I’m wearing that lovely dress, and feeling utterly employable, when I get to the office entrance four hours later than normal (but fifteen minutes earlier than my interview time), although I’m flummoxed when faced with the front door and the buzzer.
I’m stumped.
What do I do?
Do I punch in the security code and wander in to the place that I’ve spent more time in over the last eight years than I have my own flat or, seeing as I’m there under a different guise, do I buzz and get welcomed properly?
I buzz.
A confused Shirley on reception answers and lets me in before offering me a coffee and asking me to wait on the sofa near her desk.
It’s awkward.
It’s so strange being here in this capacity and I feel as though all eyes are on me, judging by the fact that I’m sat there and not at my desk – I wonder if they all realize I’m here for the job interview and not just skiving at reception.
I know it’s my nerves that are making me feel so exposed. In reality, no one has really stared – they’ve merely glanced to see who’s walking through the door as they do every time someone enters. Aware that fresh meat is on the horizon and wondering if the next candidate is male or female. Everyone loves a bit of totty in the office to ogle at, don’t they? Or is it bad to admit that I’ve spent interview days in the past checking out the talent as it walks through the door, wondering if I’m about to bump into my Mr Right?
Yeah … totally unprofessional.
What a pervert.
‘Sarah,’ giggles Julie, tiptoeing over after saying goodbye to a younger girl (fresh out of uni by the looks of it) who’s clearly just come out of her interview with the bosses. She’s smiling sweetly and seems totally relaxed, so I imagine it went well.
Balls!
‘How you feeling?’ Julie whispers, refocusing me as she grips on to my arm.
‘I’m all right,’ I sigh, feeling the nerves punch around in my stomach, making me wish I’d been to the loo one more time when I arrived.
‘You’ll be absolutely fine,’ she coos, taking hold of my hands and squeezing them. ‘Just be you.’
‘Thanks Julie.’
I’m truly grateful that she has a little more faith in me than my own mother does.
‘Come on then, bring your coffee with you,’ she says, turning to walk back into the main area of the office. ‘You’re going into Jonathan’s room.’
Nice, I think. Another place that I’m supposedly comfortable in.
‘What’s everyone else been like?’ I whisper to her as we walk.
‘Not a patch on you,’ she smiles, which is exactly what I need to hear.
And with that another voice rings out in my head – this time it’s Simon Cowell telling me I’m ‘a star in the making’.
I walk into Jonathan’s office with a huge grin on my face.
I’m a hoot. Literally, a laugh a minute. I have Jonathan and Derek in stitches as I answer their questions on why I’m right for the role with ease and humour, intelligence and passion. When Derek hands me his pen and asks me to sell it to him (it’s all very Wolf of Wall Street – why on earth would I ever need to sell them a pen?), I chuckle before replying, ‘Has Julie been stealing office supplies again? I swear I saw her walk out of here with a box of twenty BICs the other day.’
I might’ve swerved around their ridiculous question, but their reaction to Julie being the reason they’ve been left in a pen-less position and having to buy the one in my hand is a positive one. I’m left in no doubt that they like me – which is pretty good going, seeing as I’ve worked for them for so long.
I walk out feeling confident and happy, knowing I’ve presented myself in the best possible way. I’ve even managed to impress myself – what a pity my mum wasn’t in there to watch too. Actually, it’s a shame they don’t film these things – I would’ve asked for a copy as evidence that I didn’t balls it up. It would’ve curbed her doubt over my capabilities and let her see I’m not totally useless.
‘How was it?’ whispers Julie, sprinting around her desk to escort me back out to reception – as if I don’t know my own way.
‘Really good,’ I grin, unable to control myself.
‘Aaaah!’ Julie sings quietly, grabbing my arm and rubbing her hands along it. ‘I’m so pleased.’
As I leave, I spot the back of the next candidate’s head at reception.
He’s male and greying ever so slightly – that’s all I can see from the angle at which he’s sat as I walk past.
No point, granddad, I mutter quietly to myself with a chuckle, vacancy’s been filled.
Clearly the high I’m feeling from the adrenaline pumping around my body has gone to my head.
I think I need to lie down before the unnecessary cocky attitude takes over and I allow myself to become a total twat.
As more time passes that afternoon I start to feel unsure whether I’ve gauged the interview correctly. I’m not sure what I expected to happen next, but not hearing from the office for the rest of the day makes me worry and overthink everything.
Maybe I wasn’t as charming as I thought.
Was I over-familiar?
Maybe I said something stupid.
Was saying Julie stole pens offensive?
Maybe I wasn’t funny.
Were they giving me pity laughs?
Oh, the shame I’d feel if that turns out to be the case.
I’d had a vision of Jonathan calling me straight after leaving the office to tell me that they’re so impressed they’d love to hire me immediately, but, as the afternoon rolls by and it starts to get dark outside, I realize that’s not going to be the case.
It takes a serious amount of self-control not to ring into the office myself and see what’s going on … I don’t want to appear too needy, or undo all the great work I did in my interview.
How frustrating.
Instead, I sit in bed, scrolling through the TV channels, flicking between films and reruns of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.
If push comes to shove, I start reasoning with myself, I could always audition for Britain’s Got Talent with my non-existent saxophone skills. It seemed to go down pretty well in my dream – and that look of pride on Mum and Dad’s faces …
Eurgh!
Ring, phone, you little fucker.
12
‘You know the best thing about you?’ he asks, rubbing his nose against my cheek in a playful manner that tickles.
‘No …’ I reply girlishly with a sheepish grin, closing my eyes and enjoying his nuzzling.
We’re in a bedroom I vaguely recognize but don’t place straight away – but it’s not mine. Looking around the oval space, I see wooden floors beneath us, and big wooden chests personalized with the initials H.P. and R.W. resting against the castle-stoned walls, filled with funny-looking sports gear. We’re lying on a wooden four-poster bed that’s adorned with plenty of red starry fabric either side for privacy. Looking around the room I notice there are three other identical beds in the room and that, actually, they’re all a little smaller than normal – that’s when I realize where we are. We’re in a very abstract version of Harry Potter’s Gryffindor dorm at Hogwarts. A wizard’s boarding school for children. A fact I’m totally blasé about as we cuddle up in the four-poster bed.
A child’s bed.
Above us the roof is missing – instead I look up to see millions of stars, magically twinkling above us next to a C-shaped moon.
Brett’s arms are wrapped around me.
We are fully clothed in his and hers stripy pyjamas. Mine pink, his blue.
‘It’s the way your cheeks smell,’ he says softly.
‘My cheeks?’
It’s quite a surprise. No one’s ever commented on my cheeks before – either in appearance or smell. They’re just so nondescript. They’re just cheeks – not chubby or sculpted or rosy or pale. Just cheeks. Nonetheless, I feel a sense of pride for them now.
‘Yeah … they
smell of toasted marshmallows,’ he chuckles as he takes a big breath and breathes me in, humming in delight as he does so – a smile springing to his face. ‘I could sniff them up all day long and never be satisfied.’
I giggle in response like a little girl, becoming bashful but loving the affection all at once.
‘I wish your cheeks and I could stay here forever,’ he whispers, before placing his lips on them and gently kissing them repeatedly.
The whole thing takes my breath away as my head spins into a nice and light dizziness, my eyes crinkling up as my smile grows even further. I keep them closed and enjoy the feeling of being there with Brett – and the sensation of having his lips on my skin and his fingertips wandering up and down my bare arms, making my skin shiver euphorically.
How great it is to be held and worshipped.
How gorgeous it is to be appreciated.
How lovely it is to be admired.
When I wake up I feel warm, fuzzy and loved. The feeling you sometimes get when you’ve spent a whole night snuggled in the arms of someone amazing – who makes you feel amazing too.
With my eyes still closed, I nuzzle into my duvet and breathe out a contented sigh.
As the air releases from my lungs, the realization hits me.
It was just a dream.
Again.
An utterly romantic dream about someone I don’t really know. Seeing as I’ve found it so difficult to place him, I clearly never knew Brett very well back when he was fleetingly in my actual real life.
But then, why have my dreams decided to feature him so heavily? What could my subconscious possibly be trying to tell me?
Please don’t tell me I met my soulmate (and destined love of my life) ten years ago and missed my chance of a never-ending love story? That would majorly suck.
Perhaps there’s another reason for his repeated presence – I bet those little dream fairies started feeling sorry for me having a lack of male company in real life and decided to give me a boyfriend in the land of nod instead …
Highly likely.
He’s my pity boyfriend from the sleep fairies.
In that case, they’re certainly working hard – he’s actually in more dreams than not. In fact, it’s starting to feel strange when I wake up in the morning and I haven’t had another encounter with Brett Last. It might’ve only been a couple of weeks since he entered my life but bizarrely it’s beginning to feel like quite a natural occurrence to have him there with me in my dream state. I feel deflated when I wake up and he hasn’t been in them – or worse, if I haven’t dreamed at all.
How odd.
I wonder why my brain has picked him to play the leading man of my sleep-filled hours over all the other guys in my life – eligible or otherwise. Not that I’m complaining, it would be awful if I was having continuous dreams like this about Dan – or even Jonathan. I’d totally freak out if I’d dreamt of a night lying in his arms. That would be far worse than someone who might as well be a fictional character. Can you imagine? I think I’d have to quit my job.
My job.
My tummy tightens and a feeling of dread crumbles down on me at the thought of what does or doesn’t lie ahead.
Why can’t I go back to sleep and back to Brett’s warm embrace instead? Why isn’t that actually an option?
I scramble out of bed, trying to remain positive – after all, I know the interview went well. It’s not as though I was lost for words or that I collapsed under the pressure of having my two bosses grill me as to why I deserved the new position on the team. What a shame that confidence I was so full of yesterday didn’t fancy lingering around just a little longer. Instead I’m this annoying, self-doubting mess.
If I felt weird the day before when I went into the office as an outsider to be interviewed, today feels even stranger because everything is exactly as it was before. Which is to be expected, but it’s depressing, nonetheless. In my mind I’ve made a huge leap forward, but in reality nothing has changed. Yet. It’s important to retain a little bit of hope in all situations … until the fat lady sings and all that.
I go about my morning routine as normal and try not to stare at Jonathan with huge, imploring, puppy dog eyes when he comes in a short while later.
He flashes a smile at both me and Julie, but, infuriatingly heads straight to his office without talking.
I exhale loudly and throw my head into my arms on the desk.
‘You okay, Sarah?’ asks Julie with concern.
‘Yeah …’ I grumble.
For once she doesn’t try to get more out of me; instead she trots off before coming back with a tray of teas and coffees.
‘Tea for you,’ she says with a smile, placing a mug in front of me.
‘Thank you,’ I manage, continuing with my work.
‘Got you one of these too,’ she says, handing me a plate with a big pink sugary doughnut on it – like the ones you see Homer Simpson scoffing down.
‘That’s so lovely of you,’ I smile, genuinely touched – although I’m so nervous there’s no way I could eat it now.
Julie then takes one coffee in to Derek and another in to Jonathan.
She’s in with Jonathan for a while, as happens every so often – she does like to natter and she seems to be the only one who can keep Jonathan quiet for long enough without him interrupting them. Others might find it strange that she goes into him considering I’m his PA and she’s Derek’s, but, actually, I quite like it. Plus, it’s not as if Julie’s after my job. I’m pretty safe there.
I cover up my doughnut to save it for later, sip on my tea and monotonously continue to work through Jonathan’s pile of receipts, seeing what can be put through as expenses. It’s a mind-numbing task, but exactly what I need – even if it does make me sick to see the amount Jonathan spends on his wife each month. Well, I hope she enjoys her two-thousand pound necklace from Tiffany & Co. – I mean, that’s more than my monthly wages, and you can bet that it wasn’t even a present for a special occasion. She probably just moaned at him greedily until he caved in and bought it – just to keep her quiet.
Clearly anticipation makes me grouchy.
And bitchy.
The rest of the morning passes by in a blur of receipts and I’m thankful for the distraction, until twenty-three hours and twelve minutes after my interview the previous day, when Jonathan sticks his head out of his doorway.
‘Sarah, can I have a word?’ he calls, gravely glancing at Julie whilst pursing his lips.
I spot her bow her head sadly in reply.
Oh crap.
I shuffle my way into his office with dread, already knowing that the outcome is going to be a negative one. How could it possibly be anything else following those expressions of doom and gloom? I should never have joked about Julie stealing from the office – she really is an important member of the team. Maybe Jonathan’s told her and she’s made a formal complaint. Maybe I’m here to get told off. Maybe I’m getting sacked and Julie was just giving me that doughnut to stop me from feeling bad.
Oh double crap …
‘Well done for yesterday, Sarah.’ Jonathan says with a nod, thankfully cutting into my thoughts that have decided to go for a cheeky little run around Hyde Park and leave me in blind panic. ‘You really did an excellent job.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumble as we both sit down.
I’d really love for him to get straight to the point today … and quickly.
‘I’ve said this before, I’m sure, but I want you to know how much we value you in your current role and how important you are to the company.’
This time I say nothing in the hope that he’ll speed things along. I don’t want my ego rubbed in consolation for my failure, I’d rather be told ‘no’ straight away so that I can get back to my crappy little desk outside his office and pretend this never happened – or go to the toilets and have a wail in private while stuffing the big pink sugary doughnut in my gob. That option is very appealing, too.
‘The thing
is, you were up against people who’ve had a lot of experience working in Dominique’s role. A couple have even worked solidly in Development since graduating some years ago,’ he says, as though he is genuinely sad to tell me that I’m not good enough and have been beaten to the role.
‘I tried, but I ended up here …’
‘Exactly,’ he agrees, thankfully cutting me off before I manage to start whining. ‘And I think a large part of this is our fault – we should’ve realized you wanted to spread your wings here,’ he sighs, shaking his head.
His reaction is so sincere that it makes me want to giggle nervously in response.
Thankfully I don’t.
‘I’m sad to say that your lack of experience means you’re not quite ready to be promoted just yet,’ he puffs, looking at me for some sort of a reaction.
‘Right …’ I nod, bashing my thighs with my hands as I attempt to get out of my chair and return to my desk (or to the toilets with my new best friend The Doughnut).
‘However …’
There’s a ‘However’!
I sit back down and wait for him to finish, pushing thoughts of the doughnut from my mind while I wait to hear more.
‘I’ve been talking to Derek and Julie, and between us we’ve come up with a plan for you to become a bigger part of the team. Dip your toes in as it were,’ he adds, waving his fingers in the air so they resemble a deformed spider.
‘Oh?’
Light.
End.
Of.
Tunnel.
Yes!
‘I’d like you to be present in brainstorming meetings – get out there with the teams and then see what goes on … learn on the job. You’ll still be working for me, of course – but Julie has agreed to cover both desks while you’re on other jobs – as long as you continue with the main bulk of your workload too.’