‘It will be by tomorrow,’ he replies. ‘I can bring it round to the shop if you like? Around closing time?’
I thank him, hopeful that we might have something to save the day.
‘Don’t worry,’ Dad adds, ‘I know my Ange and she’s invincible.’
If only.
Hunting High and Low
The next day, the whole gang gather in the shop kitchen after hours to hear the idea and prepare to do battle on behalf of Mercury. The mood we’re in, we might as well be wearing camouflage paint. Mum and Michael have come along to add their strength to the platoon.
Mum is in her element fussing around everyone, delighted to have so many people locked in one room. She’s raided the clearance shelf of the supermarket and has arrived armed with an enormous mismatched smorgasbord of food tottering on the edge of a sell-by date.
‘Microwaveable fish pie, falafel wrap and cream cake?’ I query, picking through the packets as she unloads them.
‘You have to eat them to keep your strength up,’ Mum asserts. ‘And they’ll go to waste otherwise.’
‘Not if you’d left them for a small army to buy,’ argues Dad.
‘But they were a bargain and besides, we’re an army and an army marches on its stomach.’ Mum folds her arms, very satisfied at having found a justification for her purchases. ‘Now who wants the fish pie?’
No one responds, so, probably attempting to be polite, Michael raises his hand sheepishly and Mum pounces.
‘See,’ she tells Dad, ‘that poor man would’ve been starving if I hadn’t picked this up.’
Dad is kept waiting while Mum takes everyone’s orders. I hold my out my palms to Michael and mouth, ‘What have you started?’
He shrugs and mouths, ‘Sorry’ back to me while simultaneously burning his hands on an over-microwaved plastic container. I don’t want to delay things any more by waiting for something to be cooked, so opt for the wrap, which tastes as dry as it looks. Fortunately, there’s also reduced-price fresh juice in her spoils – beetroot and carrot – which is surprisingly good. I feel fortified by my oysters and guarana and despite myself am momentarily distracted by the muscles in Michael’s arms. Down girl.
When everyone is fed and watered, we congratulate Mum on her efforts in the hope that’s enough to finally settle her down so we can listen to Dad’s idea without interruption. We pull up our chairs to form a semi circle and Dad sits at the centre. He looks like the sage ready to address his worried audience, the storyteller waiting to relay insightful tales that will light the way to better days. Although he can’t see the effect he’s having, his very calm presence has everyone looking relaxed and hopeful. Even Mum is beaming at him.
Dad takes a folder out of his bag and I can see that it’s stuffed with pictures torn out of magazines.
‘So imagine,’ starts Dad, ‘a glorious day, the open road and your first clue – “Gather where the trees read by moonlight, at the library in the woods.” You’re looking for this.’ He selects one of the images from his folder, placing it before us with a great flourish. I’m not sure what I was expecting and I have no idea where it is, but the image is truly magical. It’s a simple wooden hut with a grass roof in the midst of a beautiful forest.
‘Wow,’ says Josie, ‘that looks like something out of a fairy story. I imagine I’d have to wear a red cape if I went there.’
‘That’s a library?’ asks Charlie, and Dad nods and shows him a picture of the inside filled with shelves and books, a simple wooden table and chairs.
‘Where?’ I ask. ‘It’s not Disneyland or something, is it?’ It’s so quaint I can only imagine it existing in Lord of the Rings Land or some-such place.
Dad taps the side of his nose, enjoying the response and the suspense being created. He continues. ‘After a glorious night in your luxurious hunting lodge, another clue arrives at breakfast: “Today we visit the Queen and bask in her golden glory.”
This time the picture is a photo of a stunning, endless and completely deserted beach bathed in the glow of a glorious sunset.
‘Wow – now you’re talking my language,’ cries Charlie. ‘I want to go there already.’
Peter and Michael keep schtum, trying to work out where this trail is taking place. Given that my job is finding these wonderful places for people, it bugs me, too, that I can’t guess it. I say as much to Dad.
‘Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?’ he replies. ‘You might get it with these next ones.’
Unconsciously, we all edge our seats forward for the next clue; we all want to win. If we’re hooked just looking at the photographs, I can imagine our Mercury customers thoroughly enjoying this.
‘Today is all about the thrill of the drive,’ continues Dad. ‘ “Ascend from the sea to the sky and Bealach na Bà.” ’ The photo is of a crazy winding road with breathtaking hairpin bends, climbs and drops.
‘Stunning,’ Michael exclaims.
Peter is straight on his phone.
‘Aha – the photo might give it away. What was that word – Blachna…?’
Dad shakes his head in a good-humoured refusal. He’s not giving anything away.
‘And so we reach the end of the week,’ he says. ‘ “Rest at the final crossroad for Viking Norsemen.” ’
The final photograph is a huge white lighthouse standing on a clifftop with crashing waves below.
They’re wonderful and I know this will capture the imaginations of our customers. I hug Dad and tell him so.
‘So come on then, where is it?’ asks Charlie. ‘It has to be Scandinavia somewhere, with the Viking reference – or possibly Iceland?’
‘Too green,’ I reply. ‘Canada?’
He’s delighted we haven’t guessed it and picking up an atlas, he turns to a page marked with all his notes and opens it to a chorus of wows.
‘Scotland?’ I’m stunned and just a little downbeat. He nods.
‘It’s a beautiful country,’ he says, ‘and for a rally, absolutely perfect. We take in the islands of Arran and Islay before going back to the mainland and zig-zagging our way to the highest point in the British Isles.’
I nod enthusiastically, hopefully hiding my disappointment. The clues are brilliant and the photographs look amazing. I’m sure this would be a stunning trip to organise for yourself but I just can’t see a holiday to Scotland saving Mercury Travel.
‘There some fabulous castles and stately homes hotels that guests can stay in along the way,’ continues Dad. ‘I thought maybe you’d have a convoy of classic cars – all different colours – winding their way up Applecross Pass to a big house on a hill. That would look fantastic.’
‘Brilliant!’ exclaims Peter. ‘I know a car rental company that’s branching out into luxury rental – classics with heated seats, if you like – I’m sure they’d promote this to their customers.’
‘And aren’t the islands famous for their whisky?’ adds Michael. ‘You could organise a tasting for when your travellers get there.’
‘Sounds like I need to get on to whisky bloggers, too,’ says Josie looking fired up.
‘You know this would also be perfect for people visiting the UK, so you could definitely promote it overseas, maybe to Americans already here on golf tours,’ continues Peter. ‘It really does reach out to new customers for you.’
‘I was a bit unsure when you said it was in Scotland,’ says Charlie. ‘I’d expected somewhere more exotic but I actually think this might inspire our customers. It’s worth a shot.’
Maybe they’re all right, many of our customers are old romantics at heart and perhaps this idea could really appeal. There are a lot of people out there who love road movies. However, despite everyone’s enthusiasm, I’m still not sure this is the saviour of Mercury.
‘It’s not enough, is it?’ asks Dad, reading my mind.
‘It’s brilliant Dad, honest, you can see everyone thinks so. But it’s just one trip and if we’d invented it before we met Lorenzo, I’d be deliriously happy, bu
t now I can’t help thinking he’ll steal this, too, somehow. We keep having all the ideas but he just copies them a week later and then manages to shaft us somehow. Honestly, there were queues of people in his shop today.’
‘Well, he’s much cheaper than you,’ says Mum out of nowhere and we all look at her.
‘How do you know?’ I ask, praying she hasn’t gone and bloody booked something with him although part of me wouldn’t be surprised.
‘Moira who gave out the samples was telling me. Her son went in and they gave him 30 per cent off if he booked right there and then.’
‘Thirty per cent? That’s just not possible – he wouldn’t be making any money at all. He was supposed to be stopping all of this heavy discounting, not increasing it.’
Mum shrugs.
‘Maybe he’s not trying to make money at the moment,’ suggests Michael.
‘What do you mean?’
Peter picks up the thread. ‘Michael’s right, he could be trying to put you out of business. It’s not a long-term plan but he’ll keep undercutting you until you can’t continue any more. Think about all he’s done – the vouchers before Launch even opened that you had to match, then all these offers. As soon as he’s the last man standing, he’ll hike the prices up. I’ll bet he’s got terms and conditions that say prices could rise at any time.’
‘Moira won’t be happy with that,’ says Mum, ignoring the bit about her only daughter being put out of business.
‘What can we do against that type of plan?’ I ask in desperation.
‘Keep your costs low,’ says Michael. ‘Seriously, put everything you have into getting business and staying afloat. It’s all about being the one who survives. He isn’t expecting to have to hold these prices for long.’
‘And stick to your guns,’ says Dad in a kind of Dunkirk way. ‘Get them blogger people talking about you like Josie suggested. Never forget people love Mercury.’
‘I’ve got another marketing idea actually,’ declares Josie, rubbing her hands in glee. ‘You’ve inspired me Mr Shepherd. Best of all, it’s low cost and an absolute cracker.’
I’m so pleased to see her fired up again; we all look at her waiting for her to expand on this idea. She taps the side of her nose.
‘Secret strategy I’m afraid but you’ll soon know all about it.’
‘Well, Private Benjamin, deploy Operation Aussie as soon as possible but get back to the barracks as soon as you can,’ I say, trying to keep the army metaphor going and doing atrociously. ‘If we’re about to go to war, we need our weapon of mass distraction.’
‘You do realise that was appalling, don’t you,’ says Charlie, earning a friendly thump.
* * *
The next day, as I walk into the shop, I spot some bright turquoise signposts that I’ve never seen before attached to lamp posts. I subconsciously register the first two or three without really taking much notice of what they say. Then I approach another and I have to stop to read what’s going on. I sort of expect that they’re giving route details for a fun run, but when I get up close, I see this one says, ‘Roll up for the mystery tour.’
‘Maybe it’s a Beatles exhibition,’ I think to myself. ‘Unlikely in Manchester, though.’
Still, I make a mental note – that Beatles track is a good one to use for our treasure trail. As I look down the street towards the shop, I can see that every lamp post and traffic light has one of these turquoise signs. I get closer to the next one which says, ‘Need a ticket to ride?’ Another Beatles track about going somewhere. I positively trot along to see what cryptic message is attached to the one after, whoever created these has come up with a great idea – I must tell the others. The next one reads, ‘Don’t worry, it’s not a galaxy far, far away.’
I’m stumped, I was sure they were something to do with songs but this one isn’t and now I can’t guess what the link might be. I can see there are three more signs attached to posts before I get to the shop, so I mentally challenge myself to guess what they’re all about before I get to the third one (not that it matters, I know).
‘Maybe to the moon and back?’ I read the next one aloud. My heart sinks a little, it’s referencing space travel – this clever campaign looks like the work of Lorenzo and his childhood dream. It’s good and unfortunately has caught my attention, so it’s bound to work on others. I bet it leads me right down the high street and stops at his door. I plod wearily to the next one, which is arrow-shaped and pointing directly to the front door of Launch. My disappointment turns to puzzlement then mild dread when I see what’s written on this sign, ‘Not this one – it’s a Black Hole.’
And with that I know this has to be the ‘cracker of an idea’ Josie mentioned. I sneak past Lorenzo’s shop and get to the sign outside Mercury, ‘You’re here! Mercury Travel – light years ahead of the rest.’ I can’t help but smile; it is clever but not very sporting. I know I thought we should start playing hard-ball but I’m not sure I have that in me. I should have taken down that sign insulting Lorenzo. I don’t have time, as Josie leaps out to greet me.
‘Do you like it?’ she asks beaming.
‘I love it, it’s so clever. It’s a treasure trail bringing customers right to our door.’
‘And I’ve used the signs in our online posts,’ she goes on to explain. ‘A different one appears every hour. I did think of Scottish-themed ones like, “Will you take the high road or the low road?”, but that would have given the game away completely.’
I agree and we both head into the shop eager to see if it works. It does and throughout the morning, I see Josie smiling as she explains the idea to customers calling in. She tells them about the treasure trail idea, but it’s quite a difficult sell when we can’t reassure customers about where they’ll be going. It looks as if we’ll have to work a bit harder to get people exploring these wonderful islands. Ironically, we may have sold them quicker if we’d just told customers the destination. I listen to Josie on the phone and the old cogs start whirring. Peter had the right idea: we’re going to need to sell this to a group of people. We need to excite a whole gang, maybe a sales team somewhere, about the idea of a competitive treasure trail. I pick up the directory of local businesses, trying to work out who’d have a big sales force and am lost in concentration when a policeman walks into the shop.
‘Oh hello there,’ I say sizing him up and wondering if he’s a treasure-trail kind of guy; it’s a bit like detective work, after all. ‘How can I help you?’
‘These signs that are up and down the street,’ he replies, raising my hopes that we’re about to do business. ‘Are they yours?’
‘They certainly are,’ I reply excitedly.
‘Well, they’re illegal,’ says the policeman deadpan. ‘You have to take them down unless you can show me your planning permits.’
I look to Josie and she shakes her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him, ‘we didn’t know we needed permission. We’ll take them down straight away.’
‘And I need to inform you that there will be a fine,’ the policeman continues.
‘A fine? Why? Can’t we just take them down?’ I splutter.
‘I’m afraid not.’ The policeman refers to his notebook although I’m sure that’s just for effect as he’s seen cops on TV do it; he can’t possibly have any notes about us. ‘Another business has complained about defamation of reputation. You told people his business was a “Black Hole” apparently, so he has the right to prosecute the person who actually posted that notice.’
I knew I should have taken that damned sign down. I can’t argue, we did it and although it could hardly have damaged much business in the couple of hours it has been up, I’d be annoyed if he’d done this to us.
‘We’re sorry and we’ll apologise to Lorenzo,’ I say. ‘We meant nothing by it. How much will the fine be?’
‘That’s not up to me,’ says our boy in blue, ‘but I do know that the fine is per illegal advertisement.’
‘You mean we get
fined for every piece of turquoise card up there?’ panics Josie, and the policeman nods.
Josie and I sit in shocked silence while he takes my details as the business owner and then leaves warning us to have the advertisements down by midday.
‘I’m sorry,’ murmurs Josie, ‘I can’t seem to get anything right these days.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure her, ‘we’re all feeling the pressure but we’ll get over this.’
I’m thinking of our dwindling accounts, needing to stay afloat to be the last man standing and the fine that’s about to land on our laps making that much, much more difficult.
Downtown
I didn’t sleep last night wondering how much this fine is going to be. According to Google it could be anything between £100 per sign and £1000, so that wasn’t much help. Then there’s the defamation and whatever else he can claim against us. Getting dressed I can’t even muster up the enthusiasm to fake it with the power dressing. We’re working so hard to come up with ideas and our regulars appreciate them but no one can ignore the cut-prices he’s giving out. I switch on the radio hoping there’ll be something to cheer me up, even a little. Bugger.
‘This week only at Launch, two thousand miles for two thousand pounds. Business class flights and five-star hotels in the most sought-after long-haul destinations.’
I plonk myself down at the breakfast bar, head in hands. He’s trying to take out the long-haul market now and at those prices, well, he simply has to be subsidising them, maybe with that inheritance he talked about. I wonder how much money his father actually left him. He has to run out soon surely.
I start the walk to work but I really don’t know why I’m bothering going in. He seems to enjoy destroying us. Maybe we should cut to the chase now and surrender or maybe we should just move. I doubt he’d still keep attacking us if we simply relocated, if we weren’t directly opposite his shop. The thought of taking on anything else overwhelms me, so I give myself a shake as I open the door to the shop and make an effort to smile.
The Heat Is On Page 17
