A Dream Come True

by Cindy Jefferies

“That leaves Carlotta,” said Ellie. “I’m getting on with her really well. She seems nice.”

  “That’s good,” said Sophie. “But I bet she likes you because at last there’s someone more lowly than a receptionist.”

  “She’s just the receptionist then?” said Ellie. “I thought they shared that role.”

  “Well I have no idea what her job description is,” said Sophie, “but most of the time she seems to be on reception duty. Flynn says she told him she was actually Francesca’s Personal Assistant, but I don’t know what she assists her with. I think she’s really the general office dogsbody…apart from you, Ellie, but as you’re not permanent staff she’ll only have you to boss about for a couple of weeks. Poor Carlotta!”

  “There was a man in Angel’s office,” remembered Ellie. “I think Flynn said his name was Joe.”

  “Oh yes.” Sophie smiled. “That’s Joe Eagle. He’s okay. He’s the freelance photographer they use a lot and a very straight up and down sort of guy. Don’t expect him to be your best buddy, but he won’t be horrible to you either. He’s a family man. He isn’t interested in all the backbiting that goes on. And that’s everyone you need to know about in that office,” she finished, looking pretty pleased with herself. “You’ll come into contact with staff in the other departments if you’re here long enough, but I think that’s enough new people to cope with for one day.”

  “Except for you,” said Ellie. “Why are you working here if most people are so horrible?”

  “Well…” Sophie shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to be employed in Angel’s office.” She pulled a face. “Or in any of the other departments to be honest. It’s great down here though. It’s almost like not having a boss, because everyone leaves me pretty much alone. And it’s convenient, because Flynn and I can come into work together in his car. And down here I miss most of the infighting. Besides, I’m only doing it until I can make it as a potter.”

  “You make pots?”

  Sophie nodded. “It was my thing at art college, but it’s hard to make a living creating studio pottery. Most people end up making domestic stuff, like mugs and bowls that are designed for everyday use, but I want to be taken seriously as an artist. I want to make stuff that is collected for its own sake, because people think it’s beautiful.” She pointed to a tall, elegant pot, resting on a shelf behind her. “This is one of mine. I keep it here in case anyone comes in who might be useful to my career. It hasn’t happened yet, but you never know!”

  “Wow!” Ellie gazed at the beautiful pot with its deep green glaze. The colour made her think of a shadowy pool of cool water. “It’s lovely.”

  “Thank you,” said Sophie, looking pleased. “So we both have big ambitions. You want to write world-famous articles, and I want to create world-famous pots. Not too big an ask, is it?”

  Sophie smiled, and Ellie smiled back. They were big ambitions, but Ellie had begun the first faltering steps towards becoming a journalist. Thanks to Uncle Patrick she was here, at the Heart offices. Now, she was determined to prove that she had the makings of the sort of brilliant writer a magazine like Heart would be willing to kill for.

  Ellie’s first day had been difficult, but buoyed up by Sophie’s friendship she arrived the next morning determined to get as much as she could out of her work experience – and to enjoy it too. For a start she had brought a pair of her own shoes, with more manageable heels. She changed out of her boots thinking that, already, today was better than the previous one. She might not feel exactly welcome, but she was getting familiar with the office, and now she at least knew who everyone was.

  She was greeted with a bit of good news. Flynn had found her a laptop. “Can I set it up at the far end of the reception desk?” Flynn asked Carlotta.

  Carlotta nodded. “I’ll just make some room.”

  She picked up a huge, flowering plant in its white china bowl and put it on a low table. Then she opened one of the drawers in the desk and scooped out a collection of pens, stray paperclips and a spare pair of tights. “There you are,” she said to Ellie. “You can have that drawer for your things. Keep the top of the desk tidy, or Angel will go ballistic.” She looked disparagingly at the laptop. “Pity it’s so ancient,” she said to Flynn. “Couldn’t you find something that looks a bit smarter? After all, this is our front desk.”

  Flynn grinned. “It’s only a couple of years old. And I’m sure any visitors will be far too busy looking at your welcoming smile to notice Ellie’s computer.” He turned to Ellie. “Now, Ellie. You need to set a password to get into the system. Key it in there, but don’t let me, or anyone else, know what it is. Okay?”

  “That’s great. Thanks!”

  Ellie settled herself into her own space once Flynn had gone, feeling almost like a real journalist. She tucked her bag neatly out of sight and put her pen in the drawer. The pen sounded a bit sad, rattling away on its own as she closed the drawer, so she took it out again and put it next to her laptop. She looked at Carlotta, to share a smile, but the receptionist was working at something on her screen and didn’t notice.

  Ellie’s seat had height adjustment, so she spent a couple of minutes making sure it was in the right position. She was looking forward to being asked to try writing something, but everyone seemed too busy to give her any job at all.

  She decided to fill in time by writing about what it was like to be in the Heart office for her school report, but before she could make a start, Piano came over to the reception desk.

  “Angel’s coffee,” she said, and strode impressively away in her high heels without waiting for an answer.

  Carlotta looked at her watch. “Okay. So here’s what you do,” she explained to Ellie. “Angel likes her first coffee in about half an hour, so you’ll need to go in a minute because there can be a queue.”

  Ellie looked at the vending machine in the lobby. “A queue?”

  Carlotta followed her gaze and laughed. “Oh no! We go to Coffee! Coffee! in the High Street.” She shuddered. “We never have vending machine coffee. In fact…” She smiled brightly at Ellie. “While you’re out you could bring me one too.”

  Thanks to Angel’s demands for almost non-stop caffeine – and Carlotta’s determination that Ellie should relieve her of the job of fetching it – she soon knew where the nearest coffee shop was, and even if this was to be her entire work experience, at least she was pleased to be busy!

  By midday, she had fetched coffee for everyone, and got the order correct; she had unpacked a huge box of handbags with Sophie and carried them up to the office for Angel to consider; and she’d reported to Carlotta that the water cooler was empty.

  “Tell Piano,” said Carlotta, who was busy keying something into her computer.

  Piano made Ellie wait by her desk like a naughty schoolgirl until she’d finished what she was doing. Then she listened impatiently. “The water company’s pathetic,” she said, glaring at Ellie as if it was her fault. “They never deliver in time. We’ll have to find a different supplier.” She went over to Francesca’s desk and Ellie looked up to see Sophie, carrying an armful of post.

  Ellie would have liked to chat, but it was obvious that Sophie was in a hurry. She handed the post to Carlotta and gave Ellie a quick grin. “Catch you later,” she muttered as she left the office and collected her loaded post trolley, which she’d left in the lobby.

  Ellie tried to ignore the way Piano irritated her by acting so superior, and turned her attention to her bit of desk space, which had just become hidden under the pile of post. Carlotta had dumped the lot in front of Ellie’s laptop.

  “What do you want me to do with all this?” Ellie asked.

  Carlotta shrugged. “Open it.”

  Ellie sat down and started sorting through the envelopes. Actually, the discarded post proved to be rather interesting. One package was from a record company that was trying to promote an up-and-coming new band. Ellie studied the glossy photograph of the four boys and one girl who made up the band – which was call
ed, Calumny. The girl was holding a bass guitar and glowering under her cropped hair. Three of the boys looked equally straight-faced and edgy, but the fourth, a blond-headed, good-looking boy, who clutched an electric violin, hadn’t been able to hide the glimmer of an excited smile. Ellie found herself smiling back at him. He couldn’t help looking thrilled at having made it this far, and Ellie could imagine just how he felt.

  Ellie threw away the packaging, and made a neat pile of the photograph, CD and publicity flyer, as well as the covering letter. She wondered if the band would get any publicity in Heart. Maybe she’d ask if she could have the CD if no one else wanted it. If she liked the sound she could give the band a bit of exposure at school.

  Once her desk was tidy again, Francesca called her over.

  “Bring your notebook and come into Angel’s office,” she said. “Angel’s going out, and there’s something we need to discuss. It’ll be quieter in there.”

  “But I don’t have a notebook.”

  Francesca didn’t hear, or maybe she wasn’t interested. “Hurry up.”

  Ellie grabbed her bag and followed. She knew she had a pen in there, and…what about the old black notebook of her dad’s that Mum had given her? Ellie had taken it out of her bag a couple of times at home, and turned it over in her hands, not sure what to do with it. The old-fashioned notebook was held closed with an elastic strap, and somehow she hadn’t felt like opening it. Mum had told her that it was unused but, in spite of this, Ellie wasn’t sure that she wanted to write in it. Closed, it was like some sort of secret. Open, she was afraid it might become just any old uncool notebook with yellowing paper. In the end she’d kept it in her bag, but more as a good-luck charm from her long-dead father than anything else.

  Ellie hurried to keep up with Francesca. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done wrong, but whenever any of the staff spoke to her she got the feeling she was going to be told off. She sidled up to the door, but, to her relief, Angel came out as she was about to go in.

  “Don’t make a mess in my office,” she said imperiously. “I know what you young girls are like.”

  Ellie bit back a retort. It was obvious Angel didn’t know what she was like. Ellie went in to find Francesca already perched elegantly on the edge of Angel’s vast desk.

  “Sit down.”

  Ellie chose one of the soft blue chairs Angel kept for her guests rather than the long, white leather sofa, and rummaged in her bag.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes… I’m…just looking for my notebook.” Ellie pulled the scruffy black book out of her bag and put it on her knee.

  “Good.” Francesca sounded amused.

  “It was my dad’s,” said Ellie, in case Francesca thought it had been her own choice.

  “Really?” Francesca stopped sounding amused and looked interested. “Your father was Daniel Ixos, wasn’t he?”

  Ellie was surprised that Francesca had heard of him. “Yes.”

  “I’ve read some of his work.” Francesca sounded enthusiastic. “He was a great journalist… How wonderful to have one of his notebooks. May I see?”

  Ellie passed the notebook to Francesca. She turned it over in her hands, without undoing the band of elastic. She smiled encouragingly at Ellie as she handed it back. “Maybe it’ll bring you luck.”

  “I hope so,” said Ellie.

  There was silence for a moment, and then Francesca cleared her throat. “Angel wondered, now that you’re settled in, if you’d like to try your hand at writing an article for us?”

  Ellie’s eyes widened with excitement. “Yes please!”

  Francesca held up a warning hand. “Now don’t get too carried away. For us to actually publish it, it would have to be of a very high standard. But because you’re the age of our readers it might be fun to see what you can do. And if it has promise, one of us can always polish it up when you’ve written it.”

  Inwardly, Ellie bridled at the suggestion that anyone might have to polish up something she might write, but she tried to keep an even expression on her face. “So…what would you like me to write about?” she said, excitement bubbling up inside her.

  “Well.” Francesca folded her arms. “We have an interview coming up with Pop and Lolly Lowther. You’re about the same age as they were when they recorded their first hit single, so it might be interesting if you did the interview and then tried your hand at writing the feature.”

  Ellie stared at Francesca. For a moment she wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. “Interview Pop and Lolly Lowther? Wow! That’s fantastic!”

  Ellie’s brain was reeling. She had hoped to be able to do a write-up on something…perfume, or handbags…or, best of all, an in-depth piece about an animal sanctuary maybe, or global warming. But to interview the famous pop singer twins and then write a feature about them… Could she make the leap from school magazine contributor to this without making a fool of herself? Even as she wavered, she knew that no way was she going to turn down this chance.

  Francesca was still talking. “You can’t write any of this down unless you open your notebook.” She was looking amused again. Ellie fumbled with the elastic and pushed back the cover with trembling fingers. On the first page, written in pencil were the words You can do this!

  Ellie froze, her pen hovering uncertainly above the page. It was as if the ghost of her dad was sitting in the room with her, urging her on. And yet he must have written this before Ellie was born, just before he’d set out on that last fateful journey. Why had he written those particular words? Surely he was a really confident, experienced journalist? She decided to ask her mum what she thought. Meanwhile, she couldn’t sit here dreaming. Ellie took a deep breath. Yes, she could do this interview, or at least, she was determined to try her best. She tuned in to what Francesca was saying, and started scribbling madly below her father’s words.

  Research

  Old school, fashion shoots, cuttings,

  internet, ask Piano for help!!

  First recording, favourite fashion labels,

  check old issues.

  Have we interviewed them before?

  Yes?? Year before last Fr thinks.

  “The other thing you’ll need to do is to trawl through some of our old issues to research what sort of questions our readers like us to ask,” continued Francesca. “In fact, do that first. It’ll inform the research you do about the Lowthers.”

  “Um…”

  “Yes?”

  “I already know what sort of questions readers like,” said Ellie, proudly, suddenly feeling more confident. “I read the magazine every month without fail.”

  Francesca smiled. “Do it anyway,” she said. “Don’t make assumptions. If you do you’ll make mistakes. Off you go then.”

  “But…”

  Francesca looked at her and raised her eyebrows.

  “When is the interview going to happen?” asked Ellie.

  “Oh yes. Good question. It’s scheduled for the day after tomorrow, here, at two-thirty.” She gave Ellie an appraising glance. “And don’t try to dress too grown-up. We want you to look your age for the photographs. There’s no point in someone of our readers’ age conducting the interview unless the readers can see you doing it.”

  Somehow, Ellie stumbled out of the office. From fetching and carrying she had suddenly gone to interviewing mega-famous pop stars. Wow! And apparently she would be in the pictures as well. Double wow! But there was no time to daydream. She needed to get on with her research right away!

  As Ellie headed towards her place at the reception desk, feeling as if her feet were hardly touching the floor, she was very aware that Piano was looking at her suspiciously. Ellie tried to rearrange her expression, so she didn’t look quite as excited as she felt, but it wasn’t easy. As soon as she reached her chair she plonked herself down and opened her laptop, keen to get on with some Pop and Lolly research.

  “What did she want then?” said Carlotta.

  Ellie turned eagerly to her. “Angel
’s going to let me interview Pop and Lolly Lowther, and then try to write a feature on them. Isn’t that exciting? I hope I can manage…” Ellie stumbled to a halt as she noticed Carlotta’s face change from mild interest, through confusion, to hurt and then to anger. Ellie remembered that Carlotta had been hoping for some more writing work herself. No wonder she was upset.

  “But…I bet I make a hash of it,” Ellie gabbled, trying to limit the hurt she had unwittingly inflicted on Carlotta. “They probably won’t be here for more than five minutes…and I don’t suppose my article will be any good… Sorry,” she ended, feeling terrible. “I think it’s just because I’m so young…” She was only making things worse.

  Carlotta stared at her for what seemed like hours, and then turned away, tight lipped. She didn’t speak to Ellie again for the rest of the day.

  Over the next twenty-four hours, in between running errands for the rest of the staff, Ellie worked really hard on her assignment. From being underemployed she suddenly had far too much to do. Every time Angel strode through the office, Ellie learned to make herself as small as possible, and to keep her head down. If Angel noticed her she was likely to send her for coffee or give her Ferdinand’s lead and tell her to take him out for an hour. Ellie did as she was asked without protest, but as soon as she had a moment to herself she would be back, immersing herself in research about Pop and Lolly Lowther, the model and singer twins who had started modelling when they were only toddlers, and were Ellie’s age when they recorded their first pop song. They were doing the interview because now they’d recently left school, Lolly was intending to go to university, while Pop had decided to launch herself as a solo artist. Ellie couldn’t wait to meet them.

  And although Carlotta was taking time to get over her disappointment, Ellie found she had a new ally. Francesca had happened to overhear Piano telling Ellie to clear out the stationery cupboard and she’d intervened.

  “That can wait,” she’d said mildly, though both Piano and Ellie were left in no doubt that she’d meant every word. “Ellie is working.”