Talking to Addison

I fucking hate job interviews. They are crap. They ask you all these bloody questions, whereas really they only want to know what you smell like, and how much you’re prepared to say you agree with their bizarre views on racial hygiene.

‘Well,’ I began, modestly, ‘once, these schoolkids came into the shop; one of their little chums had been knocked down by a car – on the school-run, ironically enough – and they’d clubbed all their pocket money together to buy him a princess bouquet, but they didn’t have enough for the delivery charge. So, I took them to little Tommy myself.’

They were buying this. I couldn’t believe it! The big woman was practically wetting herself.

‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, it turned out that Tommy’s dad owned a major chain of conferencing suites, and we got the contract to do all of them after that.’

The bolt/bogey girl smirked worryingly, but the big lady was overwhelmed. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie – I mean, if charitable situations like that ever presented themselves, I’d like to think I’d rise to the challenge. None had, that was all.

‘Well, that’s just wonderful. Perhaps you can bring a little bit of that magic to That Special Someone, don’t you think, Mr Haffillton?’

Mr Haffillton declined the chance to appear any less dead.

‘I thought so. So, Holly, what about your horticultural qualifications?’

What about them? They didn’t test you on telephone manner and Cellophane wrapping, the only two genuine skills required.

‘Yes … obviously, I’ve been gaining experience out of London’ – I took the bet they wouldn’t know where Harlesden was, and I was right – ‘but I’ll be back down the Chelsea Physic Garden right away, you bet!’

‘Not on our time, of course!’

‘Ha ha ha! Of course not.’

God, I wish I didn’t need this job, but Tash had given me a wedgie the other day and I’d had to hide and have a cry.

‘Chalitha! Wouldn’t you like to ask a question?’

Chalitha shrugged her black-clad shoulders petulantly.

‘Come on now, Chalitha! We’re all just one happy family here!’ Big Lady grimaced at me as if Chalitha had just made some enormous joke.

‘I dunno … What’s your favourite band?’

I judged the situation carefully.

‘The Sex Pistols.’

‘Cool.’ She nodded her head and turned to the old dead man. ‘She’ll be all right, uncle,’ she announced. Aha. She turned back to me.

‘The last girl liked Mariah Carey.’

Actually, the question clearly wasn’t any more or less stupid than any other job interview question, and certainly got to the heart of the matter.

‘I couldn’t have worked with her,’ I said confidently.

‘No, can you imagine? She’d have worn little miniskirts and warbled emotionally all day.’

‘I just spit,’ I said reassuringly, then burst into a fake laugh when I realized Big Lady was staring at me with raised eyebrows.

‘Ha! ha! Only kidding. Ehm, I think a happy work place is essential to provide the very premium in customer service, don’t you?’

She nodded sternly. ‘Yes. But this is a very efficient business. Naturally, we don’t put up with any hanky-panky.’

‘No, ma’am,’ I said.

She loved the ‘ma’am’ thing, I noted instantly.

‘Well, we’ll be letting you know,’ she said, rising imperiously to her feet.

‘Thank you very much, ma’am.’

I practically walked out backwards.

I hung around that night, desperate for the phone to ring before I had to head up the hill – possibly for the last time.

‘… Then I thought I’d say, “Tash, I’m sorry you didn’t get better womb nutrition and have no prospects, but just LEAVE ME ALONE!”’ I announced for Josh’s benefit.

‘And, for the boys, I thought I’d pity them too. Kind of like, “Isn’t it a shame you’re just so deeply ignorant?”’

Josh was chopping vegetables, but he stopped to look up at me. ‘You don’t think that’s a little … well, you know, deeply deeply fascist?’

‘I think it’s only fair after what they’ve put me through. Really, I’m very humanitarian.’

‘Ah yes, Mr Gandhi.’

‘Exactly. I mean, it’s not as if I’d ever have the balls to say any of it.’

‘You could try, if you feel that strongly about it.’

Kate wandered in, and waved approximately, too exhausted to talk.

‘Yes, and die in the attempt.’

I thought for a bit.

‘Josh, you know, I lie all day long and think horrid things about people. Do you think I’m morally bad?’

Josh turned on the food processor for a minute to think about it.

‘Don’t turn on the food processor to give yourself time to think about it! You should know immediately!’

‘I don’t think you are.’ This was from Kate. That was unexpected. ‘I think you’re normal. Lying all day long and secretly wanting to kill people is human nature.’

‘Hmm, I don’t know if I want to kill them, as such.’

‘I don’t …’ Josh’s forehead creased up in concentration. ‘I don’t think bad things about people. Or at least I don’t think I do.’