‘Perhaps you could tell me about your teaching experience?’
What was he playing at? He had her CV in front of him, which gave zero evidence of anything of the sort. Oh hell, just wing it, she thought.
‘None .?.?. precisely, but I have worked extensively in musical theatre and in an educational setting as a .?.?. facilitator.’
She was chancing her arm and they both knew it.
‘Ah yes, Slime Planet, I noticed. Not a name I see on every résumé. I brought my son there once, as a matter of fact. I remember we quite enjoyed it.’
That was an unexpected moment of self-revelation.
‘Although, as far as I remember, any “facilitators” we saw there seemed to end up as part of the experiments, rather than conducting them.’
Damn. He had her there.
‘I simply did what the job required,’ she replied, trying not to sound desperate.
He contemplated her through the thick lenses and then seemed to cheer up.
‘Well, let’s hope that even on its worst day, nothing like that should happen to you here. I’ll be honest, we are chronically short of a substitute teacher so could you start at eight thirty on Monday morning? And if you wouldn’t mind not parking in the space where Mr Daly, the groundsman, parks the electric buggy? I’m sure you saw the charging point.’
‘Of course, thank you. I won’t let you down.’
She sat waiting for his response, but he seemed to have already moved on, almost having forgotten she was still in the room. She sat awkwardly for a moment.
‘So, shall I .?.?.?’
He looked up as though surprised she was still there.
‘Yes, yes, that’s fine. See you on Monday.’
She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this man was treating her like a six-year-old. Still, a job was a job, even if her status was one step below the golf buggy.
* * *
By half past twelve she was pushing open the door to the apartment, while awkwardly balancing a celebratory piping-hot latte and pastrami roll along with her shoulder bag. She was met by the pounding beat of Lady Gaga’s ‘Paparazzi’coming from the doorway.Edging into the hall, she peeped into the sitting room to find Ramona rotating upside down on the pole, gripping it between astonishingly high platform shoes and dressed in a barely there leotard. Cassie gaped as she spun downwards, supporting her entire weight using only her stomach muscles, then performed aerial splits and lowered her legs slowly down to the ground. Cassie spontaneously burst into applause, narrowly escaping scalding herself with the small tidal wave of coffee. Ramona looked up in surprise and smiled.
‘Oh my God, that was incredible. I mean, where did you learn to do those acrobatics? You’re a total gymnast, even apart from the dance routine.’
She expected Ramona to light up in response to her enthusiasm and was just a little disappointed at the low-key reaction.
‘Yeah, I grew up doing gymnastics back home. I used to compete a lot as a kid.’
‘Your family must have been so proud of you .?.?. you’re sensational.’
Ramona shrugged. ‘They weren’t really around much, and my grandma used to just put me in a cab. I mean, it worked fine. Until it didn’t.’
‘So, you’d nobody to cheer you on?’
‘Like those dance moms who live entirely through their little sprogs? No, I didn’t have one of those.’
There was a wistfulness in her tone. It struck Cassie that Ramona mightn’t have minded being fussed over. What she’d got was travelling alone in a taxi.
‘Hey, fancy half a pastrami roll? Finn’s cooking for me tonight so I’m saving myself.’ She did a little hula dance with the roll.
‘You’re on, I’m freaking starving.’
The pair of them trooped into the kitchen, where Ramona shoved a pod into the coffee maker and whipped two plates out of the cupboard, all in what seemed like a single movement. She was phenomenally well co-ordinated, that was for sure.
