walked over to Derek’s room. She knocked on the door. A tired voice said, ‘Come in.’ Heart racing, she entered, Rory close behind.
‘Elena? Rory? What’s up? You’ve got five minutes. Family party.’
‘The details of the budget biscuit plan that we firmed up in last Friday’s meeting – we need to include my idea,’ she said. ‘I can’t hold back on it any longer. It’s – better for us, better for the customer. A budget biscuit that won’t be higher in trans fats because of the cheaper ingredients we’d be forced to use, that aren’t up to our usual quality. Rory’s view on this would be useful too. Mentioning my product idea to the board, at this early stage, might just swing it for us.’
Derek consulted his watch and begrudgingly smiled. ‘Okay.Never could say no to enthusiasm, and compromising our principles hasn’t sat well with me either. I’m listening.’ He pushed up his jumper’s sleeves, leant back in his chair and took off his glasses. Rory sat down on one of the chairs opposite.
Elena pressed her palms together. ‘Bags of broken biscuits used to be very popular. Biscuits get broken in transit, and during the manufacturing process, less-than-perfect products are binned for many reasons – such as being misshapen, or having crumbled edges, due to fillings leaking, coatings having gaps or flawed patterns. As you probably know, and I learnt from my research, Bingley Biscuits stopped selling these in the eighties, with the evolution of a society all about image and materialism. You were what you bought – broken biscuits didn’t fit in with eighties aspirations. But times change and I’d say, during a cost-of-living crisis, us saving wastage fits in perfectly with our vision.’
‘My mum used to buy them from Woolworths when I was a kid, and at the local market.’ Derek frowned. ‘But what would make our broken biscuits stand out? Broken biscuits are broken biscuits and even less sexy than a budget line, surely? They’re effectively the manufacturing process’s leftovers.’
‘Which means you’ve got a story you can tell, to sell them, right, Elena?’ asked Rory.
She did! There was that flicker inside her, again, Rory had her back.
‘Spot on,’ she said and beamed. Elena had entered the office this morning full of determination that she would no longer be broken by a twenty-year promise. To her surprise, using that word – broken – brought a revelation: that the difficulties over the years, caused by that night in 2004, had somehow made her stronger. They had. She was still standing, still achieving andhadn’t allowed the prospect of a bleak future to steal her whole life away.
Broken but put back together, more robustly than before.
That was the story: being broken wasn’t The End.
She stopped pacing and faced the other two. ‘Feeling broken? Bad day at the office? Depressed by world news? Struggling with bills? Enter a fun bag of broken biscuits, living their best life, diverse but side by side, the shortcake rings, the vanilla sandwich biscuits, the chocolate-coated oatie ones, broken but partying together.’ She waved her hand in the air. ‘In the commercial, I see a diverse bunch of friends, going round to a sad mate’s house, with bags of our broken biscuits, all of these people laughing together, cheering their friend up. Those biscuits shout friendship, inclusivity and overcoming hard times. I can picture the advert already – the empathetic smiles, bright colours, the dance music, interspersed with hugs, all of it held together by Bingley’s broken biscuits being passed around and enjoyed.’
She held her breath.
Derek didn’t blink at first. ‘Christ,’ he said eventually. ‘You might be onto something. I love it! Modern, fresh, relevant… This could really work.’
‘Wecouldcome up with a clever name for them, inspired by the idea of taking a break – but, actually, keeping it simple might work best,’ said Rory, leaning forwards. ‘How aboutNot-so-Broken Biscuits? Part of the bag could have a transparent window to make it clear the contents aren’t actually whole, to avoid being accused of misleading customers. The o in the word broken could have a smiley face in it.’
Derek was writing notes. He looked at his watch again, swore and closed the notebook. ‘I’ve really got to leave, but well done, Elena. I’m impressed. Let’s talk more tomorrow. Keep going withthose name ideas, Rory. I won’t get much sleep tonight. My brain’s already twitching.’
Elena and Rory left his office and talked non-stop about the meeting, all the way down to the car park. Tomorrow they’d research which competitors were selling broken biscuits, and analyse their marketing campaigns.
‘You’re a genius, Swan,’ said Rory. He clapped her back and without thinking, she gave him a hug, before pulling away and breaking eye contact. Rory got into his yellow Volkswagen Beetle.
‘Finally, you notice my huge talent,’ she said and clambered in the other side, hoping the banter made light of her throwing her arms around him. Rory turned on the engine to clear the windscreen. ‘Mum’s asked if you’d like sushi to start tonight, by the way. It’s as much a fit with moussaka as oysters with pizza, but my parents love it, and the supermarket had a special deal on.’
‘Sounds great. What will you have?’
‘The same.’
Rory stopped putting on his seat belt and looked sideways at her. ‘But you always say raw fish is way too risky if someone brings it in for their lunch.’
‘I can change my mind, can’t I?’
‘Go for it! Fun fact: as a general rule, chefs have to freeze the fish down to minus forty degrees anyway, to kill off bacteria.’
‘Whatever. Let’s face it – I probably consumed more germs at the swimming pool yesterday.’
Rory switched on the radio and tuned it in to Elena’s favourite station.
‘You hate Kill Me Now FM, as you call it,’ she said.
‘A guy can be nice, can’t he?’ he said, in an unexpectedly gentle voice.
Elena paused and glanced at him sideways. ‘I’m okay, you know,’ she said quietly. ‘In fact, what happened at the pool has given me clarity.’ She pointed to the car roof. ‘Put it back.’
