‘She won’t hear of it,’ Rachel said, ‘and Jack was keen for us not to rock the boat by challenging her. Isaac’s clearly terrified of her as well – his priority is keeping the account because, in time, it could help us land other things. My view, if you want it, is that we’re missing opportunities to reach more readers – and the charity is missing opportunities to do more good – because she won’t add in content that even their own research shows they need.’
‘Hmm,’ Greg said with a frown. ‘That seems like the easiest strategy in the short term, but when we’re eighteen months in and their visitor numbers are shit it’ll be our heads on the chopping block. Isaac has stars in his eyes – he isn’t thinking straight. He should have brought me in on this earlier.’
When they got to the Lighthouse office a harried-looking blonde woman greeted them, then ran off to inform Olivia they’d arrived.
They were shown into a meeting room whose walls were covered in posters promoting the charity’s work. Forlorn but grateful faces stared down from brightly coloured frames, flanked by statements of thanks. Rachel tried not to look at them, instead concentrating on her laptop.
She connected it up to the overhead protector and screen on the first attempt.Screw you, Harper, she thought.
‘No Jack today?’ Olivia asked, acerbic as ever, when she stalked into the room. ‘Is he ill?’
‘Yes, he’s sick today, unfortunately,’ Greg said smoothly. ‘It’s nice for me to be here in his place, though, Olivia – and not an unwelcome surprise for you, I hope.’
‘Not at all,’ Olivia said without missing a beat. ‘Shall we begin?’
‘Good afternoon, Olivia,’ Rachel said, determined to be polite even though Olivia seemed typically indifferent to pleasantries. ‘Of course. I’ll take you through the content plan, though there’ll be no surprises there. Then we can chat about further additions and where they should sit.’
Olivia nodded, and Rachel talked through twenty slides on the advice guides and FAQs that had been agreed and drafted, plus her proposals for organising them – all of which were based on Olivia’s own sketches.
‘Fine,’ Olivia said, brushing something microscopic from the sleeve of her navy suit jacket. ‘I have a list here of the additional items I’d also like included.’ She handed a sheet of A4 to Rachel, and then another to Greg.
‘Where were these ideas drawn from, out of interest?’ Greg asked. He was smiling and sounded as easy-going as always, but Olivia prickled immediately.
‘They’re based on my experience – on my priorities for this organisation, which I’ve worked in for thirty years. Does that satisfy you?’
‘It’s not a question of whether your content satisfiesme,’ Greg said, calm and unflappable. ‘Fortunately I’ve never experienced anything like the families and individuals up here on your walls – but I know we have access to research that tells us what people in their situations might want. I’m just trying to ensure we make the most of that. Also, it’s important we consider the role of search engines in growing your visitor numbers – Google being the main priority. If people are googling for things your website doesn’t offer, they’ll be directed elsewhere.’
Olivia narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not interested in thinking aboutsearch engines,’ she said, as if they were something Greg had made up. ‘This is about creating an orderly, coherent resource that ticks the right boxes – gives a good account of us as an organisation.’
Greg, still smiling, was undeterred. ‘Olivia, forgive me – but you’re imagining the website as some sort of shop window for Lighthouse, as if it’s an interactive ad for your charity. I’d encourage you to think of it as a resource – something that grows and changes to reflect what users need. Something more like a library, perhaps, where the range of books is constantly being refined and updated.’
Olivia scoffed at this and Rachel cringed at her discourtesy. ‘If our website is to be a library,Ishall decide which books it carries.Iknow which books are required.’
‘I’m not sure you do,’ Rachel said, so softly she wasn’t sure that anyone had heard.
‘Excuse me?’ Olivia demanded.
‘I said, I’m not sure you do,’ Rachel repeated. Her voice was stronger, clearer now. ‘I presented you with a number of ideas for extra content some time ago – all based on the research Lighthouse commissioned at the end of last year. You rejected them and – as an experienced content strategist – I still question that decision.’
Olivia was sneering again. ‘I suppose you think reading one report qualifies you to understand what families like these’ – she gestured at the walls – ‘need to hear from us. You think you know better than I do because you’ve looked at somedata.’
‘No,’ Rachel said, cool and steady despite the hammering of her heart. ‘I think I know better because I come from one of those families. Iama bereaved sibling. And I know that what’s in this content plan’ – she pointed at the screen – ‘and on this list of yours, barelyscratches the surfaceof what someone in my shoes feels when their brother or sister is sick, or slips away forever.’
Silent tears had started spilling from Rachel’s eyes. Somehow, she didn’t care. Greg’s mouth had fallen open, and Olivia had turned an even paler shade of grey than usual.
As Rachel registered their astonishment, she asked herself what she was doing. But no one else spoke, and suddenly she was filling the silence with words she’d held in for too long.
‘My sister Lizzy had osteosarcoma,’ Rachel said. ‘She was first treated for it at fourteen, and we thought she was going to make a good recovery – that she’d been lucky, even. Some kids have to have amputations, as well as chemotherapy, but Lizzy got away with it. She didn’t lose her leg. Life while she was in and out of hospital was … nothing like life had been before. I’d always been a loud, clumsy, outgoing kid – always clowning around, always the one in trouble. I had to learn to rein that in – be calm in the hospital, gentle with Lizzy at home, and quiet whenever my parents managed to snatch a bit of sleep. But there were days when I didn’twantto rein it in. Days when I resented it. Days when I’d rather go to the park and play with my gran’s dog than visit my sister in hospital. In my rational mind, I know those were natural feelings for an eleven-year-old, but even twenty years later I feel ashamed of them. She was mysister, and she hadcancer– and there were some days I just couldn’t be bothered to see her.’
Olivia was staring at Rachel as if she’d never seen her before – as if she’d metamorphosed into an entirely different person. Greg was wide-eyed, not even attempting to catch the tears quietly making tracks down his face.
‘You don’t stop being a normal kid,’ Rachel continued, ‘just because you have a sibling who’s ill, or who dies. Your range of emotions doesn’t shrink to include only grief, loneliness or anger at the universe – which are pretty much the only permitted feelings on your content plan, Olivia.’
Olivia blanched, but said nothing.
‘You’re not always sorry, and you’re not always sad. Sometimes you’re bitter, resentful … vindictive, even. I feel terrible about it – I’ve felt terrible about it for the best part of two decades – but I remember one day I saw this boy from school that Lizzy liked, snogging someone else on the bus. I told her about it, even though I knew it would hurt her – revenge for some stupid, big-sister-y thing she’d done to piss me off the day before. Something I can’t even remember now. Lizzy was always cleverer, cooler and more beautiful than me,’ Rachel said, a sad smile twisting her lips. ‘She had the shiniest, loveliest golden-brown hair … I idolised her. She was the firstborn, the one who always led the way. My parents adored her. I drove her mad trying to copy her, wanting to doeverythingshe did. And I was so, so angry with her for leaving me. I didn’t just miss her – I was scared too. Scared that everyone would feel they’d drawn the short straw because Lizzy was gone and I was the one left behind.’
‘Oh, Ray …’ Greg blew his nose noisily, his eyes shining and sad.