The Dr Pepper Prophecies (15 page)

'I got an interview!' I shriek.

God, I’m glad Martin’s not on the floor today.  Then I’d have to take holiday for it instead of calling in sick.

Come on, everyone does it.  And, in this office, I mean
everyone
.  It's in the unofficial staff handbook.

'Let me see,' Cynthia says, reaching for the letter.

I hand it over.  I want her to read it anyway, just so I’m sure I’m not dreaming.

'You got an interview!' she shrieks. 'That’s fantastic!  I’m so happy for you and hardly even jealous at all.'

I beam stupidly at her.  This is like having a kilogram bar of Dairy Milk injected straight into my bloodstream.

'How much does this job pay?' Cynthia demands.

'I don’t know,' I say dreamily. 'I can’t even remember what the company does.  But who cares?  It’ll be so much better than here, if only because it doesn’t have Martin.'

'Look it up on the Internet,' Cynthia says enthusiastically.  I’m so blissed out that I don’t even care that she’s just using this as an excuse to procrastinate.

I take the letter back from her and type in the address of the company website.  Internet Explorer creaks into action at its usual break-neck speed – that of a lethargic snail.

Hey, this place looks pretty cool.  But then anything does when you work in insurance.

'Well, what do they do?' Cynthia asks, between Maltesers.

I start to laugh. 'They’re a recruitment company,' I choke out.  I laugh more and more. 'I…would…be…helping…other…people…find…jobs.'

Cynthia starts to laugh too.  Before long we’re verging on hysteria.  The people wandering through admin stop looking curious and start looking worried.

'So you’re going to be a…'
Cynthia suppresses another fit of the giggles, '…recruitment consultant?'

'Well, no,' I say, checking the letter again. 'They want an administrator.  By the looks of it, I’d be doing pretty much what I do here, but I’d get to go on reception as well, so a bit of variety involved.  Plus, it’s more money.' I scan the profile on the website. 'Still not a lot, but more.'

Beggars can’t be choosers.  My present salary barely reaches five figures.  Intensely depressing.  All my teachers told me that a degree would mean a high paid job.  They lied.

'When’s the interview?' Cynthia asks
, tapping her nails on the desktop.

'Friday,' I say automatically.  Then I look again. 'Oh God,
this
Friday.  That’s inhuman.  I’m not ready.  I can’t possibly read all those books I got in time.  I haven’t even picked an outfit.'

'Maybe you could ask Matt to help you prepare?' Cynthia suggests.

Now that’s a good idea.  I will.  I’ll ask Will to help me prepare.

**

My new optimistic mood, once I’ve gone firmly into denial over how soon my fate will be decided, makes it really, really difficult not to tell everyone about my interview.  It’s an accepted part of the whole sick day thing that you don’t tell anyone about it until after you’ve done it.  Then everyone glosses over that bit.

But Julie, I can tell Julie.  So I go to see her instead.

Julie’s in tears, or very close.  That’s not right.

'What’s the matter?' I ask, stealing the chair from the empty cubicle beside her.

Julie wipes her eyes with a tissue, all her concealer coming away from the dark circles underneath them. 'It’s nothing,' she sniffs. 'Just another nasty caller.'

They do get some horrendous ones.  Is it any wonder we get through so many biscuits in this office?

But negotiators don’t usually cry.  They often swear, they never waste holiday or sick leave and one once punched a hole in the wall, but they don’t cry.

'You don’t usually cry,' I point out, handing her another tissue.

'PMS,' Julie answers.  Another tear rolls slowly down her face. 'And you know I always let these things get to me.  It’s silly really, but it’s so hard not to take it personally.'

Julie is definitely the most sensitive of the lot.  Personally, I think the job is too stressful for her.  In fact, I think it’s too stressful for anyone capable of experiencing the full range of human emotions.

'Do you want to get an early lunch?' I ask sympathetically.

So what if it’s only eleven?  My adre
naline surge has made me hungry and Julie’s in pain.

'I can’t, I have too much work to do,' Julie says, resolutely pulling herself together. 'I’ll talk to you later, okay?'

'Okay,' I agree reluctantly.  I can’t exactly force her.

Damn, I guess that means I have to get back to my own job.

**
 

I’m not overly fond of libraries these days.  They tend to invoke flashbacks to when I was revising for finals.  When I discovered that I knew hardly anything about economics and that I didn’t understand what I did know.  The reason that I’m going to one now is because I have to talk to Beth.  And the reason for that is that I just fixed another blind date for tomorrow night.

I have complete confidence that this one will be a success.

I find Beth exactly where I expected to find her, in the children's library, pottering around tiding up the books that today’s batch of ankle-biters have left all over the floor.  Whenever I see Beth at work, I always find two things very hard to believe.  One, that there’s a worse job than mine and two, that Beth doesn't realise she has it.

'Hello, Mel,' Beth says warmly, looking tired but content, as opposed to tired and fed up like I would be. 'You don’t usually come here, is everything alright at home?'

'It’s fine,' I say, perching myself precariously on a table shaped like a ladybird. 'I just thought I’d pop by for a quick chat.'

Is it my imagination, or is there the tiniest hint of suspicion on Beth’s face?  Hmm, maybe she’s finally learning to translate that phrase.

'About?' Beth asks, going down on her knees and busying herself tidying a shelf so she doesn’t have to look at me.

'Well, I just wanted to apologise again for last night,' I start.  I’ve got this whole big speech planned about the importance of not giving up. 'But, you know, everyone has a lousy date once in a while.  It’s Mother Nature’s way of encouraging procreation by making you feel that mediocre men could be a lot worse.  So, really, I think…'

'You’ve already made another date, haven’t you?' Beth says.

I can’t see her face and her tone is carefully neutral, so I don’t know whether she’s resigned to it or whether this may turn into a scene from
Single White Female
.

'I’m sure it’ll be better than the last one.'

'Whom have you chosen?' Beth asks, giving up tiding and sitting down cross-legged on the floor, facing me.  A worried look crosses her face. 'Not the fish paste man?'

'Beth,' I say gravely, 'I promise I will never set you up with someone like that.  I’m only doing this because I’m positive that it’s in your best interests.'

Beth gives me a small nod of acceptance and pulls her knees up to her chest.

'This guy is called Charles,' I tell her. 'He didn’t say much in his message, except that he’s a health club member, which has to mean that he’s pretty fit.  And he was definitely not one of the Bondage Brigade.  We’re going to the Chinese buffet up in town tomorrow night.'

Beth starts to smile. 'I love Chinese food,' she says.

Hence my choice.  Of course both Will and I like nothing except fried rice, but never mind.  We’ll just fill up on lasagne while Beth’s getting ready.

'I have a really good feeling about this one,' I say confidently. 'I mean, Charles – it’s a very distinguished name.  We’ve had two kings called that, after all.  The fact that both of them were beheaded is purely coincidental.'

Beth smiles. 'A very minor detail,' she says.

'I’m serious,' I insist. 'Beth and Charles – that sounds like a great combination.  I bet he’ll be this toned Adonis, with a tight butt and an eight-pack.  And a great personality, obviously.'

'Of course,' Beth agrees, a little teasing edge creeping into her voice.

Hey, what do you know?  I think she’s learning to banter.

'And he’s got to be about a million times better than any of the geeky bookworms you could meet here,' I finish triumphantly.

Beth’s face sort of freezes.  On instinct, I turn around.

Murphy’s law dictates that it’s the ultimate geeky bookworm.  Andrew – the guy I convinced Beth to turn down.

He clears his throat and I shift uncomfortably on the table.  I know I called him a socially-retarded loser, but I didn't mean it personally. 'Here are the keys to the toy library,' he says, holding them out to Beth. 'Could you check the number of dice in the games?  There’s extra in a box under the desk if there’s one missing.'

'Thanks,' Beth says quietly.  Her neck has gone pink and she’s not meeting his eyes as she takes the keys. 'Have a nice day off.'

'I’ll see you on Monday,' he says and gets out of there as quickly as he can, looking at the floor.  Beth bites her lip as she stares after him.

'Sorry,' I mutter. 

I know, I should have said it while he was here.

'I need to finish tidying up here before I can leave,' Beth answers softly.

I pretty much just want to get out of there too.

'I’ll see you at home,' I say, raising myself up from the table carefully. 'Tell him I didn’t mean it,' I add uncomfortably.

Beth nods. 'I will,' she says, not looking at me again.

I hurry out of there, avoiding making eye contact with anyone in case I see Andrew.

Okay, now that I wish I hadn’t done.  I mean, he's Beth's friend after all.

Sometimes I should just keep my mouth shut.

'Okay,' Will says, pacing up and down in front of the dining table. 'Quick quiz.'

I sit up straight in my chair, cross my legs at the ankle and fold my hands neatly in my lap.  I feel like I’m in
The Princess Diaries
.

'Ready,' I say, fixing my best ‘hire me’ smile on my face.

Will pauses and looks me up and down. 'I know I said look alert, but you need to relax a little bit more,' he says. 'You look constipated.'

My smile fades somewhat.

'I’m trying as hard as I can,' I grumble, yanking my practise interview skirt a little closer to my knees. 'This position is unnatural.'

'But it looks good if it’s done right,' Will insists.

I've said it before, I'll say it again.  Natalie is a bad influence on him.

'Quiz,' I say, through clenched teeth. 'We can go back to posture class later.'

'Right,' Will says slowly.  He now appears to be trying to channel Anne Robinson.  I feel suitably scared.

'If they ask if your boss will mind you being away for several hours, what do you say?'

Ooo, I know this one.

'I nonchalantly mention that I had holiday coming, thus implying that I took some of it instead of claiming to be at death's door,' I say triumphantly.

'Correct,' the Quiz Master pronounces. 'Under what circumstances should the following be mentioned: degree class, present salary, real reason for wanting to leave present job?'

'First two only if they ask outright,' I reply. 'Last one
not under any circumstances.'

It’s not like I’m going to forget any of that.

'Correct.  If they ask you how you get on with your current manager, what should you do?'

'Lie through my teeth.'

'Obviously.'

Will is now doing the Anne Robinson posture as well.  I’m getting a little worried.

'If they ask you why you want the job, what should you not tell them?'

'The truth,' I reply confidently.

'Which is?'

'More money and no Martin.'

'What should you say instead?'

'The chance to develop my skills in a new field, increased variety and career progression.'

'Right.'

Will fixes me with a penetrating stare. 'What is your motto?' he asks.

'There’s the truth and there’s…' I produce a perky smile, '…
the truth
.'

Will nods like a proud father. 'Everything you need to know in life, you can learn from watching
The Simpsons
,' he says.

'Am I ready now?' I ask impatiently.

We've been practising for an hour and all we've accomplished is to make me realise exactly how many things I could get wrong.

I’m starting to think that Will should apply for this job instead of me.

Of course, it would be a serious step down for him.

But maybe then Natalie would dump him.

Hmmm.

'That depends,' Will says. 'Do you feel ready?'