I Give It A Year: A moving and emotional story about love and second chances... by Helen Whitaker

Author:Helen Whitaker [Whitaker, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409195481
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2020-12-19T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

4 May

The picture of me on the poster was supposed to be my headshot from the Trust’s website, the one where I look approachable yet professional, but instead someone – Sophie? – has swapped in a ‘candid’ (read: side-eye and double-chin) shot from last year’s summer mixer, where I look about as professional as someone trying to flog my amateur crafting store on Etsy. As if I’m not nervous enough about giving a talk at a ‘Fierce Women’s Retreat’ in Kent to ‘high net worth businesswomen’ about why the National Trust is here to meet all of their philanthropic needs. It was my idea to try and rustle up interest in this demographic, so I hope I haven’t oversold them as potential donors. Vanessa keeps telling us that any time out of the office needs to ‘translate to targets’, and this is an all-weekend event. I won’t be getting the time back in lieu unless I make some money.

I peer through the glass of the double doors into the conservatory to see how many high net worth women are here. There’s a smattering – seven to be exact – all in their forties and fifties, I’d say, and wearing expensive-looking athleisure wear. The rest of the weekend consists of yoga classes and workshops with names like ‘Blasting Burnout’, which are targeted at affluent but time-poor women who want all their wellness requirements met in one handy five-star, heritage-heavy location.

It’s only 10 a.m. but it’s the hottest day of the year so far and I’m sweating. My floaty calf-length dress keeps sticking to my thighs, but I don’t have time to change now, so I walk in, trying to appear as upright and commanding as possible while making for the stage area at the far end of the room.

‘Morning everyone,’ I say brightly, trying to channel some of that inner confidence Adam told Esther I have. I think of the sort of people who can work a room; ideally I need to be a cross between Brené Brown and Amy Poehler. ‘I’m Iris from the National Trust. I hope you’re already feeling the benefit from the activities. I saw the runners go out early this morning, so it looks like some of you are going to be smashing your PBs as well as the patriarchy this weekend.’

There’s a pleasing ripple of polite laughter, but the sun is shining through the conservatory roof directly into my eyes. One lady gets up and leaves, meaning there are only six left. Bollocks. I need these women to listen and spend money. I decide to change tack.

‘Shall I rearrange the chairs so it’s a bit less formal?’ I encourage everyone to stand up and then pull the chairs into a loose semi-circle so that we all have our backs to the sun. ‘And I’ll order some teas and coffees so that it’s all a bit less talk-y. I don’t want to bore you to tears with PowerPoint presentations if you’re just looking for an overview and a chat.

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