Food Fight

by Anne Penketh

  He turned his head to look at the time of the next Glenmont train. One minute.

  “I’ve got to catch this,” he said.

  “Can’t you see that you’ve got a public responsibility here? DeKripps has done wrong, it’s harming American children and frankly it’s unacceptable.”

  “Excuse me.” A man in a hat bumped into Tony Stella as he ran towards the Glenmont escalator. He recovered his balance and said, “Look, really, you didn’t hear this from me, because that’s the reason I left. It’s an enzyme.”

  She suddenly wished she’d paid more attention in biology class.

  “But how can I find out more without going to the scientists who would never tell me?”

  “The others don’t know. Barney’s the one,” he said. “And now, I must go.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the flashing lights on the platform and knew they had run out of time. Before she could ask him for his contact details, she saw the two woolly strands of his hat flying down the escalator to the platform, where he jumped inside the train. “Wait!” she called out lamely, but he was gone.

  *

  Susan worked late the next evening. She had two presentations under way, on a crunchy cereal and a new ice cream, and out of a sense of professionalism she wanted to complete them before having to clear her desk. She was standing by the window when she saw Barney’s black SUV crawl out of the underground car park.

  The cleaners arrived. Was she alone on the sixth floor?

  She walked purposefully along the corridor towards the coffee machine and noticed that Barney’s office door was open. As though drawn by a magnet, she wandered in, after checking the coast was clear. His computer stared at her insolently from his desk. She touched the keyboard and the lock-screen flickered on. A half-formed idea swung into focus.

  First, she had to crack Barney’s password. She tried the same password protocol as her own, substituting her own initials for his. It worked first time! She was so taken aback she realised she was unprepared. She practically ran back to her office in search of a flash drive. A cleaner looked up from his hoovering.

  “Sorry, Ma’am.”

  “Please, carry on,” Susan said as she headed back to Barney’s office.

  She inserted the storage device, and mentally crossed her fingers. Now to find Project Candy. Her heart was beating so hard she could almost hear it. There was so little time. She flicked anxiously through press releases, spreadsheets, a disconcerting folder called ‘Family’ and there, deep in a file called ‘Launches’, was a document entitled simply, ‘Candy’. Was he ridiculously careless, or mindlessly arrogant? Quickly, she clicked and copied the file onto the flash drive, speed-reading the longest document as it transferred. It was written in a technical jargon mostly about enzymes. She hoped this was the one, but in any case, it would have to do. There was no more time to check.

  She stood up. She hadn’t noticed that the hoover had gone quiet along the corridor. At that moment, in walked the cleaner, clearly surprised to see her in Barney’s office.

  “Just watering the plant,” she said, grabbing a bottle of water from her boss’s desk and walking towards the ficus in the corner.

  The cleaner said nothing. Susan cursed herself – why was any explanation necessary? Putting on a false grin, she dropped the plastic bottle back on Barney’s desk and crept out of the office for towards her own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Susan could hardly contain herself. As soon as she got home, she cleared the kitchen table and sat down to devour the Project Candy file.

  She knew a bit about enzymes, because the food industry used them perfectly legally as a catalyst to turn starch into sugar. The FDA didn’t expect the enzymes to be announced in the food facts on products, although as far as she knew the regulators were supposed to be informed about what was being done with them.

  As she read the document it became clear to her that the DeKripps scientists had been working on the effects of sugar on the brain. The enzyme amylase, which Susan knew was commonly used in food, had been synthesized from genetically modified microorganisms. The modified enzyme was released by being soaked into the fresh fruit in Guilty Secrets, which according to the document ‘produced a variant of the normal fruit sugar (or fructose) breakdown’, dulling receptors in the brain. As she read on, she realised that the more sugar was consumed, the more would be craved.

  She could scarcely believe her eyes, leafing again through the pages. This is like nicotine! No wonder Barney said Guilty Secrets was revolutionary. At last, there it was, in black and white, the reason she’d become so reliant on those little sweets and gained a stone.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Mark about her discovery. But when she phoned him the next morning he could only see her the following week.

  She began to clear up her things in preparation for her departure from Washington. It had been five weeks since she had heard from Mimi, which meant she was anxious and upset. She’s punishing me, she said to herself. And the baby – my grandchild – will soon be born. She wanted so badly to help bring up that little boy, or little girl. She envied Ellen and her twins who were changing so quickly.

  When she’d almost given up hope of hearing from Mimi, her laptop buzzed when she was packing a box of books one Saturday morning. There she was, looking heavily pregnant in a pair of blue dungarees.

  “How are you? I’ve been so worried.”

  “Josh kept badgering me to call. I’m fine, but they’ve brought forward her birth by a couple of weeks.”

  So the baby is a girl. And this is how I find out.

  “But is everything alright?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So have you forgiven me?” Susan didn’t dare mention Rod’s name.

  “I’ve been thinking about it. You did the right thing.”

  Susan sat back in her chair. This was quite a moment.

  “No, really. You did. When Josh and I talked about it I told him that Serge was my real father.”

  Susan had a lump in her throat. “Oh Mimi, thank you.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for.” At least they were talking.

  “So tell me about the baby. What’s her name?”

  “There’s not much to tell. We’ve not decided yet. Anyway, what about you?” She seemed to have found Susan’s question awkward. “Granny says you’re leaving DeKripps? Could it be that you have finally become aware of the fundamental cynicism, hypocrisy and corporate greed of the multinationals?”

  If only she knew. She took a sip of coffee. She couldn’t share her shock news with Mimi and therefore USAway. She explained that the time had come for her to return to London, but that she’d accepted an offer of redundancy as she fancied a change.

  “What, really? You’re leaving marketing? It’s been your whole life. You can’t be serious.”

  “Probably. We’ll see. I’ve not had much time to think about it really. Where’s Joshua?”

  He had nipped out to do some shopping and was just coming up the stairs. He came to stand beside Mimi when summoned.

  “Hi Susie,” he said, waving. Was that an egg carton in his other hand? Could it be that Mimi had finally seen sense?

  “Look, please, please let me know about the baby,” Susan pleaded. “You’re so far away.”

  “I will. Got to dash now.”

  She did a mental calculation of the remaining time before the baby was due. Only five weeks to go. She resolved to go home for the birth, even if Mimi didn’t want her around. Unlike Mimi’s birth, at least this baby would have her father there.

  *

  The day came for her meeting with Mark. She walked into his office with a file under her arm and a smile creeping over her lips.

  She threw it down onto his desk. “There you have it,” she said. “Project Candy!”

  He raised an eyebrow when she told him how she’d obtained the file. Then looked at her expectantly. “And?”

  “And … I was right
.”

  “Wow,” he said. He sat back heavily on his sofa and raised a mangled index fingernail to his mouth. “Like, wow. This could be big, Susie. You’ve read it, of course.”

  “Twice, just to make sure. It’s all there. It’s a bit dry and scientific, but you don’t need a microbiology degree to be able to understand it.”

  “You mean there’s a clear indication about the addictive ingredient.”

  “It’s an enzyme. It breaks down sugar in a different way, so the brain’s normal response to high blood sugar levels is impaired. It basically starts asking for more instead of holding up a red flag. It multiplies the opiating effects of the sugar.”

  She described the fresh fruit covered in dark chocolate, and how each fruit was marinated with the enzyme. “So that would explain why Barney said the scientists couldn’t keep up. They need to make the stuff to use in the marinade, and the enzyme is the result of a genetically modified microorganism. What’s more, the files make clear that it’s very hush-hush. It’s got ‘confidential’ stamped all over it.”

  Mark said nothing for a moment. “You mean it’s like a sugar bomb that explodes in the brain?”

  “Exactly. And the brain can’t do anything to stop it,” she said. He made a sucking noise through his teeth: “And they were deliberately concealing it from the FDA.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “And does it say it’s addictive?”

  “It was obvious to me. But not in so many words. Is that a problem?”

  “It might be. Who wrote it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s unsigned.” She was starting to feel she’d let him down. The two of them looked at each other.

  “I’m going to have to read this very carefully,” he said. “But you know what this means, don’t you?”

  “You mean, am I going to be a whistle-blower?”

  It was beginning to dawn on her that she was setting in motion events she wouldn’t be able to control.

  “This might not seem like a big deal to you, but I must tell you that this is a completely new situation for me.”

  “I understand.”

  “It’s just that I’m not used to being in this position. You see, I’m a model corporate employee.”

  “That’s what everyone says until they’re screwed by their company,” he said. “But you’ve got balls. Not everyone would go into their boss’s office and steal from his computer.”

  She didn’t know whether to smile at the compliment.

  “Strictly speaking though, you’re not a whistle-blower. You won’t be protected by the legislation or DeKripps because you’ll no longer be a company employee. I’d expect DeKripps to hold you to waiving any claim against them. And don’t forget that confidentiality clause.”

  “How do you know there’s a confidentiality clause?”

  “There always is. Don’t worry, if this goes to court, we would argue that you violated confidentiality in the public interest and in order to disclose illegal activity by the company. And in any case, DeKripps is going to have the FDA crawling all over them, so your breach will seem like small potatoes. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

  “Mark, I don’t like to mention this, but am I going to end up spending all my redundancy money on this?”

  “If a case like this does go to court, Smithson and Hopkins would work pro bono. We’d of course defend you in case of any counter litigation from DeKripps. You’re going to need all the help and protection you can get.”

  They agreed to meet again on her return from London to discuss strategy. But he also advised her to make a clean break from DeKripps and wait until the end of her notice before revealing anything.

  “Take care,” he said. “And from now on, be extremely careful about what you say on the phone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The next few weeks were a whirl of packing, trinket shopping for a baby girl, and a couple of carefree farewell dinners. Susan shut down her Partners 4 U account without regret. Indeed, why hadn’t she closed it earlier? She knew that after so long there was no chance that Matt from State would be in touch. The entire dating exercise had been a failure.

  She didn’t set foot in the Washington office again after receiving another email from Lynn Proctor informing her that she could keep the Penn Quarter apartment until the end of her stay. DeKripps was behaving decently. Good riddance to Barney: All she had to do was sit tight and wait for the cheque.

  Susan hesitated to contact Ellen to say goodbye in case she said too much. The younger woman reminded her too much of her own former total commitment to the company and its corporate values. Had she been taken in by the company propaganda? Probably. It was obvious that DeKripps and the entire industry had every interest in pushing their line about food and healthy eating, and she’d bought into it for years. In fact she had repeated it to shareholders, journalists, colleagues. It was part of the job. She’d been their tool even when the clamour about the health risks of HFCS had become deafening.

  But she felt strange about walking away after so many years. “It’s been such a big part of my life,” she told Jessica one evening over a drink. “It’s daunting.”

  Jessica was flicking through beach photos of herself on her phone. She looked up.

  “What, you’re complaining?” she said. “Get over it. You’ve got a house in London, and a huge payoff from the company. You’re a woman of means. The guys will be beating a path to your door.”

  “You think?” She took the phone. “The next photos you see will be of the new baby, by the way,” she said.

  “And what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

  She sensed that, as usual, Jessica was more interested in her love life than her professional future. “I don’t have a clue,” she said. “I might go back to university if I can afford it, but honestly, I need to think about it.”

  A waiter stopped at their table to top up their wine glasses from the bottle.

  “Actually,” she went on. “I’ve been thinking about doing French. I might teach. You know, like Serge. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  “You, a teacher? Gimme a break.”

  Jessica was staring into her wine glass as though it were a crystal ball. Then she turned her brown eyes on Susan. “I don’t mean this to sound cruel, but you’re not living Serge’s life any more. He’s dead. You’re on your own. You’ve gotta do what you want to do.”

  Next morning, Susan remembered Ellen again, the one person in the company who’d gone out of her way to make her welcome in DC. Eventually she decided that she couldn’t just vanish without saying goodbye, and rang her at work.

  “Susie, what’s happening? I’ve been so worried about you.”

  “Can we meet? I can tell you everything then.”

  “When?”

  “It’ll have to be in the next day or two. I’m going back to London at the end of the week.”

  “I see.”

  Susan imagined her at her desk, a photo of Jed and the twins in front of her. But the warmth in her voice had vanished.

  “That’s going to be difficult. Why didn’t you call me before?”

  “I’m sorry. I know I should have. I’ll be back again but I’m rushing off now because Mimi’s baby is due.”

  They agreed to meet for lunch at an Asian fusion restaurant in Penn Quarter on Thursday night.

  She waited nervously for her friend who rushed in a quarter of an hour late and dropped her phone onto the table.

  “It’s crazy at work,” Ellen gasped. Susan recalled Jed’s earlier concern about his wife, whose workload must have increased even more now she was leaving.

  “Well at least I’m not having work-related dreams anymore,” Susan said. “Or should I say nightmares.”

  “But why are you leaving the company? I didn’t believe it when Barney told me.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have told you. But it all happened so quickly. They ended up making me an offer I couldn’t refuse
when it turned out that my old job in London had been filled.”

  She decided to leave it at that. She hadn’t even had to lie.

  “Well, I suppose you were only here temporarily. But I’ll miss you, Susie. It was fun.”

  “I’ll miss you too.” She meant it.

  “But how are you really? Are you sure it’s the right time to go back?”

  “I do miss my family, if that’s what you mean. I want to spend time with Mimi after she has the baby, and I feel that we’re getting our relationship on an even keel for the first time in, well, probably since she was a girl.”

  “That’s good. I understand. It’s exciting.”

  “And it’s possible, although not yet confirmed, that she may have given up her vegan diet during her pregnancy.”

  Susan shifted in her seat. She could see that Ellen too was mystified by why she would give up her job on an impulse, knowing how much it meant to her.

  She told her that emotionally, too, she was ready to return home. She described her loneliness in DC, the nights crying herself to sleep, the overpowering grief and her embarrassing experience at Tiffany’s freckle cream evening.

  “Oh Susie, I had no idea. You should have told me.” Ellen’s angelic face creased with concern.

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. People kept telling me how well I was doing, but inside I was really hurting.” Susan paused to think. “But you did help me. It was thanks to your friend Tiffany that I went to that widows’ group. And I found out there that I’m normal!”

  She held up her hand to attract the waitress’s attention.

  “Anyway,” she added, “I think I’m over the worst now. But listen, keep in touch. Here, let me get this, it’s my treat.”

  *

  “You can’t be serious. You’re calling her Meadow?” Susan’s mother was on the phone to Mimi, who had given birth the previous day to a baby girl weighing 6 pounds 8 ounces. Josh had been with her in the hospital for the natural childbirth. At least Mimi had agreed to hospital.

  The phone was passed to Susan while her mother settled into an armchair with Nellie on her lap and contemplated with disapproval the future with a grand-daughter called Meadow. She said in a stage whisper, “It’s a baby, not a picnic spot!”