Читать книгу Four Christmases and a Secret - Zara Stoneley, Zara Stoneley - Страница 21
Оглавление8 a.m., 4 April
The final countdown has started, and I have far too much to do before my very important interview. Once I put my newly purchased interview outfit on, there is No More Time Left.
Things I must do before my interview
My new improved lists are definitely the answer, my brain already feels less scrambled. This is my first significant list, it is phase one of my preparation for the interview. I am already becoming more like Frankie. She is so together even her wardrobe is organised by colour and type. She can actually find co-ordinating stuff and doesn’t have to root in the wash basket, under the bed and through drawers to find the top she’s after. Then iron it. Ever. She also has a good job, and the big room in our flat. Because it is actually her flat, and I rent a corner. I need to work towards a proper flat share.
1 Hair – 1pm, booked
2 Nails and eyebrows – 3pm, booked! These two are very important, because if I look and feel professional and confident, it will come across in my interview. Everybody says this, including my mother
3 Read through CV every day
4 Find photo of James Masters online (done) and visualise interview – visualisation imperative according to books
5 Prepare intelligent questions – done
6 Wash S—
9.00 a.m., 4 April
‘Oh, you are there, Daisy!’ Mum says this as though she’s been desperately trying to reach me for the past few hours, when the truth of the matter is that my phone has rung out six times.
‘I was in the middle of something!’ Point 5 on my list actually, and I’d have forgotten what it was if I’d stopped. The phone ringing was so annoying that I did have to stop in the middle of point 6, but I know I’ll remember what that is.
‘I’m sure it can’t have been that important, dear.’ Mum thinks it’s rude if you don’t answer within three rings. ‘Oh no, I’m not interrupting anything am I?’ She chortles in a horribly suggestive way. Not that I mind people being suggestive, but my mother? ‘You’re not busy with your young man, are you?’ I’ve got a suspicion she’s crossing her fingers and giving Dad the thumbs-up.
‘No, Mother, I was writing a list!’
‘Oh.’ She sounds disappointed. Honestly, I know she’s menopausal, but living vicariously through your daughter’s sex life is so not on, is it?
‘Simon and I have consciously uncoupled.’ I say primly. I have to admit at this point that I have not been entirely honest with my mother. After our big argument at Christmas, Simon and I had been on a slow fade. Honestly, that man is such a jerk I don’t know why I dated him at all.
‘You’ve unconsciously what dear? Is that a euphemism for sex with your eyes shut?’
I sigh. ‘We’ve split up.’
‘Oh dear, that’s a shame, but never mind darling I’m sure you’ll find a proper boyfriend one day.’
I am going to ignore that comment, skimming through the free excerpt of How to be the Zen you has taught me that inner calm will help with outer chaos, or something like that. At the moment lists seem more practical though. ‘I don’t want to seem picky, but shouldn’t a girl your age at least be in possession of an en-suite? Delia’s daughter has a lovely two bed roomed flat and they’re both en-suite!’
‘Who is Delia?’ I try not to sigh because that will make her worse. She already thinks I’m dysfunctional, sad and lonely. Incomplete because I am over thirty (just), single, have a crap career and rent a room. I don’t even have my own dog, he just lodges with me.
‘Next door, darling. The new people? They’ve got two children and they’ve both got their own places even though they’re single like you are! And as for Oliver, I was talking to Vera only the other day, and did you know he has—’
I might have to scream. ‘Mum. I am rather busy, I’m trying to find you a perfect birthday present.’ I’m not, I haven’t even thought about her present yet. Need to put that on a list, pronto. It’s a ‘significant’ one this year, (but nobody is allowed to mention numbers) and Dad has arranged a party. At Uncle T’s. Partly because Uncle T is much better at arranging things like that than Dad, and partly because it is supposed to be a surprise. But Mum of course found out, because she is exceedingly nosy. ‘Really going to have to go!’ I do not want to hear about the perfect Oliver Cartwright. I like the version I get in the emails he sends me, the non-bragging, funny, sweet Ollie. Not the version our mother’s report back, the blemish free, high achieving Ollie who shows up my imperfections. Well, that’s not entirely true. I am a tiny bit interested in everything he’s been doing since I saw him at Uncle T’s party. But I’m not sure why, I must have inherited the nosy gene from Mum.
‘Oh well, I won’t keep you. I’ll tell you all about Oliver when I see you! You are coming to Uncle Terence’s party in July, aren’t you? I don’t think you’ve RSVP’d!’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Yes has to be the answer, if I said no I’d get the Spanish inquisition. ‘How could I not be coming to your surprise birthday party?’ Why is she talking about this now? It is months off, I have an interview to prepare for!
‘And are you bringing a plus one?’
‘Not yet, but I’ll tell him if I decide to.’
‘If he asks you to bring food, you won’t bring those stuffed dates, will you dear? And I hope you’re not spending too much on my presents, I know you’re hard up!’
‘I won’t, haven’t. But the party is ages away yet!’
‘I know dear. That’s not why I called, you just distracted me! I wanted to make sure you weren’t planning on staying up late on Wednesday, you won’t go out with that Frankie girl, will you? You know you turn into Miss Grumpy, if you’re tired, and you have to be bright and breezy, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘You’ve got your interview!’
‘I know, Mum.’ Does she honestly think I might have forgotten? I go to sleep each night dreaming about my interrogation and wake up each morning feeling slightly sick. I think it’s a bit like when you’re expecting a baby, you’re excited, but just want it to be over, and you wish people would stop asking about it.
I mean, this has been dragging on for ages. According to our regular updates from James Masters things are progressing as envisaged, but in the office we think this is business-speak for, ‘We’ve been waiting until we’ve sorted out all the voluntary redundancies and know how many of you we’ve got left.’ Anyway, Brian-the-pessimist went into a huge slump after the merger was announced and declared he was too old for change and that he’d rather bite the bullet now, rather than be shot with it later, and took what he decided was a rather satisfactory redundancy package (he had been working for the newspaper for eons). Pass-agg-Eva stuck it out for a month, then realised that in our caretaker boss she’d met her match and managed to find a job stacking shelves at the village supermarket, and quite a few other people who didn’t fancy moving to Stavington headed off to pastures new (as Brian called them). So I think the HQ holding-fire strategy has worked out quite well for them.
I’m hoping it has also worked out well for me. I have applied for the job of advertising manager, which is a big step up the ladder – but as Frankie pointed out, it is much better to aim high in the area I already have expertise in, rather than be star struck by some of the roles in journalism, which would mean starting at the bottom again. And now, with so many people leaving, I’m sure I’ve made the right decision to hang on. There is hardly any competition!
‘That’s why I called! Now, you will ring me the instant you come out and let me know what you’ll be doing, won’t you?’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Mum. They won’t tell me on the spot.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll get an inkling! It’s so exciting. Now, I better go, lots to do!’ I love the way she always manages to turn things round, and it’s her who is busy and has to dash. ‘Good luck, darling! Your father says good luck as well, he said you need to picture the interviewer dressed as an Easter bunny and it will work wonders!’
‘Dad really said that?’
‘With ears! Well, not exactly, he said picture them in their undies, but that seems strange to me. Goodness knows how he ever got a job! I’ll speak to you on Thursday, I’ve got flower arranging tomorrow and I’ll be watching my TV series on Wednesday, so I thought I better call now. Love you!’
I put the phone down feeling strangely happy. When I was at school, Mum was never exactly a pushy mother, but I always knew she was there for me, a reassuring voice in the background saying she knew I could do it – where ‘it’ was practically anything and everything. After ‘it all went wrong’, I’d felt only the disappointment, the weight of expectations that were never going to be met. But I’m beginning to wonder if it was all in my head. I’d been disappointed in myself, hadn’t thought I could do anything right, and I think maybe I only let myself hear the bits I wanted to, the ‘could do better’s the ‘not good enough’s (which she never actually said in so many words) and blanked out the tentative encouragement, the support she’d always offered me.
Mum has always had my back, never stopped the hugs even when I had my fingers in my ears and was refusing to listen to her. I mean, yeah, she is always going to be in competition with Vera, but she never actually stopped singing my praises, did she? Even when it was a struggle to find anything – full marks to her for turning my dog-fostering into a Nobel Prize-worthy venture and my small ads into a work of literature.
I do love her. It’s just a shame she’s always going to be disappointed on the man and baby front!
Oh bugger, I have forgotten what I was going to put on my list. What on earth does ‘wash s’ mean? Socks? Shirt? I’m sure it will come to me, after all it must be important, or I wouldn’t have been adding it to my list.
As my brain is so overloaded it is refusing to co-operate, I put my summer sunshine playlist on and empty the entire contents of my side of the fridge – a mini bottle of cava that I have been saving for a special occasion. Surely this counts as such an occasion? I am about to have an interview that will hopefully change my life!
