His 'n' Hers (12 page)

Alison and I are waiting in the queue at the Odeon to see
Four Weddings and a Funeral
.

‘I’ve decided what I’m going to do,’ I say, as she rummages in her bag for her debit card. ‘I’m going to open a record shop.’

‘That sounds great,’ says Alison.

‘I thought if I can’t make records I can at least sell them. I’ve already thought of the name. I was going to call it Captain Magnet’s Record Shop but I thought it was too much of a mouthful. So I’ve gone with Jimmy Jimmy Records.’

Alison looks at me blankly.

‘After the Undertones song, “Jimmy Jimmy”.’

‘Ah,’ she exclaims, clearly nonplussed.

‘What do you think?’

‘Sounds like a great idea.’

Alison and I are walking along the petfood aisle in Safeway.

‘You know I said I was going to open a record shop?’

‘Hmm,’ she replies.

‘I’ve gone off the idea. But I’ve got an even better one. I’m going to be a teacher,’ I tell her.

‘A teacher?’

‘Think about it. It makes perfect sense. They get fantastic holidays. It’s practically a job for life. And while the money’s not brilliant it’s better than nothing.’

‘That sounds great,’ says Alison, picking up a can of Felix and throwing it into the basket. ‘Secondary or primary?’

‘What?’

‘The kids you want to teach?’

‘I can’t stand primary-school kids. They’d drive me up the wall.’

‘So secondary, then?’

I wince at the thought of trying to control a classroom full of teenagers. ‘I don’t fancy that either.’

‘Well, it looks like you’re stuffed, then, because I think it’s pretty essential for schoolteachers to teach school-kids.’

‘I’ve got it,’ I say to Alison, Nick and Jane, as we sit in the bar at the Jug waiting to go upstairs to see my workmate’s band Pluto perform.

‘You’ve got what?’ asks Nick.

‘For the benefit of anyone who hasn’t been privy to the many conversations Jim and I have had recently,’ says Alison, ‘my boyfriend is referring to his latest career plan.’

‘I thought you were going to open a record shop,’ says Jane.

‘Old news,’ I reply. ‘I’ve moved on since then. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my personality and what I’d be ideally suited to and I think I’ve finally cracked it. I’m going to be a social worker.’

There is what can only be described as a stunned silence before Jane pipes up, ‘You
are
joking?’

‘I’m absolutely serious. It makes perfect sense to me. Social work is about helping the disadvantaged, it’s about championing those who have no one to champion them and, most of all, it’s one of those jobs that, like teaching, everyone moans about but nobody wants to do. Well, I’m going to put my money where my mouth is.’

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ says Nick, ‘but you’d make a terrible social worker.’

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ says Alison. ‘I think he’d be great at whatever he does.’

I look at Alison and smile. It’s great knowing there’s someone who will always be on your side. ‘I agree with Alison,’ I say to Nick. ‘I think I’d make a great social worker too. And that’s what I’m going to do.’

In a bid to get my career moving I call Trudy Lannagan during my lunch-break. She used to be on my business and economics course and works for the accounting firm Greene Lowe. After some so-how-are-you? conversation, I ask her if she knows of any graduate jobs with her firm. I get a nice chat but no result. So I call Richard Price, also from my course, who now works at Foster, Williams and Hayman. Again, nice chat but no result. So then I call Chris Dempsey, who works at Future Finance Business Solutions. Again, nice chat but no result. Finally I call Paul Broughton, who now works for a corporate tax planner, Enterprise Four. Nice chat but no result. Then I run out of change for the phone-box and go back to the shop just that little bit more depressed than when I arrived.

During today’s lunch-break I call the following in my search for jobs: Sheila Austin, Edwin Fowler, Lisa Smith and Trevor Thomas. All people I didn’t really like at university and who weren’t all that keen on me. No result with any of them.

Having pre-booked the afternoon off work I drop into the university careers counsellor. I take one of those job aptitude tests that are supposed to tell you what you should do as a career. The results are as follows:

I’m on my way round to Alison’s after a goodbye drink for Darren and I’m thinking about the future. Since July I’ve sent my CV to about five different accountancy firms every week. I’ve had four interviews so far but never got past the second round. And there’s me thinking I’ve been rejecting accountancy when it’s clear that accountancy has been rejecting me.

I reach Alison’s and knock at the door. She answers straight away. ‘Hey, you,’ she says. ‘Nick called a while ago to say that there’s a phone message for you at your place. Some girl called Trudy Lannagan says you once lent her your European economics notes. She said she might have some good news for you.’

I call Trudy straight away. It isn’t good news. It’s great news.

‘What’s your news, then?’ asks Alison.

‘Trudy works for a firm called Green Lowe in the city centre. They’re really big players in the accounting world. They’ve got branches all over the place. Anyway, apparently some guy has just been dismissed from their graduate training scheme and they want his space filled as soon as possible. She said if I send in my CV she’ll put in a good word for me.’

‘Are you going to do it?’

‘Greene Lowe have got a brilliant reputation,’ I say excitedly. ‘People kill to get on their graduate scheme.’

‘Well, that’s all well and good but are you sure you want to do this?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, don’t you want to see the world first? We could go travelling. See some of the amazing places the world has to offer? I just don’t want you to have any regrets about this job later in life. I want you to be happy, that’s all.’

I’m now standing on Alison’s doorstep, knocking at her door in my one and only suit, a white shirt, a dark blue tie and a brand new pair of black brogues.

‘Look,’ I say, as she answers the door, ‘I’m only going along with the idea because you’re being so insistent. Now I’m here this all feels a little bit too much like doctors-and-nurses territory, especially with you wearing that get-up.’ She’s in a fitted black jacket and a long black skirt with her hair tied back. ‘You look like some sort of office dominatrix.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ says Alison sternly. ‘Did you say something, Mr Owen?’

‘Ah,’ I say, getting the joke. ‘You’re in your role.’

Alison shakes her head dismissively and tuts like a schoolteacher. ‘Please follow me.’ We walk through the hallway into the kitchen in silence. Then she gestures to one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Please take a seat, Mr Owen.’

I sit down and stare at her across the table. Dressed formally, she looks so disgustingly gorgeous I’m in danger of forgetting that her housemates might be home any second. The last thing they need to round off the day is to catch us in
flagrante
on the kitchen table. Again.

‘Okay, Mr Owen,’ says Alison sternly. ‘I’ll be straight with you. I’m a busy woman at a very busy firm, so let’s get on with it.’

And with that she begins grilling me on my knowledge of tax planning, my awareness of current and pending UK finance legislation, presents me with a problem-solving/difficult client scenario to sort out, probes me on how I might go about landing new business and finally tells me, in no uncertain terms, why ‘playing badminton’ should never be on anyone’s CV under ‘Extracurricular Activities’.

‘Well, thank you for you time, Mr Owen,’ says Alison, in conclusion of our mock-interview. ‘You’ll hear from us soon. Before you go, is there anything you’d like to ask me?’

I think for a moment. ‘What are you doing in fifteen minutes?’

‘Chairing a very important meeting with some clients, the outcome of which could bring hundreds of thousands of pounds in fees to the business. Why do you ask?’