‘Noted.’ He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘Anyway, I decided to run to the supermarket, a very sweaty exercise in itself. I was about to pay when I realised I’d left my wallet in the kitchen. I had to put my goods to one side, a task performed with the accompanying tuts and groans of everyone in the queue behind me, although why or how it affected them I really don’t know. With my humiliation complete, I ran back here, grabbed my cash thenjogged back to the supermarket to pay, and have only just managed to squeeze in an inadequate shower! I’m still flustered.’
‘Nuts and crisps will do that to you.’
‘And now I’m feeling the most enormous pressure because I don’t know what to put them in!’ He stood with his palms splayed, his harassed air suggesting he might be placing similar importance on the evening and that this was not a regular thing for him. It did nothing but bring her relief; she didn’t want to imagine how it might feel if her current excitement levels were not reciprocated. ‘Honestly, I had no idea there was so much to it! There’s a big wooden bowl that I’m guessing is better for fruit, tiny dip bowl things that’ll only hold a single crisp, or cereal bowls. Who knew that the simple offering of a snack could be so complicated?’
‘Not me.’ She liked the easy nature of their chat, feeling any last vestige of nerves flee out of the open window.
‘Anyway, I’m waffling. The one thing I have managed to source with confidence is wine. We have red, white and the other, pink stuff.’
‘Rosé?’
‘That’s the fella!’ He pointed at her. ‘Which can I get you?’
‘I’ll take a glass of the other, pink stuff please.’
‘An excellent choice, madam.’ He gave a half bow and she followed him down a step into the cosy kitchen where handmade pine units lined the walls, a round table with four mismatched chairs sat in the corner, and a large linen lamp on the wide windowsill filled the room with a golden glow.
She liked the decor. The sitting-room walls were painted in a warm white, pale-blue linen accent pillows were on a blue-and-cream striped sofa, an oversized raffia lampshade hung from the ceiling and sea-themed artwork was dotted here and there. Clusters of round mirrors reflected the light and a patchwork rug of various blues took up much of the wooden floor. Large navy-and-creampatterned ceramic lamps dominated the corners of the room and wooden side tables were home to all manner of things from ornate shells to crystal-and-brass inkwells, and even a ceramic artichoke. It was magazine beautiful and she couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to live among this much order, without the clutter of life in every corner. The clutter of life that at Signal House sat on top of a mountain of dust and was laced into place with cobwebs. Corner Cottage smelled fresh and clean and she liked it very much.
‘Here we go.’ He handed her a glass of wine and grabbed the bags of crisps and nuts, which he pulled open. Ripping the bags wide for easy access, he placed them on the kitchen table. She took a seat, happy he was leading the dance, as they settled into place opposite each other. She was just thinking that the seating arrangement was a tad prim when he spoke.
‘Thank you for coming to this interview. What makes you think you’re suitable for the position?’ He put on a formal voice and joined his hands at the knuckle on the tabletop.
‘It’s my pleasure.’ She lowered her head. ‘I think it would help if I knew what position I was applying for. And also I’m wondering if it might be frowned upon if I sipped wine during the process?’ She took a sip of the cool rosé, which was dry and refreshing.
‘Funny story, actually.’ He dropped the act and sat back in his chair. ‘My boss wanted to take on a graduate for a twelve-month internship and asked me to go through the whittled-down list of applicants and conduct the interviews.’
‘Pressure!’ She knew she wouldn’t enjoy doing that at all.
‘You have no idea, but put it this way, choosing a bowl for crisps was a doddle in comparison.’
She liked how this felt, as if they’d known each other for an age and meeting up to chat like this was a regular thing. Easy.
‘I was quite looking forward to it, the idea of getting away from my laptop, something different. They booked out a couple of dayswhere I sat in the boardroom while these young, eager, hopeful banking wannabes came into the room one by one and did their best to sell themselves to me.’
‘You didn’t enjoy it? Wielding all that power?’
He shook his head. ‘I really didn’t. Not when it came to it.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘It felt desperate, horrible, almost gladiatorial. They were all brilliant over-achievers, far more brilliant than me! They’d been to far-flung corners of the globe, spoke loads of languages, worked for worthwhile charities, and had a raft of top-notch grades. There was nothing to choose between any of them, so did it really matter that one had grade eight on the violin while another was a county tennis player?’
‘Wow, makes me realise I’ve done absolutely nothing with my life.’ She spoke half in jest.
‘I felt the same and I found it really sad.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, you have years to learn how to play the violin and improve your backhand.’
‘It wasn’t that so much.’ He gazed at her and she took the chance to study his long lashes. ‘They had this burning look in their eyes, as if to fail at this, to not get the internship, was going to crush them. Like it was the only thing that mattered, but I knew we could only take one. The rest of the applicants, all really nice, super-keen, were going to be just that: crushed. And I was the person who was going to do that to them. It made me realise that I don’t have a ruthless streak, which I kind of think you need if you want to live that cut-throat life, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how it was all such a waste of time.’
‘In what way?’ She matched his serious tone.
He swallowed. ‘I guess I could see that these people had worked hard at school, gone to first-class universities, as if they were in some desperate race and here they were, still racing, still competing, trying to get chosen, to get ahead, taken on. And Iknew they’d never stop – elbowing each other out of the way for promotion, grasping for the next rung on the ladder and greasing the steps they’d already taken to make sure those following fell.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t like it, any of it. I knew I found the job dull and unfulfilling and I wanted to take these very clever, dedicated people to one side and say, look, there’s more to life than this. You need to be happy; you need to do something that makes you laugh every day. You need to spend your time in a way that means when you climb into bed at night, you feel content and you don’t dread the alarm going off the next morning, full of fear or sickness at the prospect of having to get up and do it all again.’
It was odd how much his words resonated, mirroring her own desire to be happy, to laugh, be content.
‘Did you say that to them?’
He shook his head and swilled his wine around the glass. ‘No, but I said it to myself and that’s when I decided to give up my job.’
‘To either paint or teach or ...’
