The Dr Pepper Prophecies (35 page)

'Which everybody knows,' I say wryly.

'Precisely,' she says, acknowledging me with a wave of her hand. 'Experience isn’t that useful really either, in my opinion.  It just means you have a stack of things to unlearn.  Besides, typing's not exactly on a par with quantum physics, is it?'

Nowhere
in any of Will’s lessons was ‘how to deal with the renegade interviewer’ mentioned.

Will.

No, I can’t think about him.  Still.

'So, what
are
you looking for?' I ask, trying and failing to guess.

'I’m just the interviewer,' Poster Girl says, grimacing. 'The company is looking for all the crap you just mentioned.  What’s your degree?'

My heart sinks.

'Economics,' I say.

'From?'

'Bristol.'

'Class?'

'Third.'

'Yeah,' Poster Girl says, rolling her eyes. 'They like upper seconds at least.  The fact that anyone capable of that is massively overqualified for this job and will leave the first chance they get seems to have escaped them.  Anyway, you won’t get it.'

'I know,' I say dismally. 'Not this, not anything.  And I’m unemployed now to boot.'

'Really?' she says, perking up. 'Is there a story behind that?'

Fabulous.  Now I’m a performing monkey.

'I made the mistake of getting my boyfriend a job as my boss,' I start. 'Then he dumped me.  Then…'

I run through an edited version of the story, including the
cola machine that launched a thousand ships, and soon she’s in tears again.

'I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun interviewing,' she says as she calms down. 'I’m so glad I kept this job.  I nearly went somewhere else, you know, which is why I was at the recruitment agency when we met.  But this is way more fun than I would’ve had if I’d left.'

'Always glad to be of service,' I say, unable to stop the sarcasm creeping into my voice.

'Don’t be like that,' Poster Girl says, sounding exactly like Kenneth Williams. 'I’ll stop laughing.  I just get precious little entertainment around here.'

'Well I need a job, not a slot on
Live at the Apollo
,' I say, trying not to sound as crabby as I feel.

Poster Girl looks thoughtful. 'Can you type?' she asks.

'Yes.'

'How fast?'

'60, 70.'

'Okay.  You know Word, Excel,
Outlook, the Internet?'

'Of course.'

'Okay, this is very important,' Poster Girl says.  She seems to be having difficulty keeping a straight face. 'Are you willing to do things that other people might consider a bit bizarre or degrading?'

I stare back at her impassively. 'I think I can just about manage it,' I say.

'I still can’t offer you this job,' she says and I feel like giving up right now. 'You don’t fit the description.  Besides, I suspect you of having three figures in your IQ and a sense of humour, thus making you over-qualified for the position.'

'Then why did you bother asking?' I ask, now thoroughly fed up.

'I had a thought,' Poster Girl says uninformatively. 'Anyway, I suppose we’re done.  Give me a day or two and I’ll call and confirm that you haven’t got the job.'

'Thanks,' I say, the edge in my voice sharpening as I get up.

'You’re welcome,' she says, oblivious. 'Have a nice day.'

There are no good people left on this planet.  None.

**
 

Between getting back and Beth coming home, I try to work myself into the mood to be thor
oughly melodramatic.  And since if you’re going to do it you might as well do it properly, I go all out.

Beth comes in, laden down with books as usual – the woman reads like a scanner and doesn’t even take ten minutes to warm up – and surveys the scene.  I’m wearing my black witch’s outfit from several Halloweens previously, when I was briefly obsessed with
Charmed
and wanted to revel in the ironic pointy hat.  Will and I went trick or treating and an old guy with a really worrying witch fetish tried to hit on me.

Will.

Still not the time.  I doubt it ever will be.

Anyway, I’ve turned off the lights, lit candles everywhere and there’s a frankly huge chocolate sundae sitting on the table beside me.  The fact that I’m not eating it illustrates my despair better than a carved dagger in my hand.

'I take it that it didn’t go well?' Beth says, in her ultra sensible voice, which means more now that I know it’s by choice.

'No,' I say, raising a limp hand to my brow as I recline weakly on the sofa.

You know, being melodramatic doesn’t work without the second half of your duo.

I sit up and grab my sundae.

'It was better than the last one,' I say, in my normal voice. 'But there’s still no way that I’m getting the job.  In fact, the interviewer was nice enough to assure me of that, although she’s calling in a day or two to confirm.'

'We’re actually looking for someone at the library,' Beth says helpfully, putting her pile of books on the counter and heading to the fruit bowl for her daily dose of Vitamin C.

She can’t be serious.

I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the o
ffer, but…

'Two things, Beth,' I say. 'One, do you really think I’d fit in there when the last book I read was Harry Potter and the one before that was See Spot Run?  Two, would you honestly want to work with me?'

Beth starts thoughtfully cutting open an orange.

'It’s great of you to suggest it,' I say quickly, 'but I don’t think us spending that much time together is a good idea.  I mean,
remember how irritated you get when I leave my washing in the machine, then imagine that all day, everyday.  It would never work.'

Beth nods. 'You’re right,' she says. 'It’s a bad idea.'

'Although,' I add, completely switching out of melodramatic mode and into practical mode, 'unemployment benefits may force us to try it out.  Council Tax next month and I don’t think I can manage it.'

'I can carry it,' Beth says.

I stare at her.

'You earn less than I do.  Did,' I say. 'You can’t afford to support both of us.  Besides, there’s no reason why you should have to.'

'I have some in reserve,' Beth says complacently. 'And I’m sure you’ll find a job soon.'

'Yes, but your savings are yours,' I protest.

I live with an angel.  One who hasn’t quite realised that she’s become mortal.

'I’ve got some from my father,' Beth says, looking a little guilty. 'A sort of…trust fund, if you will.  For emergencies, you know.  A couple of hundred won’t matter.'

Hang on a minute.  Beth’s poor.

Although…that would explain how she could afford the new dating wardrobe.

'Just out of casual interest,' I say suspiciously, 'and obviously you don’t have to tell me, how much is in this trust fund?  Ball park?'

Beth’s neck glows like Rudolph’s nose.

'A couple,' she says cagily.

'A couple of hundred or a couple of
thousand?'

'A
couple of million.'

I am utterly speechless.  For about two seconds.

'That’s fantastic!' I exclaim. 'You lucky thing.  You’ll never have to worry about money, ever.'

Beth laughs wryly. 'It won’t last
forever.  I can’t base my lifestyle on it.  I’ve seen too many others make that mistake.  I don’t live on it.  It’s for…special projects.  And sometimes I use a little of the interest for a treat.'

'Special projects like what?' I ask, my eyes narrowing suspiciously again.  I may not know Beth as well as I thought I did, but I saw that flash in her eyes when she said that.

'Oh, nothing,' Beth starts to say, before she’s interrupted by the telephone.  She scuttles to it and picks it up very quickly.  All the time she’s talking, she keeps looking nervously at me, until whoever it is on the other end says something important enough to distract her.

She’s smiling when she hangs up.  Not happy smiling, but so-happy-the-smile-keeps-breaking-out smiling.  She’s trying to control it and is failing utterly.

'What?' I ask, intrigued. 'And don’t tell me ‘Nothing.’.  Spill.'

Beth sort of bounds over and huddles onto the sofa with me like she’s going to tell me about her first ever date.  Or a movie-style first ever date, anyway.  Mine was bloody awful, but that’s another story.

'They're publishing my book!' she says ecstatically.

It’s very hard to get suitably excited when you have no idea what’s going on.

'That's fabulous!' I say. 'What book?'

'I've written a book,' Beth says, beaming.

How did I not know this?

'What?' I say. 'When?  What about?'

'Over the last year,' Beth says, looking slightly sheepish. 'It's a children's book.  It started as just a hobby, really.  I used to write stories all the time when I was a child.  Then I started reading it for storytime at the library and the kids loved it, so… I thought I might try sending it to an agent. '

Have you ever had the feeling that you’re Alice and you’ve gone through the looking glass?

'I can't believe you didn't tell me anything about it!' I say. 'That's amazing!'

'I never really thought anyone would want it,' Beth says apologetically. 'So I didn't say anything.  And then it never seemed like the right moment.'

Wow.

'So when's it coming out?  Are you going to be famous like J K Rowling?' I ask excitedly.

Beth laughs. 'It's aimed at pre-schoolers, so I don't think so.  It'll be out sometime next year I think.  And I'm working on another one now, for older kids.'

God, that's amazing.  My flatmate is an author.  I don't think I've ever voluntarily written anything longer than a Christmas card.

'That’s wonderful,' I say. 'I’m so happy for you.'

Beth's life is wonderful.   And my own is shit.

I start to cry.

But that’s okay.  She can only see tears of joy.

I’ve acted so hard all afternoon that I’m emotionally drained by the evening.  I’m sick of pretending to be happy.  I mean, I am happy for Beth.  I am.  I’d just like to be happy for me as well.

I’m down to the dregs of my second chocolate extravaganza when the doorbell rings.  I close my eyes briefly while I debate whether or not to pretend I’m out.  Beth’s gone to meet some people from work – librarians do have a social life, what do you know?  So I could easily get away with it.

I should answer it.

The doorbell rings again.

Forget it, I’m not getting up.

'Mel?'

Will’s voice.

I’m off the sofa faster than if it had suddenly turned into a bed of hot coals and
I wrench open the door.

Then I try to act composed and cool.

It was never going to work.

'Hi,' Will says.

I wonder briefly what would happen if I stood on my toes, grabbed him and kissed him.  He’d probably think I’d gone mad.

'Hi,' I say, not finding out.

'Can I come in?' he asks.

We’re being formal again, like after I walked in on him and Natalie.  I can’t handle formal with Will.  I’d rather he hated me out-right than treated me like an acquaintance.

I step back and let him in.  I start to wish that I wasn’t wearing my elephant slippers.  Maybe something small and black would be better.  Make him see me in a different light.

'So,' I say, 'w
hat brings you here?'

I cringe as soon as I say that.  We sound as fake as one of those TV adverts for loan companies.

Will shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up by the door.

'Brittany called me,' he says awkwardly. 'She said you two have sorted things out a little.  I just thought I’d…let you know how happy I am for you.'

What I really want to hear is ‘Mel, you’re the only one I could ever be with.  I’ve been so stupid all my life, but now I’ve seen the light and know that you’re perfection in ironic slippers.’.

Okay, the last bit might be pushing it.

'That’s…nice,' I say lamely.

My
secondary school English teacher banned us from using that adjective.  Nice, the word you use for something you don’t give a mushroom for.  And I hate mushrooms.

'And…to try again to apologise,' Will adds.

Oh God, I almost forgot why Will and I were all weird.

'I’m not going out with Matt,' I blurt out.

All in all, I could have introduced that a little more subtly.

'I know,' Will says. 'He said.'

We just look at each other.  I can’t bear awkward silences.  Not with Will.