Kicked Out
7
Lisa, you must understand that Emily is in a very difficult situation right now, Mum nudged her lukewarm tea away and fixed her gaze on me. She hasnt had a job for three months now. Shes your cousin, your own flesh and blood.
I pressed my fingertips to my temples. Sunday lunches at my parents always turned into the same conversation. Emily this, Emily that. Poor dear Emily cant seem to find her place in this cold, unforgiving world.
Mum, I run a flower shop, not a charity.
Thats not the point! Im talking about family! Mum threw up her hands. When your dad opened his first shop, who helped him? Family! Uncle Peter, Aunt Susan, everyone mucked in. And now youre turning your nose up at your own cousin.
Simon, quietly prodding his salad up until now, finally looked up.
Lisa, your mums right. Think about it its always easier to work with your own people. You can trust them. Emilys not some complete stranger.
I shot my husband a look. Brilliant, thanks for that. Simon always wanted the best for everyone. Born diplomat, that one.
Do you have any idea how much responsibility this is? I turned back to Mum. Emilys never made a bouquet in her life. Cant tell a rose from a carnation.
Shell learn! You didnt know everything when you started either.
The following days blurred into a never-ending stream of persuasion. Mum called me morning, noon, and night. Aunt Susan, Emilys mum, joined the cause too bombarding me with lengthy voice notes. Each night at dinner, Simon gently worked in a comment about how family businesses were more reliable and how blood is thicker than water.
Shes got unpaid debt, you know, Mum would moan down the line. The poor girl is drowning in it, and youre just being stubborn!
I said nothing. I was boiling inside but honestly didnt have the energy to argue.
On Friday, Emily turned up herself. She knocked on our flat door timidly, almost as if shed been rehearsing. Her expression was that of a scolded puppy, carefully practised in front of the mirror.
Lisa, I know youre annoyed. But I really will try my best. I promise. Emily looked me in the eyes, and for a moment something like sincerity flickered. I really need this job. Ill do everything you say, I swear it.
I looked over my cousin. Twenty-eight but never stuck with anything. Either the boss picked on her, colleagues bullied her, or it was the job itself that was too boring. It was always someone elses fault.
Emily, this isnt just some game. I have a business, customers, a reputation.
I understand, I really do. Ill arrive before anyone else, leave after everyones gone. Whatever you want. Just give me a chance.
I sighed. How much longer could I resist? Everyone was pressuring me from every side, pleading, insisting. Maybe I really was too harsh. Maybe Emily would pull herself together with a proper job.
Fine. Three-month probation. Youll be on the shop floor, Baker Street branch. Three lates and thats it were done talking.
Emily let out a squeal and hurled herself at me as if shed won the lottery.
Everyone was over the moon. Except me. I couldnt shake the feeling Id just made a huge mistake.
Emilys first day began with ceremony: I personally gave her a tour around the shop, explained the till, taught her how to keep the display flowers in the fridge fresh.
Spray these twice a day. These only once a week. Write it down.
Emily obediently scratched away in her notebook, nodding and smiling. The picture of the ideal employee on paper.
Reality was a different story. By Wednesday, Emily turned up forty minutes after opening.
Traffic was murder, she shrugged. All of Oxford Street was jammed.
Thursday: twenty minutes late. Friday: half an hour behind.
My alarm didnt go off. Phones acting up.
I gritted my teeth. Adjustment. Everyone needs time. You cant pounce straight away.
Within a week, the mistakes started. Emily mixed up delivery notes and sent an order to the wrong customer. Then she sold chrysanthemums as asters at half the price. Then she forgot to shut the fridge overnight, and an entire batch of roses froze.
I didnt do it on purpose! Emily batted her eyelashes, feigning wounded innocence. Theres just so much to remember. Im still learning.
I nodded. Everyone learns. I just needed to be patient.
The regulars started to notice. An elderly lady, whod ordered bouquets every Friday for three years, took me aside.
Lisa, love, please forgive me, but your new girl she puts bouquets together like shes stacking firewood. And shes rude. I asked if she might redo the arrangement, and she rolled her eyes like Id ruined her whole day.
I stood in the middle of the shop, watching another customer leave with a grumpy face. Behind the counter, Emily was engrossed in her phone, barely lifting her head to say goodbye.
It was time for a real talk. A proper grown-up conversation.
I waited for closing and asked Emily to stay back. She slumped into a chair, staring at the ceiling.
Emily, in the last two weeks, youve been late seven times, mixed up three orders, ruined nearly £400 worth of roses, and Ive had four complaints from regular clients.
Oh, here we go Emily rolled her eyes. I told you, Im learning. You cant expect perfection straight away.
Im not asking for perfection. Im asking you to come on time and not be rude to customers.
Im not rude! That old biddy started nitpicking at every petal. Am I supposed to just take it?
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Emily sat with her legs crossed, face set in an expression of self-righteous indignation. Not an ounce of remorse. Not even a hint of understanding.
Emily, this is a job. Customers pay money and they have the right to decent service.
So, some random lady off the street matters more to you than your own cousin? I get it. Thanks, Lisa.
After that, Emily stopped responding to my messages. At work, she did the bare minimum, stone-faced. If we crossed paths, shed look straight through me like I was made of glass.
Then Mum called.
What are you playing at? Mums voice was shrill with outrage. Emilys told me everything! How you shouted at her in front of everyone, humiliated her!
Mum, I talked to her privately, after closing
Dont interrupt! The poor girl was sobbing! Said you treat her like a servant. Shes family! How could you?
I closed my eyes. So Emily had managed to rewrite history. Now she was the victim. I was the tyrant, bullying the poor relation.
That evening, Simon came home subdued. He was quiet through dinner, then started, gently:
Lisa, maybe you are being a bit harsh? Emily is your family… cant you be more forgiving?
Si, shes losing me customers. Theyre leaving.
So what? Moneys not everything. Family matters more.
I stared at him. The man whod been telling me to hire her for the good of the business was now preaching about how money didnt matter.
A wave of loneliness hit me. Mum called me heartless. Simon pleaded for compromise. Aunt Susan sent a massive text about some people whove gotten above themselves and forgotten their roots. Everyone was against me. Everyone took poor Emilys side.
I spent the week trying to find a way out. Maybe give Emily another role? Cut her hours? Find her a mentor? But every morning brought new problems yet another angry customer, another botched order, another exaggerated sigh as Emily caught sight of me.
Then, one cold clear evening, I knew: it was impossible. Family and business dont mix. Compassion shouldnt be mistaken for professionalism. You cant risk everything youve built for someone elses comfort.
It took fifteen minutes to let her go. I laid Emilys notice in front of her, signed the paperwork, paid her out. Everything above board.
Emily grabbed the documents and stormed out of the office without even a goodbye.
That night, my phone buzzed so much it was almost hot. Heartless. Full of yourself. Threw family out on the street. Mum was sobbing down the phone. Aunt Susan threatened to disown me forever. Even Simon watched me with disappointment, shaking his head.
You do realise now Christmas will be a nightmare? he said quietly.
I know.
And you still dont regret it?
Did I regret it? The wasted time? Yes. The money lost on ruined flowers? Certainly. For listening to familys pressure? Absolutely.
But firing Emily? Not a second.
A month went by. Then six. Turnover was up twenty percent. The regulars came back. My new team did their job like clockwork on time, smiling, no more mixing up asters and chrysanthemums.
These days I skip family lunches. Mum and I keep our chats brief. When I pass Emily in town, she looks the other way, nose in the air.
I look at my thriving business three shops now, steady profits, loyal customers and I know I did the right thing. Family and work belong in different worlds. Mixing them means losing both.
I chose my work. And I havent regretted it once.
