Her mouth falls open. “How many CVs did you drop off?”
“Twelve.”
She lets out a low whistle. “That’s incredible. You’ll have your pick of jobs.”
I sink back into the chair beside her as she lifts the cracked screen of her outdated iPad, pushing her glasses higher up her nose.
“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” she mutters. “Is it even possible to access someone else’s account?”
I smirk faintly. “Virtually impossible for any normal person,” I say, leaning closer as she logs in. “But for you? Who knows.”
She taps each key carefully, painfully slow.
“And you used the exact same login details?” I ask.
“Yes. Same ones I’ve had for twenty years.”
The account loads. My breath leaves me in a rush.
“Jesus,” I mutter, pulling the tablet closer. “Mum… where did fifty thousand pounds come from?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she says, frowning. “It’s not mine. I rang the bank to report it. They said they’d investigate.”
I stare at her. “Why would you do that? What if they take it back?”
“Well, it isn’t mine to begin with,” she says lightly. “Someone’s obviously made a mistake.”
I click into the transaction. No name. No reference. Just a direct transfer from yesterday.
My stomach twists. “Maybe our luck’s finally turning,” I murmur.
She shrugs. “I doubt it. But it’s a nice thought.”
She closes the iPad and looks at me. “Aren’t you meant to be heading to an interview?”
I nod, grabbing my bag and spinning once so she can inspect my outfit, the whole reason I stopped by in the first place.
“I’ve got three today,” I say. “The rest are over the next few days.”
She smiles at me like she hasn’t in weeks. “Good luck.”
“Wait,” Courtney cries, laughing so hard she nearly snorts. “You got all three?”
I nod, still half in disbelief. “I hadn’t even left the building on the last one when they called and offered me the job.”
“Well, congratulations.” She clinks her shot glass against mine. “About bloody time.”
We knock them back together, both wincing before reaching for our drinks.
“I cancelled the rest of my interviews,” I tell her, washing the burn away with a gulp of beer. “The first one just clicked. The manager’s great. Fun. Only slightly older than me.”
“And does she mind a clumsy, uncoordinated, wildly inexperienced—”
I fling a beer mat at her, laughing. “Shut up. I’m better than I was. Since working for—” I trail off, his name hanging unspoken between us.
Courtney’s smile softens, then fades. “Have you heard from him?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. “No.” I lift my glass, forcing brightness back into my voice. “And I don’t want to talk about him.”
