The Interview

That blessed moment when the morning rush is concluded by the slamming of the front door as the boys head off to school. A quick glance out the bedroom window to see them meeting the friends they walk to the bus stop with, laughing, joking and seeming to be full of the joys of Spring. I was never that happy heading to school of a morning as far as I can remember. Different generation.

I breathe in the silence and the stillness of the house. Maggie left earlier than usual to get to her conference so it is just me today. All that movement and vitality. The clatter of the breakfast stuff going out on the table. The swoosh as the boys descend on their toast and cereal. The incessant pop music from the radio. The calling out of after-school activities and the times to be home by. From the first knocking on bedroom doors to waken them through to that satisfying slam of the front door, it is always a hectic half hour or so but this stillness and silence thereafter make it worth it. Especially today.

I have the case studies down pat. I know the projections for this financial year and the next three. I know the five year and ten year development plans inside out. A lot of people said this was a shoo-in but you never know. Say the tiniest of wrong things at the wrong time and the previous ten years of loyalty and diligence could be out the window. Get it right and I am set for life. A partner in the company.

Tie pushed up, hair tidied. Glance at the watch. Two hours until my slot. I probably don’t need to leave so early but better safe than sorry. I can take this moment to finish the coffee and gather my thoughts. I look out at the garden. There are the goldfinches chattering in the tree. The lawn could do with a cutting but not today. The weather is pleasant. Those clouds will drift by dropping no rain. They are neither the shape nor colour of rainclouds. A good omen.

Right. Let’s do this.

I get into the car and something doesn’t feel quite right. I get out of the car and see the deflated tyre of the back left wheel. Seriously? Today? Even before I see it I remember that the spare is flat too. I kept meaning to get it fixed. Don’t panic.

One hour fifty before I am needed. Uber.

“Insufficient funds.”

I don’t have insufficient funds. Let me try again. No, seriously, I have quite a healthy bank balance thank you very much. A quick call should sort this out.

“Phone Banking PIN: - - - -“

What is my Phone Banking PIN? I never use this app. What number did I use when I set it up? Try birthdate. No. The boys’ birthdates? No. Neither of them.

“Access Locked: Three failed attempts.”

Bloody technology. Helpline. I know you’re sorry that all your operatives are busy…

“Hello?”

Silence.

I glance at my phone. The bloody battery is dead. I put it on to charge last night. I swear I did.

Back into the house. Slam the lead into the phone. I might as well get a little charge in there while I grab some cash from the tin in case the card continues to fail me.

One hour forty to get there.

Best head down to the High Street and grab a cab from there.

I give the driver the address and open the window of the cab, hoping the breeze will dry the slight sheen of sweat my hurried walk down the road has given me.

One hour twenty.

Plenty of time. Why is he stopping? Roadworks.

We sit for ages at the temporary stop light while the drivers coming in the opposite direction swan by without a care in the world. Come on. It must be our green light by now. There we go. Let’s hope this is the only roadworks on the…

“You alright, mate?”

I assure the driver I am as he gets out to see how much damage has been done to the front of his cab by the idiot who sped through the single lane towards us. The steam hissing from his radiator doesn’t look hopeful. I don’t have time to wait to find out.

The driver is grateful for the money I give him. I know he didn’t take me where I needed to go but that damage is not going to be cheap to get fixed and it is his livelihood. I still have time. I can pick up another cab over the bridge.

The river is lovely in the sunshine. I don’t have time to be marvelling at nature. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I glance at it and the grey-white stream of bird shit that has just been deposited there. Even though I know there is no point I hurl some swear words at the gulls circling above.

The very kind lady in the coffee shop just after the bridge showers me with sympathy as I use her napkins to wipe the crap off my suit. Well, most of the crap anyway. It will have to do. If I keep going I can clean it more thoroughly once I get there.

One hour to go.

There’s a bus I can catch at the end of this street that will take me to just around the corner from the offices.

“But Officer, I just need to get to that corner there. It can’t be more than one hundred yards.”

I really don’t care what they are demonstrating about and I am sure it is something very dear to their hearts but why did they have to pick this street on this morning to do their demonstrating? Telling the police officer that I was willing to take the risk does nothing to persuade her to let me through to the bus stop. I can see it at the end. I could throw a stone and hit it from here.

Fifty minutes to go.

I backtrack, including a wave at the lovely lady from the coffee shop who has stepped out onto the pavement to watch the demonstration. It’s a thirty minute walk if I cut through the park. I shake my head with a laugh at the accumulation of little things that have gone wrong so far. A nice walk through the park will clear my head again.

I don’t believe this. What sort of “refurbishment” can you possibly do to a park? A restaurant, a bookshop, a supermarket, yes. Refurbish the hell out of those but a park? Seriously? But that’s what the sign on the locked gate says.

To my left the street runs down towards the path of the demonstration. To my right it runs down to the warehouses on the river. I should call and let them know I am running late through no fault of my own. Better than nothing. I pat all of my pockets twice before I picture my phone where I left it charging on the worktop by the microwave.

I have no choice. It has to be the park. The gate is not that high. I can vault that. A quick glance around so nobody sees me doing this and…Wallop!

I am staring at the blue sky above me and the left arm of my jacket as it flaps from the spike in the fence. It takes me a moment to understand that I am on my back. The vault didn’t go as planned it seems. I sit up and shake the dazed feeling from my head. I stand and grab the detached arm of my jacket from the railing.

Nothing broken save for my pride. I take my jacket off and stuff it into my briefcase along with the separated sleeve and begin a brisk stride through the park.

I duck behind a tree and peer round the trunk at the workers gathered around the ornamental bridge. They closed the whole park to fix the small bridge? A bit unnecessary I would have thought. I shouldn’t let the workers see me or they’ll most likely send me back the way I came. I crouch and begin to push through the trees and undergrowth so I can skirt round them and re-join the path after the river.

The river? That’s why there’s a bridge. I sigh. Well I have come this far. I push on until I feel the scrape of thorns across my right shin. I know I am bleeding because I can see the red through the tear in my trousers the thorns have also produced. I yank myself backwards to get my leg out of the bush and fall. My hand shoots out to arrest my tumble and slams right into the middle of a large clump of stinging nettles. An instinctive reaction pulls my hand away from the burning sensation the nettles cause and my face takes its place in the vicious greenery.

I leap to my feet and scan the ground for some dock leaves. Grabbing a fistful I feel the relief they give to my burning, stinging face. When that pain is a little more bearable I rub the dock leaves over the sting in my hand. Only then, as I see the green stain left by the healing leaves do I remember that dock leaves are great but stain things green. Like, presumably, my face right now. No matter.

Twenty minutes to go.

I estimate ten to the other side of the park and five from there to the office.

I glare at the small river in front of me. Can I make that leap? How far does it look? Better not risk it given my luck so far this morning. I pull my shoes off and hold them in my hand. I roll up my trouser legs. Wet socks I can deal with. Wet trousers would not, I guess, give a good impression. Why get the socks wet though? I pull them off and stuff them into the shoes. I submerge my right foot. The water is icy cold and the stones on the riverbed sharp and slick. I amaze myself when I step out on the other side having not toppled into the flowing water. Got to be thankful for small mercies.

I get my feet as dry as I can on the grass and put my socks and shoes back on.

Fifteen minutes to go.

I check if the workers at the bridge can see me and I don’t think they can. The gate I am heading for is just around that bend. I put my head down and walk as quickly as I can towards it. There it is and of course it too is locked. My heart sinks as I see another chap in a fluorescent jacket and hard hat standing beside it. What’s he going to do? What can he do but let me out of the park I should not be in? I smile as I approach him.

‘You shouldn’t be in here, mate.’

I let him know as politely as my frazzled mind will let me that I know I shouldn’t be in here and might he see his way to letting me out? He takes off his hard hat and scratches his head while scanning me. I must look quite a sight. Is there any point carrying on in this state? Won’t the Board take one look at me and throw me out? Damn it, I’ve come this far, through this much, I am not stopping now.

The workman breathes out with more vigour than the moment calls for and tells me he will go and see if he can get the key for the gate. I stop myself from bursting into tears and watch him go until he has gone round the bend.

Twelve minutes.

I have no choice. At the risk of another disaster I grab the top of the gate and hoist myself over. It is a much more successful vault this time as I remain upright throughout. I have no time to be pleased with myself. At a brisk pace I can be at the office in five minutes which leaves me a small window of opportunity to clean myself up. I glance down at myself. Perhaps “clean myself up” is optimistic. I will do what I can.

With my stinging face and hand, my bleeding shin and my damp feet I dash down the street, dodging prams and small dogs on leads and strolling shoppers and a crowded bus stop. The offices are just around this corner. I turn into the road and stop dead in my tracks.

Up ahead stands the modernist, glass and chrome front of the company’s headquarters. A crowd is gathered outside the doors. What can they be here for? I am going to have to be a bit rude and barge my way through.

As I stride towards the crowd hoping I can slip in unnoticed and head straight to the ground floor bathrooms, I hear my name being amplified through some speakers. I must be hearing things. I glance up and see the crowd turning to face me. Please don’t look at me! I hear my name again as some triumphant sounding music blares out. People in the crowd are laughing, applauding and pointing at me.

As I struggle my way through them some pat me on the back while others shout out words of congratulations. I do not have time to process this insanity that has come over me and, with a massive sense of relief, push open the door into the lobby. As I step through it confetti cannons bang and crack all around me.

Bewildered, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look around and see a big, grinning face in front of mine.

“Congratulations! You’ve just survived Crank’s Pranks!”

A cheer goes up from the people crowded into the lobby. I see Maggie and the boys standing beside the reception desk, grinning and applauding. Why is she not at her conference? Why are they not at school? The hand on my shoulder turns me to my right and I am confronted with a television camera. The grinning man with his hand on my shoulder quietens the lobby with a wave of his hand.

“So did you suspect anything at all along the way?”

Stuttering a bit as I try to make sense of the pandemonium in which I stand, I ask him what he means.

“Your journey from Hell to get here. You never stopped to wonder if it was all a set-up?”

Crank’s Pranks? That awful television show with that awful, grinning man who takes pleasure putting people through absolute Hell? That awful, grinning man who is thrusting a microphone towards me right now? I am beginning to understand but am still quite flummoxed.

“But the bird crap? The nettles? You set those up?”

“No mate – those were all your own additions. The roadworks, the crash, the demonstration, the locked park – those were all us. All caught on our network of hidden cameras – we were with you every step of the way!”

As I consider the pleasure I would take from punching this grinning fool right in his grinning face, I see Jeremy, our CEO, emerge from the crowd. He too is grinning from ear to ear.

“M-my interview?”

In response he roars with laughter and claps me on the back.

“Job’s yours, partner! You obviously want it bad enough,” he chortles, stepping aside and displaying my dishevelled, sweating, dirty self to the camera.

His announcement prompts a swelling of laughter and applause. I want the ground to open up and swallow me. This was a prank?

“We’ll come back to his reaction in a moment after we relish the best bits of his journey.”

I look at the giant screen above reception and see myself looking like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards for a moment before the image cuts to me leaving the house earlier.

I swallow hard but the tears burst out of my eyes anyway. I hear a chorus of sympathetic “Aaahs” and then Maggie and the boys are beside me telling me how great I was. I look at Maggie through my tears. She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I grasp onto the only thing in my swirling thoughts that I can understand and whisper into her ear.

“I think I got the job.”