‘Hot, tepid, or cold? Hands up for hot?’

Hands went up.

‘Okay, now,’ he tapped his big gold signet ring on the table, ‘now, I need to know one thing, just one thing…’

Hilary glanced at the clock reflected in the mirrored wall. Reading backwards she saw they’d only covered twenty minutes of the two hour session.

‘Why?’

He was good; she had to give him that.

‘Because,’ she smiled sweetly at him, ‘in this one the penguin is smiling.’

‘You know wot? That’s the first time anyone’s said that.’

‘Really?’

‘Up on your feet, ladies!’

They all stood. He had them whipped into shape, he really had.

‘Now, we’re going to pick up speed. I want you ladies to rearrange the pictures, pick out the best of ‘em, that’s it.’

Mal hadn’t come. She was booked; Hilary had made sure of it. Where was she? Hilary hadn’t seen her for a whole week. Not even a phone call. She’d left loads of messages. Nothing. Something was wrong.

‘Now, I want you to get up close and personal with the ads, ok? And you know wot? I don’t care either way. So ladies, go to work.’

They moved in on the pictures strewn across the big conference table – penguins: smiling, not smiling, hatted, trousered, naked. Big ones, little ones, blue, red, green, even yellow versions of penguins, all holding up for the customer the new beef flavoured pot noodle with optional sachet of chili sauce attached. Penguins cheering, proclaiming; penguins advertising product, holding up plastic pot noodle pots impossibly with their little Penguin wings.

That was the first thing Hilary had criticized – how could Penguins hold up Pot Noodles with their funny little wings? Not the impossibility of Penguins feeding on fast food down there in Antarctica. Not them crazily sniffing at beef fragrance rising in wisps of steam. Not the declarations of the penguins either: ‘Pot Noodles Just Got Better.’

And that was her second critique: ‘I didn’t know they’d been ill,’ she piped up. Pretending to be amused he gave a little knowing laugh but his eyes were cold as a penguin’s scrotum, she recognised. She was acting out, she got that. It was because Mal was missing. They could have had a laugh over all of this. They could have gone for a drink after and giggled over this guy and his penguins, his pot noodles and his ‘you know wot’s’. Hilary felt empty.

‘Now, wot I understand you’re telling me – and correct me if I’m wrong – is that, this lot here goes in the tepid pile cos it’s kind of hot and cold? Would you give me that?’

They murmured assent.

‘Ok. Result. Now, you know wot? I’m still not seeing the full picture. Let’s go at it again and I want to see you really working it with the ‘hot’ pile this time.’

She had some comics and sweets for the boys, and a book for Mal. She’d have to bring the lot home again. Her own kids would get at the sweets if she didn’t hide the stuff away. The strategy wasn’t going so well. Too many internal factors was her reckoning. Too many variables according to the excel scatter graph. She’d tried to work out a probability index but she’d finally got sick of it all and deleted the lot. Not from her heart though – no chance. She was completely smitten. An old fashioned word, it made her smile.

‘You know wot, Hilary?’

He’d spotted her smiling. That couldn’t be allowed, not on his dime.

‘I totally get your point about the penguins and I’m not here to change your mind but just walk me through your hot pile again…’

-Excerpt from The Group