We Can Work It Out Read online

  She’s reached her car and I’m still staring at her. She yanks open the door, leans in, raises her left leg out behind her for balance. I’m mesmerised.

  I drag my eyes back to the ticket machine. She’s right, there’s no doing this with a phone app. Another reason for the council to be ashamed of this car park; for God’s sake, drag yourselves into the 21st century.

  I yank my wallet out and start sifting through for the right coins, grateful that I have some, but only because I nipped into the newsagent for some mints before I left.

  Flicky ponytail woman is back before I even step up to the ticket machine. She has coins in her hand and starts thrusting them into the slot, cussing when one is rejected. She tries again, same result. She tuts several times.

  ‘Wet it,’ I say, trying to be helpful.

  She narrows her eyes at me. ‘I don’t suppose you have one I could swap with?’ She waves 20p in front of me.

  I smile and make the swap.

  She gets her ticket and dashes off, still trundling her wheelie case behind her.

  I step up to the machine and feed my coins in. I give the dodgy 20p a surreptitious lick before I push it in. It bounces straight back out. I try again, this time I’m more generous with my saliva. Ponytail girl whips past me just as I have my tongue on the coin. She frowns but says nothing, just stares with her limpid, brown eyes.

  But the machine won’t accept the coin and I don’t have time for this nonsense now. I press for a ticket, I’m 20p short on the fee.

  Ticket on car, and I’m dashing across the car park, rushing towards Genevre’s reception but not before I slip and skid. I’m fine, I don’t fall, just limp away as my knee throbs. It takes me a few seconds to realise I’ve trodden in something disgusting; the stench alerting me to its presence. More time wasted wiping it off on the grass verge. It stinks. What is it? Dog muck, fox shit?

  I give my name over in a voice that sounds as though I’ve been running, a lot.

  ‘Ah, Mr Bowe.’ The receptionist runs his finger down his screen then glances back up at me. He sniffs the air and a faint frown crosses his brow before he continues. ‘They’re running late, only about fifteen minutes, please help yourself to a coffee.’ He waves in the general direction of a coffee machine, offers a sharp smile, then refocuses on his computer screen before looking past me to his next customer.

  Running late, that doesn’t bode well. That means that my rival, the other short-lister, is doing well, so well they want to hear more.

  I forego the coffee and flop down into the low leather seats in the middle of the reception area. I take a quick look at the sole of my shoe but can see no evidence of the shit-stepping.

  Flicky ponytail girl is sitting opposite, letting her eyes appraise me. I smile. She doesn’t. She adjusts her wheelie case which is now nestling between her feet. What precious cargo hides within?

  Two

  Emily

  I watch as Lennie comes through the reception doors, he pushes through the turnstile before signing in with reception and plonks himself down on the couch opposite me. He looks directly at me and smirks and I feel my cheeks burn as my eyes narrow. Is he laughing at me?

  It suddenly registers that he could possibly be my competition and may not be as stupid as he looks. On closer inspection he is carrying a man bag that looks way too small on his cumbersome body. His suit looks good quality, expensive even and his shoes are black, shiny and new. I instantly hate that my potential rival might be this man.

  I haven’t worked full-time for the last five years for obvious reasons, just part-time temp roles but they’ve all been relevant to underwriting so I have kept my hand in. The recruitment agency was really impressed with my CV and I was thrilled that Genevre had given me the chance of an interview. Now Rosie’s in school I’ll be able to manage a full-time job with Mum’s help with childcare. I’m so desperate to provide the best upbringing I can for her. Before I went on maternity leave my last serious role was as a senior underwriting manager in real-estate but previous to that I had worked in insurance for many years and worked my way up the ladder, quickly whizzing through the exams. I tell myself they can’t discriminate. This is the 21st century and companies are really positive about getting women back into work after having kids. Aren’t they?

  I’m up to this. I am.

  Jamie

  I’m guessing flicky ponytail girl is a rep, her wares safely in that wheelie case. She has that well-polished, sharp look of a sales rep. I wonder what she’s selling? I wonder what Genevre would buy? Could be anything, stationery, furniture, computers. Anything.

  Plants. Maybe she’s selling plants. There is an abundance of them in this reception area and I know from my brief walk through the offices during my first interview that they are everywhere in this building, or is it a series of buildings?

  The Genevre building is a landmark in our town. Some call it the Pentagon, but that’s inaccurate. It’s a hexagon; six interconnected buildings with a central glass-covered atrium in the middle. The atrium is reminiscent of a shopping mall, complete with gym, hairdresser, cafés and even a convenience store. Rumour has it that a national chain is opening a dentists/opticians here soon, too. The idea is to keep everyone on the office campus as much as possible, especially at lunchtime. They seem to think people work harder if they live here.

  I’ve been in the gym; once, two years ago I went as a guest of a girlfriend. I think she wanted to be impressed but evidently wasn’t and dumped me a week later.

  The campus is impressive externally too, landscaped, a lake with fountains, benches everywhere to eat your lunch on those rare, hot, summer days. Even the car parks are tree lined to create shade for the cars to park in. Ironically, the crappy council car park is a hark back to an abortive attempt to run a park and ride scheme into the town centre. But no one used it. Why would they with everything available here?

  You can see the building, called Genevre Lodge – though it couldn’t be less like a lodge if it tried – from the motorway. Anyone who travels the M4 knows of it. It’s a major employer in our town. Ironically Genevre doesn’t occupy all the segments like it used to. Technology has moved on, and a recession, so thirty years after it was purpose built for them, they now only occupy three segments. And I want to work in one of those segments. The others are occupied by another insurance company, an accountancy company and some computer organisation I’d never heard of until I did my research.

  My phone pings.

  Everyone, and I mean everyone, in Reception looks at me; two receptionists, two guys at the vending machine, a woman watering the plants (who I hadn’t even noticed previously) and flicky ponytail girl.

  I’ve committed the cardinal sin: my phone isn’t on silent.

  I fish it out of my jacket pocket and quickly rectify my error before it pings again.

  It’s my dad, again: How’s it going? Got the job yet?

  I don’t reply. He knows my interview time, knows that I should be in the room right now impressing them with my presentation on global insurance risks, wowing them with my knowledge and witty insights. If I tell him there’s a delay, he’ll panic. I suppose I should be grateful to him, at least his message has reminded me to silence my phone and not interrupt my interview. If we’d been running on time, I’d be looking a right idiot now.

  I push my phone into my manbag – my dad called it a briefcase but that is pretentious and delusional and so old school – and check the side pocket to make sure my data stick is still there. Can’t do the presentation without the slides – although the rules are that only eight are allowed. No death by PowerPoint at Genevre.

  Clicking heels echo on the reception area floor and I look up, as does ponytail girl, her hair – as dark brown as her eyes – swishing as she turns her head to see the source of the steps.

  Two people approach, both with clipboards. One a guy younger than me, one a woman in her forties. They’re heading straight for us and I wonder which one I will get? I can’t
decide which one looks like a sales type person and which one looks like they work in HR.

  ‘Jamie Bowe?’ The woman looks straight at me while holding her clipboard aloft.

  I stand up and offer my hand. She shakes it and introduces herself as something that sounds like Burt, but I do catch that she’s the head of Human Resources.

  Just chill out.

  Emily

  Lennie has been called by a lady with a clipboard; he gets up and trundles over to her, not picking his feet up properly as he walks.

  ‘Emily Cod,’ calls the young man next to her. I get up, smooth my skirt down and paste on my best winning smile. I am now more than convinced that smug, smirky Lennie is my rival, this makes me extra determined and as I go to shake the young man’s hand, I dramatically hear a Hunger Games quote echoing in my head.

  “Let the games commence and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

  Jamie

  ‘This way.’ Burt turns then waits for me to step alongside her. ‘Sorry about the delay. Sorry about the car park; they’re pruning the trees today so keep sectioning off areas, people have to keep coming out and moving their cars, such a pain, so disruptive. It’s why your interview was delayed.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Did you manage to park okay?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ I don’t bore her with the 20p fiasco or the dog-shit shoe shuffle.

  ‘Excellent,’ she says, not meaning excellent at all. ‘Did you have far to come?’

  ‘No, I live local.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  She herds me into a tiny, windowless, meeting room. This does not bode well. How the hell am I supposed to do my presentation in here? And who to?

  ‘Take a seat, please,’ she says as she sees me hesitate.

  I plonk myself down. I wonder if now would be the time to ask if there’s any point in my staying any longer. It’s becoming increasingly obvious to me that the other candidate, the one who took up extra time, my time, has already been given the job. I imagine the message I’ll send to my dad; I’ll have to make it sound positive as well as let him down gently, prepare the way for my final unsuccessful call. And to think I took half a day’s leave for this.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, sitting across the table from me. ‘As you know you were on a shortlist of two.’ She smiles, waiting for me to agree. Here it comes, the push off. Just get on with it. ‘Well, we’ve decided, that is the department manager has decided, that your interviews will be in two parts.’ She smiles and waits for me to react. I nod and try to look enthusiastic. ‘One of you will be meeting the team while the other does their presentation, then you’ll swap, then there’ll be a sort of group discussion. What do you think?’ She sits back and folds her arms as though she’s expecting me to congratulate her.

  ‘Okay.’ I nod and smile again. Upbeat. ‘Which am I doing first?’

  ‘You’re meeting the team.’ A big smile and she jumps up and trots off at quite a pace with me scurrying to keep up. We head out of the segment and into the atrium. She starts telling me about it, how many panes of glass there are, how it’s shaped to maximise sun capture, how the windows open automatically to increase air flow when it’s hot and negate the need for air-con. I try to take this all in just in case there are questions later – surely there won’t be. She’s just telling me this to put me at ease, isn’t she?

  She’s still keeping up quite a pace and I notice that other people are hurrying across the atrium too. All those free gym sessions obviously pay off, if I get the job I’ll definitely go. Probably.

  Involuntarily I turn and frown as we pass a queue of chatting people outside a coffee shop. She catches my look.

  ‘Mid-morning coffee break,’ she says, laughing. ‘That place is so popular.’

  Mid-morning? According to the clocktower in the centre of the atrium it’s 10.20am. What time do they start here? I thought Genevre’s office hours were 9-5. Maybe it’s staff from the other segments, the computer place maybe, those geeks like an early start according to my housemate, Tim, who is one, an IT geek, I mean.

  We fly through double doors and we’re in another Genevre segment. Burt sprints up two flights of stairs and I do my best to match her pace without panting too loudly.

  I definitely need those gym sessions.

  ‘Okay?’ she asks, waiting for me and seeming to enjoy my barely suppressed puffing.

  ‘Sure,’ I smile.

  ‘Don’t worry, if you get the job you’ll soon be fit; four floors and no lifts.’ She grins and my heart sinks at the prospect of more stairs. I’ll be sweating like a pig and red in the face by the time I meet the team. But, fortunately, she opens the door and we enter the floor we’re already on.

  Thank God.

  We belt down a corridor and burst into another meeting room. Four smiling faces turn and greet me.

  ‘Hi, I’m Sharon.’

  ‘I’m Karen.’

  ‘I’m Hayden.’

  ‘I’m Jayden.’

  I find myself blinking as I run their names through my brain. Is this a joke? Sharon, Karen, Hayden, Jayden.

  Their sunny little faces are staring at me, waiting.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I’m Jamie.’ I wonder if my rival has a name that will fit in with the rest of the team. Is it a prerequisite?

  ‘Cool,’ says Karen, or is it Sharon?

  ‘Yeah,’ say Hayden and Jayden together.

  ‘Wow,’ says Sharon or Karen.

  They’re easily impressed.

  ‘Coffee?’ Jayden asks, standing up as I sit down.

  ‘Please,’ I say, because it would be rude to refuse and because everyone else is already hugging their own coffee cups.

  ‘It’s just normal coffee.’ He glances over at the machine in the corner. ‘Or if you want a latte, or a mocha, or a skinny or a cappuccino, I could run down to the atrium for you.’

  I imagine him waiting forever in that queue and reply that normal coffee will be just fine.

  ‘Any plans for the weekend?’ Sharon/Karen asks, smiling at me.

  Oh God, it’s Wednesday morning and we’re talking about the weekend already. Either they’re as bored with their jobs as I am in my current one or they just don’t know what to say to me.

  ‘Just the usual.’ I’m sure they don’t want to know that this weekend I will be helping my Dad finally start to remove all my mum’s belongings – we’re talking clothes, shoes and handbags mainly – from his loft where he put them nearly five years ago when she died.

  ‘Cool.’

  Jayden plonks a murky coffee in front of me and collectively everyone, including me, pick up their cups and drink.

  ‘I’ll be back in thirty,’ HR Burt says, without waiting for a response.

  ‘Thanks, Berta,’ Karen/Sharon says.

  And she’s gone. Berta, her name’s Berta.

  All eyes are on me.

  No one speaks but a smile goes around the room like a Mexican wave.

  ‘Are you already working in insurance?’ Hayden reads from a prepared list in front of him. I expect he’ll tick the question off once I’ve answered.

  ‘Yeah. I’m over at Kanes in town.’

  ‘Town centre. Parking’s expensive,’ Karen/Sharon muses.

  ‘It is. Very. And sometimes it’s hard to find a space.’

  ‘Yeah. Don’t have that problem here.’

  ‘Except today.’

  ‘Yeah,’ they all chorus, nodding and rolling their eyes.

  This is too awful. Take control. Take control.

  ‘Sharon,’ I start, going almost cross-eyed in an attempt to look at both Sharon and Karen at the same time. ‘How long have you worked here? What do you do?’

  Sharon gives me a little smile and proceeds to tell me everything. Then it’s Jayden’s turn and pretty soon we’ve been all around the table. I see Hayden glance down at his list again and I quickly interrupt.

  ‘So, what’s the best thing about working at Genevre?’

  They all smile and they all nod when
Hayden says that it’s the atrium facilities and the free gym. Nothing about their jobs or even their boss; no, it’s the freebies and perks.

  Berta comes and rescues me before I have to ask anything else and the whole team rises and thanks me and smiles and I think, they might like me more now that they did at the beginning. Or, at the very least, they don’t hate me. I just wonder how my rival will fair. Will he charm them as much as I hope I have? Probably more.

  Emily

  The first part of the interview is done and dusted. I think it went extremely well considering I haven’t done a presentation for years. I get the feeling I managed to impress the director Alan, and Dirk, the department head who is the rather fit, Greek god type man I’ll be replacing.

  Dirk was lovely and so encouraging, and it turns out that if I do get the job then he will still be working for Genevre. He mentioned that I can go and drop by and ask him questions whenever I like. I might just have to do that, perhaps we could discuss work over coffee whilst he offers me advice and then I expect we will start chatting about other things such as him taking me out for dinner or a few drinks.

  No! Stop.

  What am I doing? I haven’t even got the job yet and I’m already daydreaming about liaisons with a senior colleague. Mustn’t get carried away, must stay focused for the next part of the interview.

  ‘Emily, I’ve come to collect you for round two. How did round one go?’ Young HR man, who has now named himself as George, is standing in the doorway with his head tilted to one side and peering out from underneath his floppy fringe. I’m worried what round two may have in store. I walk over and follow him out of the door.

  ‘Yes, really good, I didn’t stutter too much and managed to cover everything I wanted to,’ I chirp. George just nods as we continue to pad down some stairs.

  ‘We need to go left here,’ he signals.

  I desperately try to keep up with him as I trot beside his long strides in my heels which are most definitely now killing me, I can’t wait to take these things off and live in orthopaedic shoes forever.