Summer Night Dreams

by Alison May

  Third up was the first internal candidate. Dr Levine had been a sessional lecturer for about a year more than Helen and taught eighteenth century culture, science and medicine. Dominic smiled and nodded and did his best to maintain an attentive face during the presentation. It was about Faraday and electricity, and ended with the claim that Dr Levine would electrify the teaching and research in the department. Dominic fancied he could almost hear Professor Midsomer wince.

  Mrs Addams asked her questions first, opening with the classic, ‘And why do you want this post?’ followed by the equally timeless, ‘And what skills do you think you would bring to the role?’ It was the traditional interview opening one-two, and Dr Levine, predictably, didn’t fluff his lines.

  Professor Midsomer was next up with his questions about teaching practice and how the candidate would enhance the university’s research reputation. Again Levine’s answers were solid. Not inspiring, but decent. Dominic was last up. His two questions couldn’t be further apart. One was based on the candidate’s presentation or past research, hence the need to be attentive throughout. The second was a pet subject of his. Dominic tapped his pen on the table and looked up at the candidate, ‘So, a bit of a change of subject now, can you tell me how you would contribute to the equality goals of the department and to the university’s key aim of attracting students from lower income backgrounds into higher education?’

  There was a pause. Dr Levine swallowed before continuing. ‘Well obviously, I would treat all students the same, regardless of their background.’

  Dominic nodded, but didn’t offer any other prompt. He let the silence hang for a moment, to see if the candidate would say more. Nothing was forthcoming. ‘Anything more specific than that?’ he prompted.

  ‘Well, of course one has to be even-handed, but we can’t lower standards, can we? Students still have to achieve the required standard. If you don’t maintain that you end up pandering to them.’

  Dominic forced his eyebrow not to rise. ‘Pandering?’

  The candidate glanced at him, apparently aware that he may not have made the smartest word selection. ‘Well I don’t mean pandering. Obviously. I just, well I’d treat all my students the same.’ His voice petered out.

  ‘All right.’ Dominic placed his pen at the side of his papers. ‘Was there anything you were wanting to ask us at this stage?’

  Dr Levine asked a question about how the department saw the postholder’s career progression. Dominic let Theo answer and only half listened to the reply.

  ‘Okay.’ Dominic gestured towards Mrs Addams. ‘Do you have anything to add?’

  She shook her head, and she addressed the candidate. ‘You’re all clear about the hours, salary etcetera?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Very good.’ Mrs Addams got up and gestured Dr Levine towards the door. ‘We’ll be in touch. We’re aiming to make a decision as soon as possible, but don’t be concerned if you don’t hear until next week.’

  She returned to her seat. Dominic looked at his fellow interviewers. Professor Midsomer was beaming. ‘Good candidate. Just the right sort.’

  The right sort? That again. Dominic was the right sort for Emily. Levine was the right sort for the job. Dominic didn’t reply for a second. ‘I thought he struggled with the final question.’

  Theo shrugged. ‘Well, what else is a man supposed to say? Of course you treat them all the same.’

  Again, Dominic let the comment pass. It was correct in a way, and he knew that Theo was a decent bloke and a very fair teacher. He’d supported Dominic’s own career all the way, but the attitude rankled. The idea that there was a right sort, and the knowledge that if there was Dominic himself probably wasn’t it struck an uncomfortable chord. He looked at the clock and back to his list of candidates.

  ‘Time for a coffee before the next one?’

  Helen

  Helen was ridiculously early. Of course she was ridiculously early. Her interview was at 12noon, and she’d been ready to leave the house at quarter past eight. Alex had made her sit down and refused to let her move until eleven, but she was still nearly half an hour early, so she was plonked on a chair in the corridor, trying to look cool and unconcerned while she waited. She rehearsed her presentation in her head. British Abolitionism and the creation of a new masculinity. It was Alex’s idea to focus on masculinity, so she didn’t come across as the token woman who can only do women. It was a good presentation. At least it would be if she managed to say all the words in the right order.

  Helen checked her my watch. 12.03p.m. Her stomach flipped. She could do the job. She knew she could do the job. She just didn’t know if she could do the interview. Interviews were the first dates of the employment world. Helen preferred a strategy of hanging round for a decade or so and hoping the job made a move on her.

  ‘You can come through now, Dr Hart.’ It was Dominic, standing in the doorway to Professor Midsomer’s office. He stepped towards her and let the door swing closed for a second.

  ‘I didn’t know you were on the panel.’

  ‘Sorry! Neither did I.’ He smiled. ‘Obviously, I can’t be biased, but you’re going to be great. Good luck.’

  He pushed the door open again and ushered her into the room. The computer was already set up, displaying Helen’s presentation on a TV screen at one end of the room. The interviewers had chairs around three sides of a small rectangular table, with an empty chair on the short side nearest the computer.

  Professor Midsomer stood as they entered, and offered the formal introductions. ‘Dr Hart, you already know Professor Collins. And this is our colleague Josephine Addams, from Human Resources.’

  Mrs Addams half-stood and leant forward to shake hands.

  ‘So we’ll start with your presentation, and then there’s a couple of questions from each of us, and obviously there’ll be time for you to ask questions at the end.’

  Helen nodded, moved over to the laptop and took a deep breath. She could do this. She was, after all, all cheerleader, and her own woman or something to that effect. ‘All right. Well thank you for inviting me to interview. I’m Dr Helen Hart, and I’m going to talk for a few minutes about one of my research specialisms – abolitionism and masculinity – and hopefully give you some suggestions as to how my research fits into and enhances the wider work of the department.’

  Dominic nodded along, and Helen clicked to slide two. The presentation went well. Helen remembered everything she’d intended to say, and remembered to talk about how her research would enhance the department, rather than only about her subject. She finished precisely on the allotted ten minutes and sat down ready for questions.

  ‘Why do you want to work here, Dr Hart?’

  Well, because she needed the sodding money. Helen resisted the urge to say the first thing that popped into her head. ‘I’ve been part of this department since my undergraduate studies. There’s a great research and teaching ethos here, which I’m already part of as a sessional lecturer, and I’d welcome the opportunity to contribute further and be a full member of the team.’

  It was a dull answer, but hopefully one with nothing contentious in it. The personnel woman nodded, and opened her mouth to move on. Professor Midsomer held up a hand.

  ‘Yes Dr Hart.’ He was looking at the application form on the table in front of him. ‘You have been with us a number of years. I wonder if you can put your finger on why your career hasn’t progressed more quickly to date?’

  Helen opened her mouth and closed it again. She could hear Alex’s pep talk in her head. Don’t panic. Don’t rush. If you get nervous imagine them naked. She didn’t try that. Imagining Dominic naked wouldn’t help her interview performance. ‘Well, obviously academic posts don’t come up that often. I have applied once before, but I was very young then and possibly didn’t have enough teaching experience. I do think that this is the right time for me to make this move though. Really, it’s the here and now that I’m focusing on.’

  ‘Not much good for
a historian.’ It sounded like it ought to be a joke, but Professor Midsomer didn’t smile.

  The personnel woman asked her second question. Helen managed to repeat the list of skills and attributes she’d rehearsed. Then it was back to Professor Midsomer. Could she give examples of her excellent teaching practice?

  She could and she did. His second question was about enhancing the department’s research reputation. It would be poor form to suggest that without Dominic the department wouldn’t have a research reputation. She also refrained from pointing out that Professor Midsomer hadn’t actually contributed any research for several years, but still got a name check on the PhD papers of students supervised by the teaching staff under him. Instead, she talked about her own research interests. This wasn’t chit-chat. This was the stuff that Helen could talk about for hours. Men and women and how they interacted in different cultures and places and times. She was an expert, a purely theoretical expert unfortunately.

  Dominic was up next. He asked one question about abolitionism and masculinity which Helen dealt with easily. If the whole interview were talking about history it would have been a walk in the park.

  ‘And my last question, can you tell me how you would contribute to the equality goals of the department and to the university’s key aim of attracting more lower income students?’

  She took a breath. It was a question she could answer so many ways. It was probably best to plump for an option that didn’t involve the phrase ‘tweedy old gits.’ But what was her answer? There was all the stuff she could say about government targets, and using the media to expand the reach of the university, and engaging more with the community, but they all sounded like platitudes. She took a breath. ‘Actually, this is an area that does concern me. I sometimes worry that we’re doing worse rather than better in higher education.’

  Midsomer’s eyebrows shifted upwards at that. She was sounding negative which was bad, but she’d toed the party line for nearly forty-five minutes. There were limits. ‘I mean, when I think about my own childhood, my mum didn’t go to university, but it was absolutely expected that I would. There was this aspiration all the time, the idea that your children should do better than you. I worry that we’ve lost that, that higher education is becoming a closed shop again. To be honest I’m not sure what we do about that. Perhaps expanding the school liaison programme, giving kids a chance to come and see what we do and get a taste of the place for real?’ The positive suggestions were bland, but the sentiment was right, she thought.

  Dominic smiled, which would have been reassuring if he hadn’t been the only member of the panel doing it. ‘Great. And do you have any questions for us?’

  She asked her pre-planned question about the anticipated balance between teaching and research, and Professor Midsomer gave a vague, pat sort of an answer, and that was that.

  She walked down the corridor in a daze, and kept walking until she get to the hourly-paid lecturer’s office. Alex was there, getting dagger looks from the two other inhabitants. Helen saw why. He was hogging the one good computer playing Words with Friends. He jumped up when she came in.

  ‘How did it go?’

  Helen glanced around the room. Dr Levine and Dr Harries, both awkwardly and uncharacteristically suited up. ‘Oh fine. Good I think.’

  Alex remained oblivious to the sartorial clues to what his colleagues were up to. ‘I need details.’

  Two other pairs of ears were almost visibly twitching.

  ‘Come on then. You can buy me a coffee.’

  Alex logged off the computer. They headed to the canteen, leaving Levine and Harries devoid of gossip and free to fight over the good PC.

  ‘I can’t shake the feeling the Midsomer doesn’t like me.’

  Alex shrugged. ‘He’s all right. Better than Professor Collins anyway.’

  ‘Why are you down on Dominic?’

  He shrugged. ‘No reason.’

  It was sweet of him to be protective but unnecessary. Best to nip it in the bud.

  ‘You can’t blame him for how I feel.’

  ‘What?’ Alex looked confused for a moment.

  ‘The nearly moment was years ago, and seriously, it was just a moment. It’s not his fault it’s a moment I never got over.’

  ‘What?’ He was still looking blank. Then his expression shifted. ‘Right. Yeah. I know.’

  ‘So, if I’m over it, and he’s over it, maybe you should get over it too?’

  Alex stared at his drink for a minute. ‘Sure.’ He didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Anyway, according to Emily, they’re talking marriage and babies, so no more dwelling on what might have been.’

  Alex’s gaze shifted from his drink, to Helen and then over her shoulder.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ Emily approached them from behind Helen.

  ‘Helen’s just had her interview.’

  They chatted for a moment or two about how it went.

  ‘Actually there was something I wanted to talk to you about.’ Alex was staring at Emily.

  ‘What?’

  He stopped. ‘Er, the projector in lecture room four. It’s not working.’

  Helen furrowed her brow. ‘Isn’t that an issue for estates?’

  Alex froze, half out of his seat wedged against the fixed plastic table. ‘I thought Emily might be able to fix it.’

  That didn’t make any sense. ‘Well, it was fine yesterday.’

  Alex managed to stand up properly. ‘And it’s broken this morning.’

  ‘How do you know? You weren’t teaching this morning.’

  There was a light sheen sweat on his forehead. ‘I covered for someone.’

  So that was why he was acting weird. He must have covered a lecture so one of her competitors could go for an interview. Helen shook her head. She wouldn’t have minded. It was like his objection to Dominic all over again. She didn’t need him to get all protective like this.

  Emily

  I follow him out of the canteen and along the corridor. I chatter about work as we walk, keeping everything light, fighting the urge to just reach over and touch him. ‘I can fill in a work request for the projector, but it’ll probably be ages before anything gets done.’

  He twists his head back towards me. ‘What?’

  ‘The projector in room four?’

  Alex doesn’t answer. We turn towards the stairwell. It’s quieter here. He reaches back, grabs my hand and pulls me through a door behind us. He slams it shut and flicks the lock across.

  We’re in the disabled toilet. Alex leans against the mirror and takes a deep breath. He’s not between me or the door or anything, so I don’t think it would count as a kidnapping, but I’m not at all sure what it is. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He looks around. ‘Sorry. I needed to talk to you.’

  ‘Well I have an office and a phone and email, any of which would have been more normal than this.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Again?’

  He breaks into a half grin. ‘Yeah.’

  The grin is infectious. I have a strong feeling that I ought to be cross with him. I fold my arms across my body like a person who was cross might. ‘What did you want to talk about?’

  ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He pulls a folded sheet of A4 out of the back pocket of his jeans, and holds it out to me.

  I unfold the paper. It’s a drawing, a pencil drawing of me. I stare at the picture. I don’t even let people take my photo until I’ve checked my face and hair normally. In the drawing my hair is working its way free from a pony tail and hanging in wisps around my face. There’s a smudge under one eye like my mascara has run, but the eyes themselves are incredible. It’s just a few strokes with a pencil, but he’s managed to give them feeling. ‘Do I always look this sad?’

  ‘Only when you don’t think anybody’s watching.’ He glances at the floor. ‘What would make you happy Emily?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘I don’t think you should mar
ry Dominic.’

  All I can think about is the picture. He drew this for me. I drag my attention to what he’s saying.

  ‘I don’t think Dominic will make you happy.’

  Now I really am cross, and all the perfect drawings and sexy grins and flickering eyes won’t change that. I hold the piece of paper in front of him, screw it up and drop it on the floor. ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  He watches the drawing fall. ‘Maybe I’d like it to have a lot to do with me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What if I don’t want to be the friend guy? What if I’d prefer to be the guy? Your guy.’

  Something inside me jumps. I squash it down. Alex isn’t marriage material. Alex is living in the moment and regretting it in the morning material. ‘You can’t be my boyfriend.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well you’re not sensible. You have don’t have a proper place to live. You earn peanuts.’

  ‘But you work full time.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How?’

  It sounds pathetic even in my head. ‘I want someone to look after me.’

  Alex almost laughs, and then shakes his head. ‘You’re a grown-up. You need to look after yourself.’

  ‘But what would it be like?’ I can’t picture it. I can’t picture our home. I can’t picture our children. I can’t picture the dinner parties with grown-up friends or the two cars on our driveway.

  ‘It’d be however we wanted.’

  ‘Where would we even live?’

  ‘Wherever we want. Here. London. New York. Vegas.’ He smiles for the first time. ‘Vegas. I’ve always thought it would be kind of insanely brilliant to actually live in Vegas.’