Chapter 20
20
‘ H elen.’ Christian raised his palm and as he did his rope bracelet slid across his wrist. ‘I’m sorry to stop you,’ he said, ‘but I have to tell you, you’re not doing a very good job of selling yourself.’
Helen blinked. ‘Selling myself?’
He smiled. ‘I’m hearing a lot of negatives. Not too many strengths.’
‘Oh.’ Stunned, her mouth stayed in a round, while her mind began a furious re-wind. What had she said that was so negative? He’d asked her to tell him a little about herself, so she had. Actually, he hadn’t said that at all, he’d said: ‘What’s your story, Helen? What’s brought you to this point in your professional life? I’d like to hear what you think your strengths and weaknesses are?’ And resisting the urge to slap out a few hard truths such as, Boredom? Divorce? Cake, she had remained on track. She’d explained that she wasn’t brilliant with the smart scheduling system recently introduced at the health centre and, until five minutes ago she’d never heard of POCT kits, although the idea of point-of-care testing, the ability to detect diabetes or heart disease, in the field, sounded wonderful. In the field, she’d had really said that.
‘I’m sorry, it’s not …’ Christian raised his hands. ‘You’re not quite what I was expecting.’
‘No?’ Her blood pooled at her feet. She felt humiliated and furious. Embarrassed and astonished.
‘How about you?’
‘Me?’
‘Are we what you were expecting?’
Helen looked at him. This young man with his rope bracelet and his over-the-top bonhomie and his vacuous, what’s your story? He wasn’t as young as Libby, but he wasn’t far from it. He was in fact … Her breath caught in her throat and swallowing was suddenly painful. Christian was about the same age Daniel, her first son, would have been, had he lived. ‘I didn’t know what to expect,’ she said tightly.
Christian looked down at his hands, then smiling, looked up again. ‘Can I ask why you’re here?’
Helen blinked. ‘I’m here because you invited me,’ she said. What a stupid question!
‘Yes, of course. What I’m trying to say is …’ And leaning back, he looped his hands behind his head in a movement of such casual indifference he might as well have been settling down to watch a movie. ‘What do you want, Helen?’
It was petrol on the fire, and she was a bear grievously poked, and he was all the complacent men who had ever asked her a version of this question and then not waited to hear her answer (which in any case had always been pre-empted to suit what she knew they wanted to hear). Well, not anymore! ‘I’m glad you asked,’ she said, ‘because I’m beginning to wonder myself. You invited me to a ‘casual chat’ in offices that look like my son’s bedroom, and all you’ve done so far is ask me what my story is! You want to hear what my strengths are?’ She stood up. ‘What if I told you that I’m the only one in my family who can get the lid off a new jar of pickled onions? Would that be strong enough? Or if I said that every year on the twentieth of April, I cry for at least an hour because that’s the day I gave birth to a dead baby. Would that be just another negative?’
Now Christian stood up.
‘I don’t know what you want from me,’ Helen cried. ‘I don’t know why I’m here and I have no idea if this is an interview or if you’re just passing half an hour before it’s your turn in the gaming room.’ So that was that then. If she hadn’t blown this by treading on his foot, she most certainly had now.
‘I …’
‘Oh, never mind!’ she interrupted. And with hot tears forming, she turned to grab her handbag. There was no way she was going to let this young man see her cry; besides she had a dinner to cook. One thing at least she knew she could do.
‘We’re looking for an administrator to run the centre,’ Christian said helplessly.
‘I know that!’ Helen threw her hands up in the air. ‘I knew that before I left home this morning! Are you interviewing me for that role, or not?’
‘Yes …’ he stammered. ‘Yes, I am. Please.’ And he indicated that she should sit again.
‘OK.’ Helen sat, heavy as a sack of potatoes. ‘I’ll make it easy,’ she said, because now she felt sorry for him. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Was she that scary? ‘Front line medical admin is what I do and have done for years. I mail chemists and pharmacists and hospital secretaries. I type clinical letters and test reports, arrange all referrals and patient files. I scan, code and action clinical requests, translator requests. I source translators. I arrange the loaning out of medical equipment. If there’s a wheelchair to be found south of the Watford Gap, I can find it. I help implement community health drives and organise transport when needed. I’m in charge of implementing emergency test runs and keeping policy updated. I’m even in charge of the office coffee budget and I organise the Christmas lucky dip. I have two living children and one grandson; I’ve cleaned bottoms and mopped-up sick. I’ve fed my family as healthily as I could for twenty years. I’ve stitched, painted and dug a home for them, held my dead baby in my arms and sat up all night nursing my daughter through a fever that barely stayed below forty.’ And … suddenly she stopped talking. ‘There’s really nothing more to tell,’ she said, ‘either I’m what you’re looking for or I’m not.’
Speechless, Christian nodded.
‘So.’ Again, she stood. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must get going. I have a joint retirement and hen party to prepare for, and I’m sure you’ll agree that kind of celebration doesn’t come along very often.’ She didn’t see his face as she turned to go, she only heard him say quietly ‘push’, because she was at the door, pulling on a door handle that wouldn’t give.