I zone out.
Yes, we have come a very long way.
We set up Cracking Crafts nineteen years ago. Cassie, my best friend, and I took a Greyhound bus holiday along the west coast of America. I was blown away by all the homespun crafts and the hobbyists attempting to make a living from their passions. With her startling blue hair, everyone thought Cassie was the one into crafts; but it was me. When we returned to England, I declared that I was going to set up a shop selling new crafting gizmos from all over the world. My ambitions were modest, just the desire to indulge in my knitting and card-making hobbies (which were seriously uncool back then) and hopefully meet other like-minded folk. Although I had the idea, with a mediocre degree in textiles from a low-ranking college and parents who had zero business experience, I had no clue how to go about making my shop a reality.
One night, shortly after we got back from our grand tour, Cassie and I were out with friends. Ajay sat down next to me. He had recently got together with Marianne. They seemed like an unlikely couple. He had just turned thirty, a handsome Asian man with a cut-glass accent. She was a year younger than me; a peroxide blonde who had had recently begun an apprenticeship at a small hairdresser in town, a shy girl despite her brassy appearance. Our mums were friends, and we used to hang around together growing up. Despite having little in common, I liked Marianne. She didn’t say much, but when she spoke, she was hilarious.
Ajay asked me what I was doing, and when I explained my vision, he told me I should set up a bricks-and-mortar business as well as take the brand online. What brand? I asked.
Three hours later, we had a basic plan, and I had a business partner. Marianne didn’t get a say in the matter, not that she seemed to mind. Two months down the line, we were awarded a business loan from The Prince’s Trust. We split the shares fifty-fifty, and I opened up our first shop in Worthing. Ajay carried on working as an IT manager for a hardware group, helping me in the evenings and on his rare days off. Marianne supplied us with food. I ran daily courses on knitting and scrapbooking, macramé and pot throwing. The shop was a riot of colour, and it seemed as if I had caught the crest of a wave. Crafting was big and sales were impressive. A year later, we opened a second shop in Brighton, followed by another in Horsham. Ajay quit his day job and joined Cracking Crafts full time. That same year, he married Marianne, and aged twenty-three she gave birth to their son, the first of their three children.
Ajay was, and still is, a tech wizard; it’s largely thanks to his business acumen and foresight that Cracking Crafts now has over fifty shops around the UK, one of the most profitable crafting websites in Europe, and a multimillion-pounds turnover. The media describes Cracking Crafts as the number-one go-to brand for people – mainly middle-aged, middle-class women like me who like to do home crafts. Not bad for a first-generation immigrant and a girl from a council estate.
Cracking Crafts was two years old when I met Adam.
I was carrying a bulky, heavy box full of fun new products that had arrived from China, and I was eager to try them out. Dressed in scraggy patchwork jeans and an old white long-sleeve T-shirt, I pushed open the door to our largest meeting room with my bum, edging in backwards. The only time we used the room was for important meetings with the bank manager, and I expected it to be empty.
I jumped and nearly dropped the box.
‘Who are you?’
The man looked up from his laptop and hurried over to assist me.
‘Adam Palmer. I’m your auditor.’
When his hand brushed mine, I shivered.
If there was one thing that Adam Palmer didn’t look like, it was an accountant. He had the face and the physique of a male model, smoldering dark looks, designer stubble and an open-necked shirt. And I couldn’t stop staring at him.
Almost a year to the day we met, Adam and I got married. Ten months later, Mia was born, followed three years later by our son Oliver. Two years after our wedding, Adam joined Cracking Crafts as our finance director. Ajay oversaw operations and technology, and I did the marketing, including presenting our products on online shopping channels. We made a good team, Ajay, Adam and I. I say did. We are still a team.
Although today, I’m not so sure that the word good still stands.
I try to focus on the agenda. It’s hard. I have a pounding headache and I’m worrying about Adam. Worry is too weak a word. I seem to be carrying around a leaden lump in my sternum these days, fearful as to what he’s going to do next. How is it possible that the person I thought was the love of my life has turned into my enemy? An enemy that I have to be around twenty-four seven, at work and at home.
‘Lydia, what do you think?’ Ajay asks.
‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ I murmur, embarrassed.
Ajay sighs. ‘Last month, Adam proposed closing down our five least-profitable stores. We agreed we would make a decision today. Now you’ve had time to reflect on it, what are your views, Lydia?’
‘I still don’t think it’s right. I have a couple of proposals for growth that may do wonders for our profits and obviate the need to close down any stores,’ I say brightly. ‘We have several new product ranges coming in that have done really well in America–’
Adam interrupts. ‘First rule of business basics. We all know that if something has done well in the States, there is no guarantee that it will succeed here. Not a reason to bring them on board. Have you done your market research?’
Adam speaks in the tone he uses when chastising the children when they have done something silly.
I try to ignore him. ‘The ranges would be ideal for BUYIT TV, and I was thinking we could approach some of the other TV channels, such as QVC and Home Shopping Network, as well as social media influencers–’
Adam interrupts me again. ‘No. You just don’t grasp the fact that we are hemorrhaging cash. Do you want me to explain the spreadsheet to you yet again?’ He sighs. ‘I did explain it to her a couple of days ago.’ He rolls his eyes as he glances around the room, but no one meets his gaze. The wave of embarrassment that envelops our staff is palpable, causing them to shift uneasily on their chairs and tense their shoulders.
Ajay pushes his chair back and stands up, then leans forwards with his palms on the table. ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I could do with a coffee break. Why don’t we take ten minutes out? Adam and Lydia, perhaps I could have a word with you both in my office?’
The other managers bolt from the boardroom.
Our offices are in a row. Mine is nearest the boardroom, Ajay’s is next, and Adam’s is closest to the pool of staff who sit in an open-plan office. From the outside, our premises are functional: a warehouse and office block located in a business park in Partridge Green, just outside Horsham. Inside is a riot of colour – in my room at least. My office has turquoise walls, a cerise velvet sofa and a large glass-and-chrome desk. One wall is covered in wooden crates used as shelves. Inside each are brightly coloured yarns, stacks of fabric offcuts and the latest must-have crafting tools. I love the colour, the haphazard collection of crafting delights and particularly my crafting table, where, when I have time, I try out some of the newest products. I’m like a kid in a sweetie shop.
In contrast, Adam’s office has white walls, a black roller blind and an old-fashioned wooden pedestal desk, which he keeps clear of clutter. Perhaps the difference in our offices says it all.