by Anna Bell
‘Exactly,’ says Dominic. ‘So it’s essential that we get the marketing and branding right. We want to have an in-house marketing manager, and they can work with a branding agency towards the launch.’
‘Which is where you come in. Dominic said you worked as an account manager at an agency, so this would be a bit of a change for you.’
‘Yes, it would,’ I say, trying to stay professional, despite the fact that I know Dominic has clearly brought me here for a joke, as there’s no way in hell we’d work together. ‘But I have ten years’ experience in different marketing roles, and having managed corporate clients through rebranding and also product launches. I’m more than qualified.’
‘Excellent,’ says Ben. ‘So we’ll start asking you questions, then.’ He laughs a little nervously, and it comes out as a bit of a honk.
‘Daisy,’ says Dominic, with a look that lets me know how much he’s enjoying this. ‘Our business is quite reliant on social media.’
He pauses for effect, and I desperately try to keep my poker face.
‘We’ll hopefully be looking for something to create a buzz and go viral. Perhaps you could talk us through some good examples of companies that have recently gone viral?’
He raises an eyebrow in his smug way. If I wasn’t being filmed, I’d have tipped a glass of water over his head and stormed out, but, instead, I smile politely.
‘Well, as I’m sure you are well aware, the problem with relying on things to go viral is that you’re at the mercy of other people to do it. A lot of companies spend a lot of money trying to do quirky videos or adverts in the hope that they will be liked and shared, and often what they find is that the things that go viral are unintended things. Misinterpreted tweets,’ I say, holding Dominic’s eye, ‘or letters sent to clients that are exceptional for either the right or wrong reasons. Therefore, I usually advise my clients instead to focus on targeted advertising via social-media platforms. That way, you know who is going to be watching and reacting to it, and you have the control.’
Dominic might not be impressed with how I’ve answered the question, but Ben certainly is.
It spurs him on to ask another couple of routine interview questions, and I can’t help but feel like the smug one as I knock the answers out of the park. Dominic starts fidgeting and looking at his list of interview questions, and when I come to the end of an answer he gives me a look, and I brace myself for what’s coming next.
‘So, Daisy. What do you think the biggest enemy to a woman in the workplace is?’
I can feel the anger rising up inside me. He’s trying to unnerve me by making reference to my tweets during the hen do.
‘Dominic,’ says Ben in a hushed whisper. He holds up a book in front of the side of his face to shield him from the camera. ‘You can’t ask that. Not with the camera here. You’ll stir up a hornets’ nest and everyone will accuse us of not being a feminist-friendly company.’
Dominic flexes his fingers and looks furious at being overruled, but he doesn’t argue back.
‘So, Daisy,’ says Ben, smiling as he puts his book down. ‘What’s your biggest weakness?’
Dominic perks up again and he raises an eyebrow as if to bait me. Well, if he wants me to talk about social media, maybe I will.
‘I think that my greatest weakness is always being switched on. I think it’s so easy to do in the modern world, and I’m sure the two of you are just as guilty of answering emails at midnight and interrupting what you’re doing to check what’s happening online. It’s hard sometimes to stay focused when you’ve got the whole world at your fingertips. Yet, I’ve recently been on a digital detox and I feel as if I’ve regained more perspective on my mobile-phone usage, and I believe that this won’t be so much of an issue in the future.’
‘Ah, a digital detox; that’s a bit like what you did, wasn’t it, Dominic? In Thailand,’ says Ben.
‘Mine was more of a spiritual retreat that cut out the trappings of modern life,’ he says in his weird accent. Of course his would have to be better than mine.
‘Now, our business is based on social-media profiles and seeing what they say about a person. We thought that a good marketing strategy would be to have adverts that made people think about what their social-media accounts say about themselves. So we thought it might be a fun idea to bring up one of your social-media accounts to see if you can analyse your public persona based on it, and see if you could tell us what different interactions say about your personality.’
Dominic’s pursing his lips with expectation as Ben taps a few buttons on his iPad and its screen appears on one of the screens on the wall. He opens Twitter and slides it over for me to log in.
I take a deep breath, remembering the film crew sitting there. I don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me break down.
‘I recently deleted my Twitter account after I started to receive obscene messages,’ I say, holding Dominic’s gaze. ‘But, I think it’s a very good idea. I’m sure you can tell a lot from someone’s Twitter feed.’
I type in Dominic’s and bring up his profile. It takes him a good second to realise what I’m doing.
‘Now, hang on,’ he says, but Ben holds his hand out to stop him.
‘Relax, see where it goes,’ he says.
Ben clearly wears the trousers in their business relationship, making me think they might not be equal partners.
‘Now, most people would probably just look at their tweets on the front page, you know, what they have to say to the Twitter stream, but I always like to click on people’s mentions and replies, I say clicking on it. Here, you get a better idea of what makes people tick. Ah, here we go, this is a tweet to a shampoo company that make caffeine shampoo to encourage hair growth. And another to an expensive moisturiser. So what I’d assume from that, is that the man in question is quite vain, perhaps not wanting to show signs of ageing.’
Ben does his honking laugh and I see the camera focus on Dominic. Now he’s the one who looks as if he wants to lean over the table and strangle me.
‘And take this tweet to KC Husker,’ I say, starting to enjoy myself as all eyes in the room read the lewd message he sent the notorious glamour model about peaches. ‘He clearly would go for a certain type of woman – clearly he values beauty over brains.’
‘Then lastly, this company he’s tweeted to, I’m pretty sure it’s a haemorrhoid cream, but whatever it is, it shows that he’s not got the greatest respect in the world for customer-service reps.’
‘Oh my God, this is too funny, huh, Dominic?’
He looks like a volcano about to explode. ‘This is such a gross violation. I mean, who I tweet should be private.’
‘Well, it could be worse,’ I say, trying to keep calm, ‘it’s not like this is being printed in a national newspaper.’
‘I like her, Dom. She’s funny. I think she’d be perfect for the role.’
‘You can’t be serious?’ says Dominic. ‘Hang on, then. I’ve got another question. Why did you leave your last employment?’
I take a deep breath and wonder whether enough’s enough. I’ve sat here answering questions for a job I really don’t want, all so that I don’t humiliate myself on television. But what’s to stop me from getting up and walking out silently? It might come across strangely on the telly if it made the edit, but it would probably be preferable to telling the truth.
‘Well?’ he says, as if he’s just performed checkmate.
‘I was fired,’ I say, surprising myself with my honesty. ‘I represented my company badly after a momentary lapse in concentration.’
‘You sent a sexually explicit tweet from your work account when you meant to send it from your personal one,’ says Dominic.
Ben looks between us as if he’s connecting the dots.
‘You’re the woman behind hashtag priceless? Wow. Just wow,’ he says. ‘I should be grateful, as it’s going to give us some great PR when the company launches. And imagine if you were on board too.’
His eyes light up and I think this is the only interview I’d ever have where they’d be this excited about my major Twitter fuck-up.
‘So where do you see yourself in five years’ time?’ asks Ben, seemingly unfazed with the daggers shooting between Dominic and me.
I close my eyes for a second, as if to conjure up an image of myself sitting in my own office with staff scurrying around me at my every beck and call, only I can’t. I can’t see myself at a desk, and especially not one that’s magenta.
I waffle through the question regardless, giving them the usual spiel of managing teams and wanting more responsibility, but I can’t even convince myself that that’s what I want for the future.
‘Well, thank you for coming to see us,’ says Ben, as he concludes the interview. ‘We’ve been very impressed, haven’t we, Dominic?’
‘Have we?’ he replies with a scowl.
‘Yes, we have. You’re our last candidate for this position, and I have to say that I think you’d be a perfect fit for the company.’
I smile. ‘Thank you, Ben. While it would be an absolute pleasure to work with you, and I think the app is a great idea, I could never work with a misogynistic arsehole like Dominic.’
So much for keeping my decorum for the telly.
‘I’ll see myself out,’ I say, shuffling past the camera crew.
Jaz gives me a smile on the way out, which makes me realise I’ve at least made someone’s day. They’ll have something exciting for their TV show at least.
I hold my head up high and walk out of the building. This has to be the weirdest interview I’ve ever had, but probably the only one to make me realise what I don’t want to do with my life.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Time since last Internet usage: 3 days, 5 hours, 41 minutes and 32 seconds
‘I cannot believe that happened. That kind of thing could only have happened to you,’ says Erica, giggling as we make our way to the table.
I’ve just filled her in on the cringey interview with Dickhead Dominic as we made our way through the bar.
‘I know, I can’t believe it either,’ I say sighing. ‘Although it means I’m back to square one on the whole not-having-a-job front, and probably not able to get another job.’
‘I’m sure something else will come up. Have you contacted any recruitment agencies?’
I shake my head. ‘Not yet. I still don’t know what I really want. When the MD asked me where I want to be in five years’ time, I trotted out my stock answer of wanting to be in a senior marketing role with lots of responsibility, but I don’t really know if that’s the truth anymore.
‘Interesting,’ says Erica, as we arrive at the booth where Tess and Amelie are waiting. We all hug and air-kiss hello.
‘So, what are you going to do if you don’t stay in marketing?’
‘What’s this? You’re changing careers?’ asks Tess, her pencil-thin eyebrow almost lodging itself in her hairline. ‘Is this because of that tweet?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know about changing careers. It’s more that I don’t think I want to work in a big, full-on, corporate company. Maybe I’ll look for a job in a smaller one. Something family run, or outside of London.’
All three of them collectively gasp as if I’ve suggested I’m about to go and live in Antarctica.
‘There is life outside of London,’ I say, laughing.
‘Of course there is,’ says Erica, waving her hand dismissively, ‘but you don’t actually mean it, do you?’
She looks horrified at the thought.
I’m about to reply when the waiter comes over and takes our order. By the time he goes, Tess is leaning over Amelie’s phone.
‘He’s cute, but look at the bags under his eyes. He’s either a workaholic or he goes out too much.’
‘Good spot,’ says Amelia and she swipes her finger left.
‘So,’ I say, trying to capture their attention again. ‘What’s been going on with you two since I’ve been gone?’
‘I’ve been so busy,’ says Tess.
‘Doing what?’ I say, looking her in the eyes, ready to take an interest.
‘Um, you know. Work. Going out,’ she says shrugging.
Her phone beeps and she picks it up and instantly starts replying.
‘Amelie? Has anything happened to you?’
She doesn’t even look up; she’s still swiping mostly left with the occasional right. ‘No, same old. I’ve got a date on Friday with a super-hot guy though. Want to see a photo?’ She taps around on her phone and hands it over for me to see a man posing moodily.
‘He looks, um, great.’
She looks pleased with herself and goes back to her Tinder swiping.
‘Any more news on the flat sale today?’ I ask Erica.
‘We had a few more people book in for our open day on Saturday, so that’s eighteen. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for some crazy bidding war, as I’ve seen the most amazing little house in Ealing and it’s ever so slightly out of our budget. Hang on, I’ll see if I can find it on Rightmove.’
The waiter deposits our cocktails, and I immediately reach up and take a sip.
‘Cheers,’ I say, raising my glass, only to find the other girls lost in taking photos of their cocktails. Tess is pushing hers round the table, seemingly trying to get the best light, whereas Amelie and Erica don’t seem as bothered about the quality of image as long as they get one.
They’re tapping away with their thumbs and I can already imagine what hashtags they’re using: #NightOutWithTheGirls, #Cocktail, #SchoolNight. I want to add my own – #WhoGivesAFuck. It’s a good few minutes before anyone peers over their screens.
‘Oh, Daisy. I forgot you haven’t got your phone. You must feel so lost. Here,’ says Erica, slipping her arm around me. ‘Grab your cocktail.’
She holds out her other arm to snap a selfie, and I can barely smile.
Satisfied that she looks OK, she taps away, posting it. I’m left alone to wonder when we stopped really talking to each other when we went out together.
Erica’s just moved in with her boyfriend – she should be gushing about him, not browsing identical show-like-homes on the Internet. Tess should be regaling us with tales of being on the frontline of the classroom, with funny anecdotes of her teaching teenagers, like she always used to. And Amelie’s spent a week on business in New York.
‘So, Amelie, I haven’t seen you since you got back from New York,’ I say, hoping to get some proper conversation going.
‘Oh, it was great. It was really busy with back-to-back meetings, but on the rare bits of time off, I managed to rack up a ginormous credit-card bill. The shopping was insane and the bars were awesome. Expensive, but awesome,’ she says sighing, as if wishing herself back there.
‘That sounds amazing,’ I say, pleased that I’ve prised her away from her phone for all of a minute.
‘It was, but tell us what it was like on the farm. Erica’s been keeping us updated, but who were these men, wasn’t one of them French?’
‘Oh, yes. There’s not a whole lot to tell. He was a nice guy, and I thought we had loads in common, but it turned out he’d been looking at my Instagram account to find out what I liked and pretending he liked them too.’
‘What!’ says Erica. ‘What a creep.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought, but the more I’ve thought about it since, the more I think he was just young and a bit silly. I don’t think he was malicious. He probably just thought it was an easy way to get into my pants.’
‘And was it?’ asks Tess with a cheeky grin on her face.
‘Sadly, not.’
‘Oh, shame. So there were no other men up there, then?’
‘There was Jack . . .’ I mutter.
‘Did he get in your pants, then?’
‘No,’ I say, feeling sad that nothing really happened, and for the way we left things. All the suggestion and flirtation in the letters that seemed to bubble away, only to come to
an abrupt halt with the argument on Friday night. I didn’t even say goodbye to him when he dropped us off, I merely slammed the door and skulked away.
‘Well, someone here did let someone into their pants at the weekend,’ says Tess, pointing at herself. ‘I hooked up with this hot guy at a house party. He’s a friend of a friend, so obviously I’ve been stalking him on Facebook.’
She picks up her phone and scrolls around, before proudly showing us a photo of a blond man grinning wildly at the camera.
‘He’s cute,’ says Amelie, stealing it to have a closer look.
‘There are more photos,’ says Tess, leaning over and swiping, and the two of them are lost to the phone, critiquing the guy’s choice of Facebook photos and imagining what he’d be like.
‘So are you going to see him again?’ I say, interrupting them talking about his swimming hobby – which they got from one photo of him in a pool on holiday.
‘I hope so. I mean, I checked out his profile on LinkedIn and he’s a senior accountant at his firm. That’s got to be good.’
Amelie’s nodding.
‘But you haven’t actually spoken to him since you slept with him?’
‘Well, no, but I know he likes to go drinking at the Florence. He checks in there most Friday nights.’
‘You’re as bad as Alexis,’ I say, as I come to the realisation.
‘Alexis?’ she says, wrinkling her nose in confusion.
‘The French guy who pretended he liked what I did on Instagram. It’s the same thing. Manipulating a situation by social media.’
‘It’s not manipulating,’ says Tess, folding her arms. ‘I’m sure we’d meet up again anyway as we’ve got friends in common after all. I’m just helping things along.’
There’s a tension in the air, which is only broken when the waiter comes along to see if we want any more drinks, and we almost bite his hand off.
By the time the cocktail reinforcements arrive, Tess and Amelie are back pouring over photos of cheeky blond men; I’m trying to fill Erica in on what went on between me and Jack, as, with Chris around over the weekend, we hadn’t had a proper gossip. Trying being the operative word, as every minute or so her phone pings with a message from Chris and she taps a quick reply.
