Chapter Eleven Clara
Chapter Eleven CLARA
‘OK, great,’ says the man whose name I forgot the moment he said it as he regards me with dead eyes. ‘And finally, what do you think is your biggest weakness?’
I clear my throat and then offer with confidence, ‘Kryptonite?’
I watched a video last night about acing job interviews, and it suggested this answer. It seemed like a hilarious solution to a shit question and I was totally sure it would break the ice. But the dead-eyed nameless man does not appear amused.
‘Riiiiight,’ he intones with disinterest, checking his watch. ‘Before we finish up, do you have any questions?’
I know I’ve got no chance of getting this job. I’m sure this bloke only added me to the interview list as a favour to Angela, which is extra embarrassing – my mum’s girlfriend getting me a job interview. I’m sure Mum had to beg Angela to set it up and I’ve mostly just made a tit of myself.
Oh god, what happens if they actually offer me the job? Because there’s no way I could do it. I’d screw it all up, I know I would. Despite my pep talk from Jemma last night, I know me. And me messes everything up.
‘Questions?’ I repeat a bit blankly.
‘Yep.’ Dead Eyes looks past me at the door. ‘Anything you’d like to know about the team or the culture here?’
That job advice video I looked at said I really should have something ready for this section of the interview, but I forgot to come up with a question.
I was hoping something would occur to me during the conversation, but I was mostly internally playing the theme tune to Home and Away because the receptionist outside was Australian.
‘My question is…’ I hedge, hunting for something and finally hitting on a question I am genuinely curious about. ‘Do you like my hair?’
His face goes slack and I raise my eyebrows.
‘I mean,’ I continue hastily, ‘do you think it’s, like, office appropes?
I was going to do a ponytail, because that defo means business professional, but I haven’t had my roots done in aaages and it looked really shi— bad.
But it looks OK down, right?’ I pause anxiously and he says nothing.
‘It’s too long, isn’t it?’ I ask, worriedly pulling at some split ends.
‘I had a haircut booked in the other day but when I got there, the hairdresser had awful hair! What do you do in that situation? You can’t trust someone with shi— bad hair not to give you shit, um, bad hair, too, can you? So I made a run for it.’
He takes a deep breath and I can tell he is annoyed.
Even more annoyed than he was a few minutes ago when he asked me about my work in America and I started singing the British national anthem.
Or, at least, I sang what I thought was the British national anthem but turned out to be Eurovision winners Bucks Fizz’s ‘Making Your Mind Up’.
Which really should be the national anthem.
I just didn’t want to get into what I was doing in the US. And it’s not like the many rubbish temp jobs I had over the last five years would’ve impressed him much.
He stands up and offers a hand for me to shake. ‘I think your hair is fine. Thanks for coming in, Ms Poyntz.’
‘Oh, sure!’ I bounce out of my seat, feeling pleased with myself. I pulled things around, I reckon. That hairdresser chat was very relatable. ‘I look forward to hearing from you, Mr… Sir.’
I head out into the early summer air, feeling excited. Sure, being a PA isn’t exactly my dream job, but it might be OK, right? Until I figure stuff out.
I check my phone where there is a message waiting from Jemma. I feel an unfurling of something at the sight of her name. A thawing is happening between us, I’m sure of it.
Hope the interview went well! I’ve been thinking about what you said re my note writer. Maybe you could help me with what to reply next? X
I let out a little squeal of delight and a man walking past with a Costa cup nearly drops it. I beam at him as he glares. This is great . Jemma and I will bond over this mysterious book dude and maybe she’ll fall in love and have me to thank.
I stop short, staring sightlessly into an M this is about Jemma’s meet-cute.
I’m really excited for her. Because even if this book note person doesn’t turn out to be a dashing, sexy male stranger, I still think my sister should reply.
She is too secure in her little rut. Doing the same things every day, visiting the same library, chatting to the same two housemates, checking out the same book every other bloody week.
She needs an adventure and a bit of excitement and mystery in her life.
I think that’s why the universe has sent me here to her.
It’s not me escaping what happened in America, it’s me running towards my sister.
She needs someone to mess up her neat little existence a bit.
Between me and this book stranger, we’ll give her a big fat kick up the butt.
Plus, this could finally be what it takes to bring us together.
Helping her with this could persuade Jemma to let me into her life.
I hug the book happily as I check my emails, feeling only mildly deflated to find a rejection email Dead Eyes must have sent before I’d even left the building. I duck out of the queue, dumping the novel on a table. Sorry, Milo. No new job means I can’t afford to turn over a new reading leaf.
Ah fuck it, when I’m married to a TV star, I won’t need some stupid office job anyway.