Out Late with Friends and Regrets (57 page)

“OK, I guess so. I’ll phone Rosie and ask if she can make it.”

“Ask Siobhan as well. She sounds like a great girl. We’ll have a real party. Oh, have you applied for any jobs yet?”

“What do you mean? I can’t, until I’m qualified.”

“Why not? You’re
going
to pass, aren’t you? Apply now, and just tell them when you expect to get your qualification.
 
Wouldn’t you be annoyed if there was a job going and they gave it to someone else, the day before you applied? Besides, it’s good to keep the momentum going, you’ll still be fresh.”

“Well, it’s a thought.
 
Yes, why not? Nothing to lose, I guess, except my entire future prospects if I don’t pass.”

Ellie shook her head, and persisted with, “So when are you going to do it?”

“I could pick up a form from Harfordleisure, or write and apply next weekend.”

“Why not tomorrow? They’re open on Sunday, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but I’ve got a hell of a lot of study to do tomorrow, then I have to leave home at about six.”

“Oh, come on, how long is it going to take? Tell you what, let’s draft a letter here and now, then you can type it out in five minutes and drop it off on your way to Brum,” said Ellie, seizing and unfolding an unused napkin and riffling through her bag for a pen.

Fin shook her head.
 
“You’re something else, Ellie, you really are.
 
You win, I’ll pick up an application form tomorrow.”

Ellie pursed her lips.
 
“Well, I think a letter will make a better impression than a form or an email, if we get the tone right.
 
I think employers like a bit of enthusiasm.
 
Besides, it shows that you’re literate, apart from anything else.”

They worked on the letter, Fin curbing the more excessive claims suggested by Ellie, which were tending to become more imaginative as the wine sank down her glass.

“-‘having been double-jointed from childhood - ’ ”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, that’ll have to do us, then.
 
Care to read it back? Oh, hang on, here’s the Queen of the North.”

She rose to embrace Desiree, who made much of turning her head away to avoid contact with her lipstick, and Fin followed suit.

Desiree held her at arm’s length, commenting, “Well, Gorrgeous, if ye wiz as rich as ye are thin, ye might stan’ a chance wi’ me.
 
Ah cuid shave masel’ on they cheekbones.”

“Told you,” said Ellie.
 
“I prescribe double Complan at bedtime.”

“That shite,” said Desiree, “a few deep-fried Mars bars, hen, tha’ll puit hairs on yer chest, nae bother.”

“Er, thanks.
 
How’s things with you?” said Fin.

“No bad, no bad,” admitted Desiree with a shrug of the eyebrows.
 
“Youse comin’ down?”

“Actually-”

“You bet we are!”

Fin managed to end the evening before midnight, leaving Jetsam’s not too drunk, and still with the possibility of getting some work done the next day.
 
She gave Ellie a savage hug of gratitude as they parted.

“You’ll be
fine
,” said Ellie.

“You’re ma pal, pal,” replied Fin, in mock Glaswegian, hanging on Ellie’s neck and rolling her eyes.

“Think you may just have turned the corner, my flower,” said Ellie.
 
“Don’t forget to type out the letter and deliver it, will you?”

“Promise.
 
Thanks, Ellie.
 
Lovely evening.
 
’Bye!”

After clearing her head with a pint of cold water and a strong coffee, Fin spent the day doing homework and practising moves.
 
The letter looked slightly ridiculous in the light of day, but with a bit of editing it was good enough to transfer from table napkin to A4, then sign and envelope.
 
She handed it in at Harfordleisure, and felt a pinprick of optimism as she set off back for the Wayfarer.
 
It was surprising what
doing
something could do for your wellbeing.

“Well, the good news is, I think it highly likely you’ll all pass the theory despite the eighty percent pass threshold,” said Nicky.
 
“Keep your heads down with the set work, guys, and you’ll nail it
.
 
But
...”

Thursday, and a dizzying amount of input.
 
The pace just seemed to be rising by the week.
 
Lunchtimes, previously a welcome oasis of babble and banter in the hard-working day, had become oddly quiet, people mouthing excerpts of the manual as they ate.
 
There were lighter moments.
 
Bert, the CPR dummy, apparently suffered a broken rib as Fin, in the approved kneeling position, tried to resuscitate him.
 
As she zealously pressed down with the heel of her hand her own force carried her forward and left her sprawling across his torso in far too intimate a fashion.
 
He was pronounced dead at the scene, until Shelley restored him to rubbery health, as the next in line to give succour.

“
But
...”

Nicky was not one for dramatic pauses, but she did allow herself one on this occasion.

“ ...the theory paper has been brought forward to next Wednesday...”

A few murmurs, no big deal, one evening less for swotting.

“...because the practical is going to be on
Thursday
.”

Shock-horror-sensation. Exclamations, groans, gasps, and an explosion of protest.

“Sorry guys, can’t be helped, I know you thought you had another three weeks to prepare your routines, but unfortunately I’ve just heard that the assessor has been contracted to launch a coaching scheme in the far east and this is the only date we can get her.”

“Isn’t there anyone else?” asked Gary.

“Not this side of March, I’m afraid, and you’ll all be wanting to look for jobs as soon as possible.
 
You can’t work without the qualification.”

“Who is it, anyway?” asked Audrey.

“It’s Faye McKee,” replied Nicky, “she’s very experienced, there’s nothing she doesn’t know about the fitness business.”

“Oh God,” said Audrey, “my mate failed with her.
 
She’s really, really tough!”

The clamour of despond erupted anew.
 
Nicky clapped for silence.

“One of the attributes of a good instructor,” she said, “is the ability to adapt to difficult circumstances.
 
Now I know this is going to make things a bit more testing for us all, but I’ve arranged with the college that we can use the hall until eight every night if anyone wants to put extra time in.”

“So when do we sleep?” asked a small girl called Jodi, who went home to an unruly toddler every night.

“A week.
 
A week is all it is,” said Nicky.
 
“Yes, you’ll be short of sleep, but you don’t have to hold it together for more than a week.
 
Set that against the whole of your future career.”

Career? This was originally going to be a little part-time job, for an extra bob or two, thought Fin.
 
But now I really do want it.

“What about the weekend, Nicky?” she asked, “Any chance of getting some practice in at the weekend?”

Nicky paused, perhaps reviewing her own plans, then she said, “I’ll have to clear it with the college authorities, but if I can get them to agree, who would be keen to come in on Saturday and Sunday?”

Most of the class put their hands up, and weirdly, Fin felt a sense of pride.
 
Daft.

It was pleasantly different on Friday, not having to motor back to Harford, especially as it had been snowing, and the roads were starting to slush up.
 
Avi, the desk clerk at the Wayfarer, seemed to take it as a personal compliment that she wanted to stay over the weekend.

“I’ll be hoping for nice comments in the visitors’ book, you know, Miss Hay, when you leave us at last!” he said.

“No problem, Avi,” she said, “how many pages you got?”

He laughed.
 
The world was OK really.

By Wednesday, Fin was actually using Marie as a control, conjuring her up briefly to dampen down her crippling exam nerves.
 
She almost had the balance right, keyed up, but without the near-hysteria expressed by some of the girls, or the suppressed tension of the men.
 
The theory paper was to be sat in the gym, now set out with desks. The students trooped downstairs at ten, thankful that at least it would be over by lunch, and that as the questions were multiple-choice. Nicky would have them marked by mid-afternoon.
 
Most prepared with a banana at break-time, and took a bottle of water down with them; at the bottom of the stairs they hugged briefly or shook hands before entering the exam hall.

“What did you think?” asked Shelley.

“Well, I’m crossing my fingers like mad,” replied Fin, tucking into a large baked potato with an eruption of melted cheese on top, “but it didn’t seem
too
bad.
 
How did you get on yourself, Shell?”

“Yeah, OK, actually.
 
Bit dube about one or two of the questions.”

“I was kind of miffed – nothing on sarcomeres and the sliding filament theory!”

“Oh,
so
sorry about that, Fin.
 
But you’ll pass all right, clever clogs.”

“You too.
 
You’ve got an amazing memory.”

Shelley sighed.
 
“Just wish I could remember me routine for tomorrow.
 
Nicky said to keep it simple, but I put a couple of moves in I’m regretting now, dunno if they’ll come off...”

“I’m simply not ready.
 
Not ready at all,” replied Fin.

She left the baked potato half-eaten.

There was some tense practice after lunch, the hall now empty of desks. People walked silently through their routines with the occasional hop or dip, mouthing instructions and flashing smiles at imaginary clients as the music pumped through their earpieces.
 
Fin thought what a strange sight she and her classmates might present to an uninformed observer: a group of demented individuals performing peculiar and disparate dances, each one ignoring all the others.

Something penetrated the group consciousness, and one by one they turned to the door where Nicky was waving to them, to summon them upstairs.
 
Stampede.
 
They were seated in the classroom in record time.

“Don’t look so worried, guys!” said Nicky.
 
“You’ve all made it – one or two by the skin of their teeth – but you’re all through!”

The room filled with cheers and screams of delight, and Nicky handed back the papers.

“I don’t usually pick out individuals, but I think we should all particularly congratulate Audrey, who gained a perfect score-”

“Yeah! Hooray!” yelled the others.

“-and Gary and Shelley, with only one wrong-”

Further clamour and applause.