Phoebe took another rescue breath and felt her chest tighten. Damn it, her inhalers were in her locker in the staffroom. She tried to concentrate on regulating her breathing; none of these other distracting thoughts were going to help her now. Pulling at the hem of her polo shirt, she squinted down at it. Not as clean as it would have been had she been planning to wear it for the interview, but maybe, if she positioned her arms just right, nobody would notice the stain where she had spilled coffee on it at break time. Letting her top fall back over her midriff, she looked into the mirror and did her best to tidy her hair. It had always been that strange gravity-defying state between curly and straight, where the merest whisper of damp transformed her into a frizzy blonde version of Albert Einstein. Today was just such a day.
Tucking it behind her ears, she gave up and took one last look in the mirror. It wasn’t the first impression she had wanted to create. But at least she still had her presentation. She gave a groan. The more she thought about the hurriedly-written rap she and Midnight had thrown together, the more it seemed like a car crash waiting to happen. Perhaps, after the humiliation of today she would be forced to leave Hendry’s for good. Perhaps she should leave right now? But she wanted more than anything to give Jack good news. She thought about how excited Maria would be without really understanding why, just being happy because Jack was. Holding onto those thoughts, she steeled herself. She was going to get through this and she was going to come out of that room the new promotions coordinator for Hendry’s Toy Store.
The office lady showed Phoebe to a seat. Everyone at Hendry’s called her the office lady, partly because she was the only member of staff solely dedicated to admin and seemed to pick up anything that the managers and supervisors didn’t, and partly because nobody knew what she actually did, other than sit in the office on the top floor, rather like Norman Bates’ stuffed mother in Psycho. Just like her movie counterpart, she was strangely inanimate and never seemed to leave her desk. There was another rumour that she was simply Steve in a wig, but this had been disproved when Phoebe had witnessed them in the same room at the same time as she signed her new employment contract after Christmas.
Phoebe sat down, mesmerised by a close up of the woman’s face. She did look like a creature that hadn’t seen daylight for thirty years and Phoebe was quite surprised that she didn’t see any signs of rickets in her American tan stocking-clad legs. Midnight referred to her as The Mythical Warden of the Personnel Files, but then Midnight did have a dramatic streak as wide as the shopping-trolley-filled river that ran through the heart of Millrise.
Phoebe barely had time to bite a nail clean from her finger before the door to the interview room opened and a man she recognised as the store PR manager waved her in.
‘Phoebe? Are you ready?’
She wanted to say: no, I’m not in the slightest bit ready; would you mind giving me thirty years or so? But she nodded and followed him in.
‘Take a seat, won’t you?’ He indicated a chair facing a long table, behind which sat two of his colleagues. She glanced at them, suddenly feeling very isolated in her solitary seat and deeply disconcerted. Perhaps that was the intention?
The manager sat down in the last vacant seat; he seemed nice enough: a jolly looking man who obviously enjoyed a pie or two judging by his size. So far so good. Next was a man she recognised as the MD of Hendry’s. His presence caught her off-guard. She hadn’t imagined that a man in his position would take an interest in such mundane affairs as the appointment of a promotions coordinator. His steel-grey eyes weighed her up from behind designer-framed glasses, inscrutable and slightly terrifying. He made no attempt at a greeting but watched her intently like a snake watching prey. The PR manager introduced him.
‘This is Mr Hendry… The third Mr Hendry to take control of the store, actually,’ the PR boss said, a note of obvious pride in his voice. Mr Hendry gave a short, silent nod.
Lastly was a woman Phoebe recognised. She had seen her around the store from time to time, had even exchanged the odd pleasantry, but had no idea what she did. When she was introduced as Sue Bunce, personnel manager, all became clear. Steve had always taken personnel matters upon himself, choosing to avoid contact with the official channels wherever possible. He had become such a successful middle man that many of his staff, including Phoebe, had been given no reason to have any dealings with Sue at all. Phoebe had never understood Steve’s motives for this behaviour, but she suspected that it was really the sign of an underlying insecurity in his own abilities to perform his job. Midnight always said it was because he was a monumental twat.
‘I’m Dixon…’ the PR boss continued. ‘I don’t live in Dock Green, luckily though…’ he began to snigger. Phoebe gave a weak smile, having no clue what he was talking about. Nobody else seemed to find the joke amusing. For a man whose job relied on large amounts of charm and humour Dixon didn’t seem to have much of either. ‘Dixon is my Christian name…’ he added. ‘Just to clarify. It’s Dixon Montague. A mouthful, I know. My friends call me Monty.’ Phoebe tried not to frown at him. Did that mean he wanted her to call him Monty? Or was he simply letting her know he had friends?
Silence descended, broken only by the rustling of papers as Dixon and Sue turned to what Phoebe assumed were their interview questions. Mr Hendry continued to stare at her. It was making her sweat – she could feel the trickles down her back as she sat there, and the harder she concentrated on making it stop, the more she seemed to perspire. Under his fierce scrutiny, she began to quail, acutely aware of how messy her hair was and how grubby and crumpled her uniform was. Things weren’t about to get any better. She glanced at the clock. Five minutes of her allotted forty-five had already gone. She only hoped that the rest would be over quickly.
‘Phoebe…’ Dixon began, looking up from his notes. ‘I wonder if you’d tell us what you know about the role. What is your understanding of what’s expected of the person who is successful at interview today?’
‘As I understand it, if I got the job I would be answerable to you in the first instance, but I would also have to liaise and report to various other managers as and when required. I would help to coordinate promotional campaigns in-store and around the local area, utilising local radio, newspaper and TV as well as keeping up a social media presence on all the main websites. I would be expected to attend events, chat to customers and members of the public at such times, and be generally as nice and helpful as I can to continue the good reputation of Hendry’s within the Millrise community.’ Phoebe had read the job specification so many times she could almost recite it word for word.
Dixon nodded sagely and Sue smiled. Mr Hendry was as stony-faced as he had been since the beginning. Phoebe was beginning to wonder if he had some sort of brain disorder that they had neglected to mention.
‘Very good. And how do you feel about those duties?’ Dixon asked. ‘You’d be expected to do unsociable hours at times and you wouldn’t always get away from events on time. How would that impact on your life outside work?’
Mr Hendry’s expression changed for the first time: he sent a look of utter disdain in Dixon’s direction, as if the question he’d asked was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard. A life outside work? How dare you!
‘I don’t have much in the way of family commitments so I don’t think it would be a problem,’ Phoebe replied. ‘If it’s all part and parcel of the job then I would accept that.’
Sue glanced at Dixon and Mr Hendry in turn, who both nodded. ‘Perhaps you’d like to show us your presentation now?’ she asked Phoebe. ‘Do you need anything… the projector, perhaps?’ She gestured to the back of the room where a laptop stood idle next to a wall-mounted screen.
‘That’s alright,’ Phoebe replied, wondering whether her legs would support her when she stood. ‘It’s a bit more performance based than techie.’
‘Sounds intriguing…’ Sue smiled. ‘Whenever you’re ready, please…’
Phoebe stood uncertainly and moved away fr
om her chair. She cleared her throat, wishing desperately, as she psyched herself up to begin, that she had decided on something else – anything, rather than this rap. But she was committed now, like a cyclist tearing down a hill with no brakes towards certain disaster and, other than running from the room and never setting foot in Hendry’s again, there was no escape. And she had to commit fully – no half measures, no mumbling, glued to the floor in a motionless, mortified trance – if she was going to perform it, she had to perform it, heart and soul. There was no other way to deliver something like this, no matter how stupid she felt.
Striking what she thought was a typical rapper pose – arms folded high across her chest, chin in the air, legs apart – she began in her best (more like Newcastle than New York) rapper accent.
Listen up y’all
I’m gonna put out the call
To my homies at Hendry’s
You know it ain’t no ball
When your toy sales fall
No one shops in your store
They’re dissing up and down the town
Hendry’s ain’t fly no more
She began to leap around, jabbing her fingers in the air. Her captive audience stared from across the table. Phoebe couldn’t decide if it was awe, confusion or just plain terror on their faces. Either way, if she had offered them a severed head on a plate she couldn’t have received a worse reaction than this. But, as her mother had always said: in for a penny…
But what’s that, in the distance?
It’s your new promotions assistant!
She’s cool, she’s fly, she’s gonna make the sales spry
It ain’t no mystery
She’ll make Hendry’s history
Phoebe dared to glance up at her audience. It looked as though they were now searching for exits.
She’ll look like a fool
Break the fashion rules
Coz she’s crazy ’bout Hendry’s
Like a good employee should be
She didn’t dare look at them again, but geared up for the finale and thanked whatever god was looking down on her that it was almost over.
She’s dancin’, she’s singin’
Gonna get your tills ringin’
It’s her mission and duty
To bring love from your city
She knows how it’s done
That fifty to seventy-five percent of promotions is all about enthusiasm and belief…
‘Sorry, that last line is a little out…’ Phoebe panted as she came to a standstill. ‘I just needed to get that point across… you know, that if your promotions person looks as if they’re having a good time everyone else will buy it. A bit like believing your own hype… you know?’
‘Yes… erm… thank you Phoebe. That was certainly… original…’ Sue said in a dazed voice.
‘The interview pack did specify a ten-minute presentation, Phoebe,’ Dixon added. ‘And that was only about two by my watch.’
‘Oh…’ Phoebe said. ‘I could talk you through it, if you’d like?’
Mr Hendry spoke for the first time. ‘I really don’t think that’s necessary… I’ve heard quite enough. I’m content to progress with the rest of the interview. Personally, I don’t think I could have endured another minute of that. I’m sure it’s considered very creative amongst young people but it’s certainly not for me.’
Phoebe forced a smile.
After a brief moment of uncertainty, where nobody asked her to retake her seat but simply stared at her as if she ought to know what to do next, Phoebe sat down, hands clasped together on her lap. It wasn’t the positive body language she’d read so much about, but it was difficult to know where else to put them. In a conscious bid to look more confident, she pulled back her shoulders and sat up straighter. Then she wondered if, perhaps, the resultant pushing out of her chest might give the impression that she was trying to employ her cleavage (as paltry as it was) as a tactic to win some sort of favour with the men. Immediately, she slumped back to her original posture.
‘So…’ Sue began, ‘you’ve been with us for four months?’
‘I started as a temp, three weeks before Christmas and was then offered a permanent contract in January. So I suppose it’s really about five months now.’
‘It’s still not that long, though, is it? Not long to learn the business of Hendry’s. Don’t you think it’s a little premature to be thinking about promotion?’
‘Maybe,’ Phoebe replied carefully, wondering if there was a trick to this particular question, some obvious answer she was expected to give. ‘When I began I had no preconceptions about the store. I mean, I came here all the time as a kid… it’s the shop every adult in Millrise has fond memories of. But that was all I knew and having no children of my own I hadn’t really needed to come in for a long time. But once I started to work here I realised what a special place it is and how dear it is to the town. I don’t mean dear as in expensive…’ she added quickly. ‘I mean people care about it. Now that I work here I love it too and I think that my future lies here. That’s why I’m taking steps to secure that future by applying for this job.’
Sue gave her an encouraging smile. So far so good; her answer must have been the right one, or at least, not a terrible one. Phoebe glanced across at Mr Hendry but his face had regained its marble-like stillness. Even so, she began to relax a little.
‘Would you consider yourself reliable?’ Sue asked.
‘Steve – my line manager – has no complaints about my work or my timekeeping. I’ve never had a day off sick since I’ve been here.’ Phoebe reflected for a moment on what a miracle that was considering the hangovers she’d turned in with, but she kept the wry smile to herself.
‘May I ask something?’ Dixon cut in. Sue nodded. ‘Phoebe, what do you think you can bring to my department that the other candidates can’t? What would make you better for this role than anyone else?’
This was it: the crunch question and one that Phoebe had expected to be asked at some point. It was the question she would ask, after all. She had thought long and hard about it since she had found out she’d been short-listed. Some of the other candidates had been open about being picked for interview, others had been more cagey; Phoebe couldn’t be sure who she was up against and what they had to offer. Yet she had to find something that no one else would have, she had to make these people sit up and take notice, tell them something that nobody else would tell them and it had to be compelling enough to convince them to choose her over people who had worked for Hendry’s half their adult lives. She had to take a risk and she already knew what that would be. She had made such a hash of things today that perhaps it didn’t really matter anymore, but going for broke was her only option now.
‘My life depends on this job,’ she said.
The stares were back. Dixon was unashamedly open-mouthed, whilst Mr Hendry widened his eyes by a nano-millimetre. Phoebe decided this must be his incredibly shocked face.
‘Five months ago I had no job, no money and no prospects,’ she continued. ‘I lived in a crappy flat, still grieving for a man I’d watched die the Christmas before and I couldn’t move – it was like I was a photo standing in the middle of a crowded shopping centre. The rest of the world was hurrying around me and I was stuck. When I came to Hendry’s all that changed. Working here saved my life and I want to make a success of this job. I can’t comment on what the other candidates can offer, but I guarantee that they won’t want it more than me.’
She paused, looked along the row to see every eye was still trained on her, listening intently, and then went for the biggest gamble of all. ‘I’ll be straight with you. My presentation was crap. That’s because, for some reason the instruction that I should prepare one was missing from my application pack, so I didn’t know I had to do one until this morning. I screwed up, but would any of the other candidates still have come to the interview and humiliated themselves by performing that pile of excrement for you? That’s how much I want this job. If some
one wants it that much then you have to believe that they will work their backsides off to be great in it.’
Even as the words tumbled out of her, Phoebe knew they were true. Hendry’s was the most annoying place to be and yet the best. There were mornings when she stood at the counter as the first shoppers wandered in and longed to be back in her bed. There were days when she watched the clock hands crawl round the dial, willing them on. There were weeks when she wished her life away waiting for that golden day off. The people she worked with were silly, often socially challenged, irritating and juvenile. The customers were rude and demanding and the managers even more so.
But she loved it. Suddenly, she couldn’t imagine working anywhere else. Along with Jack and Maria, the strange, archaic toy store that had stood on the High Street of Millrise for almost a hundred years had dragged her back from a void that had opened up with Vik’s death and had very nearly swallowed her whole. It was an unexpected and emotional epiphany of such force that she had to try very hard not to cement the lunatic reputation she was in the process of carefully constructing by bursting into tears.
‘Well…’ Mr Hendry said, ‘At least we’re agreed on one thing… that presentation was a pile of crap.’
Phoebe tried to get a fix on what he was thinking, but he remained stubbornly expressionless. Dixon looked across at him.
‘I don’t have anything else to ask.’
‘Me neither,’ Sue added.
Had they cut it short? Where were the questions about demographics and sales trends? Where were the questions about bestselling toys and peak shopping times? Had she really performed so badly that they were kicking her out early? She looked at Mr Hendry.
‘I think I’ve heard enough,’ he agreed. ‘Thank you for coming, Phoebe.’
He turned his attention to a sheaf of paperwork in front of him and started to shuffle through it, so Phoebe got up.
The Spring of Second Chances : An absolutely perfect and uplifting romantic comedy Page 3
