Chapter Thirty-Six

I never thought I’d be back at school, but here I am, striding towards the gates in my pointy-shouldered blazer. It isn’t my old school, but a primary in Cleveleys that has taken me two buses to reach. But I’m on time for my interview and I don’t have chewing gum stuck to my trousers (I double-check before I step through the gates. Nope, nothing). The role is for an administrative assistant and I’m sure I can hit all the necessary criteria. I’m used to dealing with people, I’ve been keeping the admin up to date at the chippy for weeks now, and I know my way around Word and Excel. Plus, dealing with dinner money will be a piece of cake after being responsible for cashing up on a Friday night once the Red Lion’s customers have piled into the chippy after a live performance in the pub, so I’m feeling pretty confident as I stride up to the school’s reception and press the buzzer. I’m permitted access to the building and told to wait in the little reception area. The chairs are big and squishy and covered in a bright blue fabric, and the walls are covered in vibrant artwork from the kids, which gives the space a lovely jolly feel. I particularly like the painting of a rainbow-striped fish that uses every single shade of paint available. Yes, I can definitely see myself working here, surrounded by colour and joy every day.

It’s been three days since Russell’s confession, but I still haven’t made up my mind about what to do about the job opportunity, and my friends haven’t been much help. Maryam and Bridget think I should be brave and take the leap away from the comfort of the chippy and embark on a new adventure (though I suspect the real reason for Bridget’s enthusiasm for my new venture is so she can swoop in and snatch the manager’s position herself) while James and Claire can’t understand why I’d give up a job I love so much to start a new one I may end up hating. So the decision still lies with me, which I am not happy about. I’d quite like somebody to take charge and tell me what to do, but that isn’t what being a grown-up is all about. It’s my decision, and I have to be the one to make it. Even if I really, really don’t want to.

I’m not sure how the interview goes. I try my best to be charming and engaging, but the woman interviewing me is quite cold and isn’t giving anything away. I make the return journey home with less confidence than I arrived with, but I haven’t given up hope, even if it is the last interview I have scheduled. I’ve applied for loads of jobs, widening my options to include everything from trainee estate agent to data analyst to telephone counsellor – anything that’s office-based, basically, so I don’t have to confess my porkies to Paul – but the well has run dry. At this rate, I’ll have no choice but to remain at the chippy indefinitely. How I’ll explain it to Paul, I have no idea, but I’ll have to come up with something. I’m already going to have to fudge the truth about the driving, because I’m nowhere near passing my test – I haven’t even attempted my theory yet – so my options are to either tell Paul that I’m banned due to drink-driving (not ideal when you’re trying to give the impression you’re super-mature) or that my car is in the garage. For a really, really long time.

‘How did it go?’ Claire pounces as soon as I step into the chippy. My shift doesn’t start for another three hours, but I’ve headed straight to The Fish he doesn’t know I work in the chippy, and if he stumbled across me here, it’d be him on the receiving end of the surprise. The fact dawns on me a split second before I see the ponytailed teenage girl standing awkwardly by the counter, but I’m still disappointed not to see him standing there in her place.

‘Abbie. Hello.’ My heart rate has slowed to a more normal level after it spiked during the short trip from the back room to the shop, but I still sound flustered as I greet the girl. ‘Do you want to come through to the back? We’ll sort you out a tabard and everything and start with the basics.’

I’d invited Elliot’s friend to come in during a quieter period between the teatime and supper rush so I could show her the ropes before her first shift starts at the weekend, but it totally slipped my mind as I’ve been focused on the interview this morning and the subsequent ‘go to hell’ email. (Okay, I’m starting to sound bitter now. Must stop and focus on Abbie, who’s looking a bit pale and nervy.)

‘Is this your first job?’ I grab a tabard from one of the spare lockers and hand it to her. Our interview was nothing more than a quick chat, which mostly consisted of arranging suitable shifts, so I don’t know much about Abbie, other than the fact she’s a college friend of Elliot.

‘Is it that obvious?’ Abbie scrunches up her nose. ‘I’m really, really nervous.’

‘Don’t be. It’s a really fun job.’ Unless you’re sharing a shift with Bridget, but I don’t mention this as I don’t want to put her off before she’s even begun. ‘You get to have a laugh with everyone and get to know the customers. And it isn’t obvious it’s your first job. It’s just it was my first job while I was at college. But don’t worry – you won’t end up still working here in ten years’ time. You’ll be off doing… what is it you want to do?’

Abbie slips the tabard over her head and fastens the press studs at the sides. ‘I want to do something arty – illustrator, animator, something like that. I haven’t decided yet.’

‘That sounds really cool. And you won’t have to wear one of these doing a job like that.’ I hand over a hairnet and help Abbie to push her hair underneath it. ‘Sorry, it isn’t very attractive, but you get used to it and the hat covers most of it.’

Once Abbie’s kitted out, we head into the kitchen where I show her how to use the rumbling machine that peels the potatoes before rinsing them. We sing along to the radio as we slice the potatoes into thick chips, and I take it as a Good Sign that Abbie knows the words to ‘Mr Blue Sky’. It doesn’t matter that she’s never heard of The Who (‘No, not Doctor Who. They’re a band’) or Mud (‘Tiger Feet? Never heard of it’) because she’ll soon learn if the Seventies vibe remains.

‘We all chip in – if you’ll pardon the pun – with making the chips, so don’t worry, you won’t be stuck in the kitchen all day.’ I lift the bucket of chipped potatoes and carry it into the shop. ‘We’ll get you serving customers as well, because that’s the best bit of working here. Hello, Gwen. We don’t usually see you on a Wednesday.’ The chippy is empty, apart from Gwen, who’s being served by Maryam.

‘I know, love, but my Tim’s over with his family for a week. Arrived this afternoon and they’re already driving me up the wall. I love them to death, but I needed a break so I offered to treat us to an early fish and chip tea.’

‘Salt and vinegar?’ Maryam holds the salt shaker up.

‘Yes, please, love. And I’ll have a large brandy if you’ve got one handy back there.’

We all laugh, even though I don’t think Gwen is kidding about the brandy.

‘How are things at the charity shop?’ Gran misses her volunteer work, especially the camaraderie of working in the shop on Saturday afternoons. She’s slowly getting back to her normal routines after the fall – she’s resumed her role of Brown Owl and she’ll be returning to her lollipop lady duties after the Easter holidays – but the dog-walking and charity shop are still on hold.

‘We had a rather… interesting donation the other day.’ Gwen shuffles forward and leans her elbows on the counter. ‘Now, I’m not going to name names, but a certain… mature lady, shall we say… brought in a bag of old clothes. Said she was having a clear-out and getting rid of the winter stuff she doesn’t wear any more. Which is fair enough. Except, nestled in amongst her jumpers and cardigans was a pair of nipple tassels. I couldn’t believe it! I mean, what would a ninety-odd-year-old woman want with those ?’ Gwen raises her eyebrows as she straightens up and grabs the bag from the counter. ‘Anyway, I’d better get this lot back to Tim and the kids before it gets cold.’ She raises a hand in farewell and then she’s gone.

‘Is it always like this?’ Abbie’s eyes are fixed on the window, watching as Gwen crosses the road.

‘It can be.’ I don’t want to put Abbie off working here, but I also want her to be prepared, because that morsel of gossip is pretty tame by Gwen’s standards. Her tales from the charity shop are legendary. They’re yet another thing I’ll miss if I jump ship.

‘I think I’m going to like working here.’ A grin spreads across Abbie’s face as she watches Gwen disappear from view, and I can’t help smiling myself.

‘It is a great place to work, even if I could do with less of the old lady nipple tassels.’ My phone starts to ring in the pocket of my tabard as the door opens and Babs steps into the shop. I must have forgotten to turn it off earlier.

‘Here you go, Abbie. Your first customer. Want to have a go?’

Babs is the perfect customer to ease Abbie into the job; she wouldn’t stop smiling even if the new girl completely ballsed the order up. Abbie bites her bottom lip, but she nods and heads for the counter without any hint of nerves. Leaving Maryam to supervise, I head to the back room to answer my phone. I wouldn’t usually answer while working, but there have to be some perks to being manager, however temporary.

‘Hello?’ I don’t recognise the number displayed, so I’m expecting it to be one of those annoying scam calls. Not that I have much money for them to scam from me.

‘Can I speak to Cleo Parker?’

I pull out a chair in the back room and plonk myself down, holding back a sigh as I prepare myself for the spiel I’ve heard a million times before. ‘Speaking.’

‘Hi, it’s Nigel Wolfenden, the HR officer from Brightman Rose Limited.’

I sit up a bit straighter, startling myself when the chair lurches to the right. HR officer. Some company that sounds vaguely familiar. This must be about a job I’ve applied for.

‘You had an interview with us a little while ago.’

I slump down again. Of course. Nigel. Brightman Rose Limited. The chewing gum on my tights fiasco, followed by a terrible interview that resulted in an inevitable wouldn’t-employ-you-in-a-million-years rejection email (it didn’t say that, obviously, but I’m still feeling rather bitter about the whole process).

‘And I’m delighted to offer you the role of junior credit controller.’

There’s a pause while I try to get my head around the job offer. Nigel is presumably trying to persuade his voice to sound as delighted as he’s claiming, because it currently sounds as flat as a pancake that’s been run over by a monster truck. Repeatedly.

‘But you already turned me down. You thanked me for my interest in the position but said you’d gone with a candidate with more experience.’ And presumably a candidate who arrived for the interview on time and without a ladder running the length of their tights.

‘Yes. That’s right.’ Nigel clears his throat. ‘But that, er, didn’t quite work out. So if you’re still interested in the position…’

‘Yes! I am.’ I leap to my feet, almost knocking my chair over with my zeal. ‘Very interested. Couldn’t be more interested if I tried.’

I can’t believe it. I’ve actually secured myself a new job. An office-based job with career prospects, just like I set out to do. And I’m sure once the shock has worn off, I’ll feel absolutely delighted about it and the overwhelming urge to burst into tears will subside.