sounds like it.’ He laughs.
Seb laughs so much, he’s just so easy-going. It’s like nothing worries him – perhaps that’s an easy confidence that comes with having a lot of money. Whoever said money can’t buy happiness obviously never had a failing business and impending homelessness hanging over them.
‘I have a meeting with the board,’ he tells me.
‘The Nation of Shopkeepers?’
‘That’s the one. I’m told that if I can sway them, I’m a shoo-in.’
‘I’d say that was about right,’ I reply.
‘Your accent amuses me.’ He laughs. ‘Say that again.’
‘No.’
‘Nooo,’ he repeats, in what I’d imagine is his attempt at a strong Yorkshire accent.
Unimpressed, I furrow my brow.
‘So, what happened with the last southerner who tried to start a business here? Did they let her open it?’
‘They did,’ I admit.
‘There we go then. I’ll see you tonight,’ he says, taking the last gingerbread man from the plate.
‘You will,’ I reply.
‘Wish me luck,’ he says as he heads for the door.
‘Good luck,’ I call after him.
He’s going to need it.
In the Marram Bay Town Hall, the Nation of Shopkeepers gathers every other month to discuss all of the big issues affecting business in the town.
‘And that’s why anyone who has opted for blue fairy lights, instead of the traditional white lights, needs to take them down,’ George Price, chairman of the group and owner of Frutopia jam shop concludes.
Yes, this is one of today’s biggest issues: that someone has gone rogue with their fairy lights.
Mary-Ann – who runs the local dairy farm – raises a hand as she uses her other one to play with one of her brown plaits.
‘I think the blue lights look nice,’ she says softly, once she is given permission to speak.
‘Well, you’d be wrong,’ George says confidently. ‘Now, our final order of business. Waiting outside we have Sebastian Stone. He’s a property developer looking to knock down Christmas Every Day, and build holiday homes for tourists. Before we invite him in for his pitch, Ivy, would you like to say a few words?’
I stand up from my place on the U-shaped table. ‘I, erm… Closing down Christmas Every Day is not a decision I’ve been a party to,’ I say, pausing to anxiously nibble a fingernail. ‘I’m not saying Seb shouldn’t be allowed to start a business here, I just wish it weren’t at the cost of an already established one.’
An echo of ‘hear hears’ bounces around the room.
‘Does anyone else have anything to say on the matter?’
‘After everything I went through to open a business here, I don’t see why this guy should have it easy,’ Lily, who runs the Apple Blossom Deli, says with a laugh. When she tried to open the deli earlier this year almost everyone was against it, and now here she is, a fully-fledged member of the community.
‘It wouldn’t be right, to push out a long-established business with deep roots in the community, in favour of something new,’ Tommy, who owns the local bookshop, adds.
‘Well, I think we’re all in agreement there. Let’s bring him in,’ George says, gesturing at the person nearest the door so that they can get Seb.
Seconds later Seb walks in, in yet another one of his expensive suits. I feel like they’re symbolic of his wealth, his attention to detail, his attitude towards business – all things that look good, when you’re standing up in front of the people who will decide your future. Seb looks the part, from his suit, to the large iPad in his hands, to the confident smile on his face.
‘Hello, everyone, my name is Sebastian Stone, and this evening I’d like to share with you my proposal for new holiday homes on the current Christmas Every Day site.’
Seb taps on his iPad a few times before his proposal appears on the big screen behind him.
I notice a couple of gaps around the room.
‘Bloody hell, we’ve never been able to get that to work,’ George tells him.
Geroge is a living, breathing example of exactly what you’d expect a Yorkshire man to look like. He’s a big, broad fifty-something man, with dark hair that’s slowly being consumed by grey, starting with the sideburns. He knows what he likes and he likes what he knows, and for that reason, you can’t tell him anything. That’s why, at times like this, he’s the perfect chairman of the Nation of Shopkeepers, because he’ll take one look at an outsider like Seb and see everything that he hates about ‘this bloody country’ – consumerism, cutthroat businessmen, the bourgeoisie.
‘Ooh, he’s doing a keynote speech, just like Steve Jobs,’ Adam, who owns the Treasure Island arcade on the seafront, leans over to me to whisper.
Adam is quite the hipster, so I’m not surprised he’s impressed. His arcade isn’t really an arcade, it’s a speakeasy hidden behind an area where parents can ditch their kids while they get drunk.
‘Marram Bay is a popular tourist hotspot that, unfortunately, doesn’t have enough accommodation to meet demand during peak seasons. This results in fewer visitors, less footfall, less business for everyone,’ Seb explains.
He changes the slide to reveal a beautiful artist’s impression of the modern townhouses with dark cladding and grassy roofs. It’s so colourful, surrounded by blooming gardens and smiley people – if I didn’t know what I was looking at, I wouldn’t have recognised it as the spot where my shop currently stands.
Seb cycles through a few slides, talking everyone through how his presence will increase business for everyone.
‘And through my proposed collaboration with holiday accommodation booking site Let’s Go, we’ll attract even more tourism. The last coastal town to work with them won the prestigious Staycation of the Year award.’
I glance around the room, trying to read the audience. He has their attention, that’s for sure.
‘The project will also meet passive house standards, which reduces the building’s ecological footprint. The result will be ultra-low-energy buildings that require little energy for space heating or cooling. Each building will have a green roof, which will provide further insulation – it will also keep the houses cool when they need to be, provide space for birds, and, well, I just think it looks cool.’
Seb gives his audience a wink and, as I look around, I notice that his charm offensive is working.
