the announcement

Two years ago, at our staff Christmas party, we told our staff that we had signed a contract to sell our business. It took another 8 months before the handover was completed. I am now realising that the experience of building up a successful business over 20 years as well as the experience of letting go what had effectively become a huge part of our marriage and family as well as part of who we are as people, is something I must write about next year.

I wrote the story below last year when I was still dealing with the night of the announcement.

Standing in the foyer, I can see our staff arriving for the Christmas dinner. I am aware that I have a secret. Bruce and I have been harbouring this shocking secret for almost six months. I feel a nervous churning in my stomach.

I am the designated speaker, the one to tell this tale to them all. I have been practising the speech for six months, waking fitfully and rehearsing at 3am. Tears course down my cheeks every time I say the words. I have perfected it now, honed it to a beautiful script. I am due to tell them after we have eaten entree. God, only a couple of hours to go.

I damp down my anxiety push my rehearsal into the background. I put on my friendly smiling welcoming face. I pretend it is just another Christmas dinner.

The waitress brings a glass of white wine. I take the glass gratefully. I sip the cool dry liquid and feel it soothe me. I admire the view from the window. The Opera House and Harbour Bridge are lit up against the inky night sky.

Behind me I hear the happy joyous chatter as our staff reconnect, greet each other and share their wishes for the Festive Season. "This is such a gorgeous location" they say. Little do they know.

The room feels warm and close. I move to chat to a small group of laughing women. We talk about our plans for Christmas, how we will spend time with family. I cover my deception with chitter chatter.

I am relieved when we are ushered into our private room. Twenty four people sit around the table. Bruce and I are together at the head. I study the menu and choose my meal thoughtfully. The table looks pretty. Tea lights twinkle. I hear the snap of Christmas crackers. Brightly coloured hats adorn their heads. There is laughter and enjoyment. I am aware how shortly this will change.

The final plates are cleared. It is time. I rise to my feet. The waitress has been pre-warned. She discreetly finishes filling water glasses and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I take a breath, aware that all eyes are on me. I tell a story. I say the words that I have rehearsed. I tell them gently, softly and with love, Bruce and I have reached a decision. We have signed a contract to sell the business. They will all have jobs, not much will change, just that we will leave and be replaced by a company that they know and love.

It wasn't so hard. Surprisingly, I didn't cry. It felt so good, like a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I take in all the faces. So many people are crying. Quietly, softly just letting tears trickle down their faces. They will miss us and we will miss them.

I sit down. Bruce stands and reassures them. We had to do it. We are sorry. We will be there for the ride. We won't be leaving for 8 months. It's not over yet. We invite questions. The questions come. Slowly at first, they ask, we answer.

Then more food arrives. They turn to each other and engage. At least, they have each other on that they can depend.

Sydney Harbour by night 2011