Page 7 of The Start of Something Wonderful

It doesn’t require a psychoanalyst to work out the meaning behind this recurringnightmare.

I simply cannot carry on living off the paltry proceeds from the flat Nigel and I shared. This is supposed to be my emergency money, to support me after the course, during those ‘resting’ periods, in between theatre and TV contracts, daahling. Huh.

There’s rent to pay, food, my Visa bill, and drama class fees.

How naive I was to think I could just sail into another job.

This afternoon’s interview at Trusty Temps Agency is one of the few options left to me now …

* * *

‘Do you have PowerPoint?’ lisps the girly recruitment consultant, running her French-manicured nail down my brief CV.

‘No.’

‘Excel?’

‘Excel? Yes … I mean no.’ (Lying = v. bad idea, Emily.)

‘Minute taking?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Not to worry. Which switchboards have you used?’

‘Erm … none,’ I whisper, biting my bottom lip.

Uncrossing her long, slim legs, she lets out a heavy sigh, and forcing her glossy lips into a smile, says with a hint of superiority, ‘I’m afraid most of our positions are for people with these skills – but we’ll keep you on file.’

‘Sure,’ I say with a careless toss of my head, trying to look self-assured and unconcerned, whilst insideI feel like a technophobic old bat.

I stuff my CV in my bag, pull on my coat and beret, then take the walk of shame from the back office, through the reception area, past all the busy, busy consultants, furiously tapping their keyboards, whilst holding terribly important conversations on the phone.

It’s dawning on me with scary clarity that two decades of working in a metal tube have notarmed me with the necessary skills to survive in the business world. I’m a dab hand at putting out a fire, boiling an egg to perfection at altitude, or serving hot liquids in severe turbulence without spilling a drop, but what use is all that in the wired-up world of desktop, data entry, and mail-merge?

Oh God, what is to become of me? Am I destined for a life of Pot Noodles and Primark? Whatam I going to do? What in God’s name am I going to do?

I trudge along the rain-soaked street. I can’t face returning to Knick-Knack Corral just yet. I turn the corner, and there, like a safe harbour in a storm, are the twinkling lights of Starbucks beckoning me in.Yes, I know, I know I shouldn’t be splashing out £3.20 on a caffeine fix, but I am in the grip of a major confidence crisis, anda large caramel cream Frappuccino is cheaper than therapy.

Sinking into a squashy sofa, I take a sip of my coffee, draw a deep breath, and take out my notebook and pen.

Potential Job List:

P.A./Receptionist/ Switchboard Operator?

Waitress?

Shop assistant?

Tour guide?

Cleaner?

Telesales?

Dog walker?

Market researcher?