Mock interview, March 1991
interviewer Good morning, Miss Fleet. Thank you for coming. Did you have a difficult journey? You look very tired.
me I’m always very tired, Mr Interviewer.
interviewer Let’s get started. [clearing throat] I’m a little confused looking at your CV: you got the dux medal at school, but then had a seven-year gap before getting your degree. I’m curious about what you were doing in between.
me I was travelling.
interviewer Seven years is a long time to travel.
me I was in Madeira then London then San Francisco.
interviewer Were you working while you travelled?
me [bowing head in shame] I’m sorry, I have to come clean, Mr Interviewer, I wasn’t travelling, I was ill.
interviewer For seven years?!
me Yup. In fact, I’m still ill, but I thought I’d chance my arm and come for an interview. I need the experience. By the way, in Canada you wouldn’t be allowed to ask about gaps in my CV, you’d have to concentrate on the positives.
interviewer Very well then, what skills make you suitable for this job?
me I get exhausted at the drop of a hat and my concentration’s terrible.
interviewer And how do you handle pressure? You would be working to deadlines, after all.
me Very badly. People with my illness have a poor stress response – I could never work to deadlines. And to be honest, as I can’t depend on my physical well-being, I would need a lot of sick days. In fact, I’d only be here for a few hours a week – if you were lucky. Your job description said the hours were flexible, that’s why I applied.
interviewer [forcing a smile] I admire your cheek, Miss Fleet. We’ll be in touch. By the way, I like your suit, very smart.
me Thank you. I got it in San Francisco.
Ivan’s moved out, he’s bought a place. I love having his room, it’s so much bigger, I can spread out, and I now have a view of a beautiful spire. (The boxroom looked onto a dreary bit of grass and washing poles that no one ever used.)
Ivan’s new flat’s in Hillhead. It’s gorgeous. I took some tapes over last night that he’d left at Rez’s. You’re so lucky to have your own place, I said.
He told me that Wendy was moving in with him for a while ‘cos she was having problems with her flatmate and couldn’t find anywhere decent.
Where will she sleep? I asked, throwing the question at him like a dart.
Spare room, he said.
You don’t need to lie, I said.
I’ll still help you get heavy groceries, he said. I’m having some wine, d’you want some?
I only drink Californian now.
Wait a minute and I’ll check my cellar, he said.
He went to the kitchen and came back with two tumblers. It’s French, I’m afraid. It’s all I’ve got. Cheers, he said. Thanks for bringing the tapes over.
We were sitting on the floor, he had no furniture yet. He put his arm round me. Are you okay?
I’d be more okay if Wendy wasn’t moving in.
She’s just a lodger, she’ll be paying rent.
You’ve got no furniture, how can she pay rent?
Bills then. She won’t be here for long.
I might have to send her a chicken wing, I said.
How many people do you actually send chicken wings to? You seem to have a file.
I could gift-wrap one and bring it to your house-warming. Expose her as a witch to the whole party.
Why don’t you just throw her in the Clyde and see if she floats?
Sorry, I said. I lay my head in his lap. This was all I wanted, this was enough. He stroked my hair.
Will there be any nice men at your house-warming?
Just boring biochemists.
What do you want as a present?
Anything, he said. Whatever you want.
I think I’ll get wine glasses. Jana had gorgeous ones, so big and roomy, you just wanted to press them against your face.
Wine glasses would be nice.
I broke two when I was there, beheaded them when I was washing up. They’re so fragile.
Nothing to do with you being clumsy.
Anyone can break glasses, I said.
You more than most, Looby.
Your ceiling’s filthy, I said. It could do with a lick of paint.
I know. My mother said she’d help.
I can help too.
How can you help?
I can do the skirting. The whole room needs tarted up.
Skirting’s harder than it looks, he said, you have to watch for drips.
I love when you get a skin over the paint and you have to pop it.
Very Freudian, he said. Can you shift a bit? My leg’s numb.
I slid over.
What did you do today? he asked.
I was in the French Department. I like to drop in, see what’s happening. It smells exactly like it did when Jana and I were there. I keep expecting to see her come out of the Common Room.
Remember I used to meet you there every Friday at four?
Seems like another lifetime, I said.
Are you still applying for that counselling course?
I phoned them for an application. It’s two evenings a week, six hours, and you get coffee breaks. My energy’s always better at night.
Sounds ideal.
It’s £500.
Can you not get a grant?
Most people who do it work full-time. Their jobs pay.
Will Rita and Nab help?
How else could I afford it?
By the way, he said, I’ve been accepted for that research post.
What research post?
Post-doc at UCSF, I thought I told you about it.
I sat up like a shot – UCSF!
Careful – you almost spilled my wine.
You didn’t tell me! How long for?!
A year. I applied in October, it must’ve been when you were away.
A year?!
It’s not that long, he said, and I’m not going ‘til the end of the summer.
I know the UCSF hospital, it’s near Jana’s dad, I said wistfully. Will you see her?
I don’t know, haven’t really thought about it. I might ask her to help me find a flat.
Or you could just move in with her.
I thought she had a flatmate.
I know you slept with her the night of my twenty-first, Ivan.
He shook his head slowly, frowning…When did she tell you?
When I was over there.
I can’t believe her. It was years ago, it meant nothing.
People always say that.
We were comforting each other, it was fucking hard watching you so ill.
You poor lambs, it must’ve been awful for you.
Why did the stupid bitch tell you?
Don’t call Jana a stupid bitch!
What kind of friend would tell you something like that?
What kind of boyfriend would DO something like that?!
Let’s not dig it all up, there’s no point.
I’ve tried not to torture myself – Jana was so sorry and guilty about the whole thing, but now you’re going over there it might happen again.
Of course, it won’t. Don’t be ridiculous. Lie back down, he said, gently pushing my head.
We stayed like that for ages, not speaking, me raising my head occasionally to slug the wine.
What’s your research post?
More of the same. Developing cognitive enhancers for people with dementia. I’ll be a post-doc researcher in drug metabolism.
Why can’t you stay here and test them on me? My memory’s crap – I’ll be your guinea pig. Anyway, you can’t go away, you’ve just bought a flat.
I’ll rent it out.
I’ll come with you, I’ll hide in your luggage.
You’ll be fine. You’ll be doing your counselling course.
I’d rather be doing it in San Francisco.
Yo
u’ll need to move your head, he said.
Why?
Because.
The wine had made me bold.
I don’t want to move, I said.
He shifted a bit.
I wondered if I should, then began to stroke him.
No, Helen, don’t, he said.
I ignored him and kept stroking.
We shouldn’t be doing this, he said, curling over me.
I unzipped him and he barely resisted. He found my mouth and I kissed him back with every bone. I’d wanted this for so long, but now it was happening I felt I was outside it – round window – watching us making love, but not feeling it. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I was scared he wouldn’t say it back.
I felt like Jana – to hell with the consequences – but at the last minute I asked him to pull out – It’s not safe, I said, we have to be careful!
He called me his sexiest babe and came all over my breasts. I’ll get you a towel, he said when he’d recovered. I lay on the floor, shivering slightly, cold without the exertion. He came back and wiped his sperm off me.
You look sad, he said.
I feel sad.
And beautiful.
There’s no point being beautiful, I said. It doesn’t get you anywhere.
I’m sorry about Jana, he said.
You should be.
And I’m sorry about now.
Do you regret we did it? I said.
I’m just scared you’ll get all emotional and torn.
I feel flat, like it should’ve been better, I said.
You know what they say about sex with an ex, he said.
Don’t call it sex with an ex, it was sex with me!
I’m joking.
D’you think it was empty? I said.
See, you’re getting emotional and analysing everything.
No, I’m not, but you’re being cold to me.
I’m not being cold. I just don’t want a big saga.
Will you tell Wendy?
Tell her what?
That we had sex.
It’s none of her business.
I want to tell everyone.
Why?
I just do.
Get dressed, he said, before you catch cold.
My legs are trembling, I said.
D’you want some coffee to pep you up?
Please. (I didn’t want any, but said yes just to prolong my time with him.)
I got dressed. He brought me coffee and I drank it as slowly as I could.
I’ve only got myself to blame, I said. I shouldn’t have seduced you.
Stop analysing things.
I’m my own worst enemy. No matter what I do, whether I’m hot or cold to you, it always backfires.
He took my hands. Helen, it felt great, he said softly, but we can’t get carried away. You know we can’t.
I always end up losing you, I said.
Don’t be sad, he said. Please don’t be sad.
You’re like sand, I said. No matter how many handfuls I take, I still lose you through my fingers.
What are you doing tomorrow?
Meeting the girl with Down’s Syndrome that I befriend. I might take her to the cinema.
What’s her name again?
Morag.
Did you know that people with Down’s are more likely to develop Alzheimer’s?
Why?
After forty, they get beta-amyloid deposits in their brains, same as people with Alzheimer’s, but they don’t always develop the symptoms.
That’s so cruel! At least if you were normal and started losing it, you’d know you were losing it, at the beginning anyway, but if you had Down’s it would be terrifying.
It’s pretty fucked, he said.
I’d nursed the last few millimetres of coffee for as long as possible. I wanted to ask him if I could stay over, but instead I said, I wonder what age Morag is.
It’s getting late, he said. I’ll walk you home.
I suppose that’s your flat christened, I said as I stood up.
It was a ten minute walk to Rez’s. We walked slowly, I linked my arm into his. When we got there, he wouldn’t come up. He hugged me tightly and kissed me on the cheek. Have a good time with Morag, he said. I didn’t hug him back. I watched him walk away, hoping he’d turn round, but he didn’t.
I trudged upstairs. I felt like I’d been doing gymnastics.
Rez was watching TV. There’s a fax from Jana, he said. It just came in. How’s Ivan doing?
Fine, I said sharply.
I went into the hall and ripped the fax from the machine and took it into my room. Jana was on a high, she’d been on her third date with Kavi, an English software engineer. He’d just taken her to the hot springs in Sonoma for the weekend and they’d had mud baths and champagne. She wanted to tell me how happy she was and that she missed me lots. I knew it meant she wouldn’t be coming over in the summer. I ripped the fax up. Then I looked for the rose Ivan’d given me for my graduation and crumbled it over the floor. I stifled my sobs, I didn’t want Rez to hear me crying.
I went into the shower, cried more and washed Ivan off me. I was sore and swollen from him. When I came out, I listened to Frank Zappa. He always cheered me up.
I went to bed with the curtains open: the moon was hanging behind the spire, blatantly poetic, sad and beautiful.
I was sitting with Morag in the first row. We’ll get cricks in our necks, I said.
I always sit in the first row, she replied.
Can we not sit in the second or third?
No, I always sit in the first.
She’d taken her jacket off, but insisted on keeping her bag on. It was glued to her, slung diagonally over her shoulder. She’d lost her bus pass once and was terrified of it happening again. She kept it in a wallet inside a bigger purse inside her bag. Your purse is like a Russian doll, I said.
She was lost in the moment, relishing every flicker from the screen, even though we were still at the adverts. I was watching my own film, Sex With Ivan, every frame frozen in my head. I wished I hadn’t crumbled the rose.
It’s all wrong, I should be living with Ivan, rushing around in the mornings to dry my hair before work. I’ll go to his house-warming party, dressed to kill and if anyone asks me what I do I’ll say I’m an acrobat.
26
Fabio
FABIO HAD BLONDE hair and a padded cord jacket with leather trims. He looked a bit like James Spader, but he wasn’t my type. He was too stocky. The first time we had sex, it was like having a tree trunk on top of me.
I met him at Ivan’s party. He was going into the fridge for beer and I asked him if there was any cheese.
For God’s sake, woman, are you a mouse?!
I just need some cheese, I said, laughing, I’m starving.
He rummaged around. There’s no cheese, but I’ve found some spring onions.
I think I’ll pass, I said. They’re a bit limp.
Are there no party nibbles left?
They’re all gone, I said. (I was horrified he’d said ‘nibbles’.)
I’m Fabio, by the way.
I’m Helen, I said.
That’s my mother’s name. Means ‘light’.
I know, I said.
So who do you know here?
Ivan. He’s my best friend, well, best male friend.
I’m a friend of Wendy’s, he said.
Oh.
Are her and Ivan not having a thing?
Ivan has a lot of casual girlfriends, I said – it’s hard to keep track.
But she’s just moved in with him.
Only ‘til she gets another flat, I said. She was having problems in her old place.
He nodded. Are you a biochemist too?
No, I said, shaking my head.
So, what do you do then?
I work in salad distribution.
Salad distribution?
It’s boring, I said, I don’t want to talk about it.
Sounds fascinating, he s
aid, making a face.
What do you do? I asked.
I analyse bridges.
Sounds fascinating, I said.
I was working on the Forth Road Bridge last week.
What were you doing – painting it?
Cheeky, he said, I was measuring the width of the cable saddles, actually.
It’s the same design as the Golden Gate, isn’t it?
Yeah.
I was there in October, I said. It’s so scary, those big choppy waves below. I still have nightmares that they’re lapping over the bridge and I can’t get across.
It’s a feat of engineering, he said – the towers are 746 feet high.
Did you know that more than a thousand people have jumped off since it was built?
Funnily enough, I didn’t, he said.
I shuddered. Imagine jumping into all that shrouding fog. People have jumped off with children in their arms.
You’re a cheery one. Are you really a distributor of salads?
No.
What are you then?
I felt my cheeks pulsing – I’m not working just now, I have ME.
God, my mother thought she had that, she’s such a hypochondriac!
It’s not a hypochondriac’s illness, I said, it’s a serious neurological syndrome.
To be honest, I don’t know much about it, he said.
There are 150 000 sufferers in the UK just now.
Must be serious then.
I think I’ll go and find Ivan, I said. I’ve hardly seen him tonight.
Sorry, he said, you seem upset. I didn’t mean to offend you.
Don’t worry, I said, ignorance about my illness is endemic, I’m used to it. (You stupid bastard with your leather trims.)
I found Ivan in the living room with the biochemistry set. One guy was saying that he thought central heating had contributed to the breakdown of the family because people didn’t huddle together in the living room anymore. Wendy was talking about liver toxicity in mice. I looked as bored as I could. How are you doing, Looby? asked Ivan, draping his arm round me. Wendy’s glance nicked me like a paper-cut.
I’m okay, I said, but I’m going to go soon. I’m getting a lift back with Jab.
You can’t leave, it’s too early!
It’s midnight, I said. I want to go home and make toasted cheese.
I’ll make you some, he said.
You can’t, you don’t have any cheese.
We’re low on basics, chipped in Wendy, we’re doing a big shopping tomorrow.
The State of Me Page 25
