by Moyes, Jojo
Now I sat at my fourth interview as Syed scanned through the touch screen for further employment ‘opportunities’. Even Syed, who wore the grimly cheerful demeanour of someone who had shoehorned the most unlikely candidates into a job, was starting to sound a little weary.
‘Um … Have you ever considered joining the entertainment industry?’
‘What, as in pantomime dame?’
‘Actually, no. But there is an opening for a pole dancer. Several, in fact.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Please tell me you are kidding.’
‘It’s thirty hours a week on a self-employed basis. I believe the tips are good.’
‘Please, please tell me you have not just advised me to get a job that involves parading around in front of strangers in my underwear.’
‘You said you were good with people. And you seem to like … theatrical … clothing.’ He glanced at my tights, which were green and glittery. I had thought they would cheer me up. Thomas had hummed the theme tune from The Little Mermaid at me for almost the whole of breakfast.
Syed tapped something into his keyboard. ‘How about “adult chat line supervisor”?’
I stared at him.
He shrugged. ‘You said you liked talking to people.’
‘No. And no to semi-nude bar staff. Or masseuse. Or webcam operator. Come on, Syed. There must be something I can do that wouldn’t actually give my dad a heart attack.’
This appeared to stump him. ‘There’s not much left outside flexi-hour retail opportunities.’
‘Night-time shelf stacking?’ I had been here enough times now to speak their language.
‘There’s a waiting list. Parents tend to go for it, because it suits the school hours,’ he said apologetically. He studied the screen again. ‘So we’re really left with care assistant.’
‘Wiping old people’s bottoms.’
‘I’m afraid, Louisa, you’re not qualified for much else. If you wanted to retrain, I’d be happy to point you in the right direction. There are plenty of courses at the adult education centre.’
‘But we’ve been through this, Syed. If I do that, I lose my Jobseeker money, right?’
‘If you’re not available for work, yes.’
We sat there in silence for a moment. I gazed at the doors, where two burly security men stood. I wondered if they had got the job through the Job Centre.
‘I’m not good with old people, Syed. My granddad lives at home since he had his strokes, and I can’t cope with him.’
‘Ah. So you have some experience of caring.’
‘Not really. My mum does everything for him.’
‘Would your mum like a job?’
‘Funny.’
‘I’m not being funny.’
‘And leave me looking after my granddad? No thanks. That’s from him, as well as me, by the way. Haven’t you got anything in any cafes?’
‘I don’t think there are enough cafes left to guarantee you employment, Louisa. We could try Kentucky Fried Chicken. You might get on better there.’
‘Because I’d get so much more out of offering a Bargain Bucket than a Chicken McNugget? I don’t think so.’
‘Well, then perhaps we’ll have to look further afield.’
‘There are only four buses to and from our town. You know that. And I know you said I should look into the tourist bus, but I rang the station and it stops at 5pm. Plus it’s twice as expensive as the normal bus.’
Syed sat back in his seat. ‘At this point in proceedings, Louisa, I really need to make the point that as a fit and able person, in order to continue qualifying for your allowance, you need –’
‘– to show that I’m trying to get a job. I know.’
How could I explain to this man how much I wanted to work? Did he have the slightest idea how much I missed my old job? Unemployment had been a concept, something droningly referred to on the news in relation to shipyards or car factories. I had never considered that you might miss a job like you missed a limb – a constant, reflexive thing. I hadn’t thought that as well as the obvious fears about money, and your future, losing your job would make you feel inadequate, and a bit useless. That it would be harder to get up in the morning than when you were rudely shocked into consciousness by the alarm. That you might miss the people you worked with, no matter how little you had in common with them. Or even that you might find yourself searching for familiar faces as you walked the high street. The first time I had seen the Dandelion Lady wandering past the shops, looking as aimless as I felt, I had fought the urge to go and give her a hug.
Syed’s voice broke into my reverie. ‘Aha. Now this might work.’
I tried to peer round at the screen.
‘Just come in. This very minute. Care assistant position.’
‘I told you I was no good with –’
‘It’s not old people. It’s a … a private position. To help in someone’s house, and the address is less than two miles from your home. “Care and companionship for a disabled man.” Can you drive?’
‘Yes. But would I have to wipe his –’
‘No bottom wiping required, as far as I can tell.’ He scanned the screen. ‘He’s a … a quadriplegic. He needs someone in the daylight hours to help feed and assist. Often in these jobs it’s a case of being there when they want to go out somewhere, helping with basic stuff that they can’t do themselves. Oh. It’s good money. Quite a lot more than the minimum wage.’
‘That’s probably because it involves bottom wiping.’
‘I’ll ring them to confirm the absence of bottom wiping. But if that’s the case, you’ll go along for the interview?’
He said it like it was a question.
But we both knew the answer.
I sighed, and gathered up my bag ready for the trip home.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said my father. ‘Can you imagine? If it wasn’t punishment enough ending up in a ruddy wheelchair, then you get our Lou turning up to keep you company.’
‘Bernard!’ my mother scolded.
Behind me, Granddad was laughing into his mug of tea.
THE BEGINNING
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First published 2014
Copyright © Jojo’s Mojo Ltd, 2014
Cover © Rebecca Gibbon
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ISBN: 978-1-405-90906-8
One Plus One
