The Way Out (7 page)

There was a sudden eruption of activity right at the back of the balcony. A woman with wispy white hair and enormous glasses shouted and leapt out of her seat, squawking and flapping.

‘We have a claim!' announced Colin.

A uniformed girl came running to check the woman's card, the microphone buzzing in her hand.

‘I need to see your card.'

‘But I've not won!' shouted the woman who by now looked as if she was about to take off. ‘Look – there!' She pointed towards the shadows in the corner behind her seat. ‘Mouse, you stupid
girl! Not house –
mouse
! See? Over there by the wall. Bold as brass, looking at me like it owns the bloody place.'

Dora stood and peered in the direction the woman was pointing and, right enough, there sat a small brown mouse, perfectly still, its black eyes glinting. Calmly, as if pleased it had made its point, it turned and padded out of sight.

The hall was in an uproar, some were laughing, some shouting abuse at the woman for interrupting the game. Colin kept repeating, ‘Can I have the code number please?'

Eventually the girl shouted over her mic, ‘No claim!' and the game continued.

‘Three and one. Thirty one.'
Get up and run
.

Full house. Couldn't be. But it was.

Alec was watching her, a droplet of spit slowly descending from his lower lip. Without looking up from her game, Mary reached over with a tissue and wiped it away before tucking the tissue into the sleeve of her cardigan.

Dora felt a falling, draining sensation that left the top of her head buzzing with cold, her ears filled with sea-shell emptiness. This wasn't supposed to happen to her. She looked at Mary and Jim, at the rows of heads in the hall below, bowed over their cards.

Then the realisation. She didn't have to say a thing. If she simply waited, someone else's card would fill up. Just a matter of time. All she needed to do was wait.

Colin's intercom crackled into life carrying the distant shouts of a winning claim in one of the other halls. Dora twisted her card tight and pushed it firmly into the neck of her almost empty bottle.

Mary and Jim were comparing their missed numbers, groaning and laughing over their near misses. Mary looked up
at her, ‘No luck either then, Dora?'

Dora felt light, as if she could launch herself off the balcony and fly in great swooping arcs around the hall. ‘No, not tonight, Mary. Maybe next time.'

‘We live in hope eh?' said Jim, rising from his seat and gathering up the empty glasses. ‘Same again?'

Home Security 2

The interview was in a second floor flat converted into offices. The conversion amounted to no more than stripping out anything homey and throwing in a few desks, swivel chairs and ring binders. The air smelled of sweat and adolescent aftershave. Crooked venetian blinds were drawn against the sunlight, casting the room into shadow save for the glow from a PC screen. The bluish light made everyone in the room look like corpses, including Derek and his business partner, Darren, both of whom wore wide ties and grimy-looking pastel shirts.

Derek looked me up and down and offered me his hand to shake, already bored with the formalities. He glanced at the single printed page of my CV, sighed and tossed it onto the desk. My earlier misgivings started muttering and edging forward in my mind but I herded them back and shushed them into silence.

‘Take a seat over there. Be with you in a minute.'

There were four of us, lined up against the wall on orange plastic chairs. Two youngish guys and a middle-aged woman. The faint whiff of desperation hung around us like an eggy fart. I fixed my attention on the thin ribbon of blue sky showing through a gap in the blinds and silently repeated the mantra ‘good earning potential good earning potential'. Derek and Darren bustled about, letting off volleys of forced laughter and shuffling bundles of fliers and clipboards, attaching pens on short lengths of string. We waited, not looking at each other.

‘Right, we've got two teams today,' Derek announced, handing out the clipboards. His shirt buttons strained over
his stomach as he inflated his already bulky torso with enough enthusiasm to achieve take-off velocity.

The red plastic covering on my clipboard was split at the corners, the hardboard showing through.

‘Margaret and David, you're with Darren.'

The older woman and one of the young guys looked at Darren who winked back and made a clicking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Neither of them appeared reassured by this.

‘Kirsty and John, you're with me.'

‘Joe,' said the guy sitting next to me. ‘My name's Joe.' His voice lacked conviction, like he didn't care all that much, would be willing to be John, or James, or even Janet as long as he got paid at the end of the day. There were dark circles under his eyes and his chin looked raw and patchy as if he'd shaved in a hurry.

Derek blinked and scribbled something on his own clipboard. ‘If you say so.'

‘What you've got to remember, what you've got to impress upon the homeowner, is that you're not selling anything.'

‘We're not?'

I glanced over at Joe. He raised his eyebrows and gave a small apologetic shrug. This was the closest we'd come to communicating since we met five minutes earlier. Crammed together into the back seat of Derek's Corsa as it pushed through traffic, it was too much too soon. Joe cleared his throat and I sat on my hands. We both stared at the back of Derek's head.

‘No, you're not. No selling at all. You're giving them information. No strings attached. Completely free of charge or obligation.' Derek's voice sounded like a pre-recorded message playing from somewhere at the back of his throat. While the words came out level, he was swerving around a builder's van
parked in the bus lane and giving the finger to the driver behind. ‘The only cost to them is a minute of their time to allow you to deliver that information.'

Derek was taking us for an aptitude test.

‘No quicker way to find out if you can do this job than going out and doing it. I don't have time to waste fannying around, training you up on the off-chance, only to get out in the field and find you can't cut it.'

Joe scratched his nose and leant forward. ‘But if we're not selling, then what—'

‘You're wondering what's in it for us? Where's the payoff?'

‘Well, yes. I suppose I am,' said Joe, turning his head as we passed a police car parked with blue lights flashing outside a locksmith's shop. ‘Wondering.'

‘What you're after, the prize you seek, the Holy Grail of your quest, and the only way you're going to be leaving with any cash in your pocket today, by the way, is… the
Referral
.' Derek rolled the word out like an expensive rug for us to admire.

We appreciated the word silently, and after a suitable pause Derek continued.

‘Your job is to deliver the information. And then – pay attention both of you, this is the important bit – then, persuade them to sign up for a free Home Security Consultation.'

Joe nodded. ‘And that'll be the sales guys?'

‘Specialists,' replied Derek, his neck stiffening. ‘Home security specialists.'

Joe looked over at me, rolled his eyes and smiled.

‘And those specialists just happen to sell security systems?' I said, returning the smile, the ice broken. We could be allies, me and Joe, I thought – help each other through this, have a bit of a laugh. He'd have his reasons for being here, same as I had mine.

‘Hahaha!' Derek laughed like a machine jamming. ‘You're a sharp one, Kirsty, aren't you? Sharp as a tack. I could tell straight off. I reckon you could be one of my top earners.'

Joe turned away to look out of his side window, our conspiracy disbanded before it was properly formed.

‘You need to focus on your goal. The Referral. That's all you're after. Never mind what comes next. Specialists. Sales guys. Whatever. Just keep your eyes on the prize. You are not sales people. At no point in your pitch will you mention the word sales. You will no more say sales to the homeowner than you would say
tit-wank
.'

An intake of breath from Joe. I sighed inwardly but didn't react, just kept staring at the back of Derek's head, the way his neck bulged over his off-white collar, the rigidity of his gelled hair. I stifled a yawn. This was going to be a long afternoon.

Derek took a corner fast. I grabbed the door handle to keep from falling into Joe's lap.

‘If, and only if, the homeowner wishes to act upon the recommendations made in the consultation then our specialist will make some suitable suggestions from the product range carried by Apex Security. But that's not your concern. Your concern is…?'

‘The referral,' Joe and I parroted simultaneously without enthusiasm.

‘That's right! Top marks. And what word do you not use?'

I decided to let Joe have that one, by way of a peace offering.

‘Sales,' he said.

‘Right again! Gold star!'

‘Or tit-wank,' Joe added with a snigger and a sidelong glance in my direction.

I stared out at the traffic as if I hadn't heard him. Responding to this kind of crap only makes it more important. Some guys
think any sexual reference is like Kryptonite to women. I don't get it. And I don't care enough about what they think to be arsed putting them right.

‘Yes. Good.' Derek stopped at a set of lights and rolled his shoulders. ‘This isn't rocket science. All you need to do is follow the steps.'

The lights started to change. Derek was half way across the junction before they reached green.

‘Fire away,' said Joe, rubbing his hands together, all matey now.

‘First impressions. Smile.' Derek swivelled his head round while changing gear and demonstrated by stretching his lips over his teeth. He turned back and jerked the steering wheel, barely missing a cyclist.

‘Tell them you're sorry to disturb them. Tell them you represent Apex Home Security Systems. Tell them we have representatives in their area this week and are offering homeowners a free, no obligation Home Security Consultation. Now, this is the first point of potential disconnect. Unless you're very lucky, they'll be trying to close the door about now, thinking about their dinner going cold on the table. Do not let them close that door. Keep talking. Maintain eye contact. Don't even fucking blink. Got that?'

Derek looked at us from his rear view mirror, not blinking.

We both nodded mutely.

‘I gave you four distinct points in the process there. Can either of you tell me what they were?'

I'd given up trying to be friendly so jumped in before Joe could open his mouth.

‘Smile. Apologise. Give them the pitch. Don't fucking blink.'

‘Perfect! See? Knew you were a sharp one.'

Derek reeled off more points in the process but they all came
down to getting folk to sign a form agreeing to a home visit. The pre-recording of his voice continued to play from somewhere behind his tongue but it seemed to be at a lower volume. Now I knew what was expected, all I wanted was to get it over with.

The tall flats and shop fronts eventually gave way to gardens and houses with driveways. It was all so clean. Even the leaves on the trees looked like they'd just come out the wash and been hung up on the branches to dry in the sunshine.

‘Here we are,' said Derek. He rolled his window down and lit a cigarette.

I rolled mine down too. The only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant laughter of unseen children.

‘Prime customer base,' said Derek, flicking ash out of the window. ‘Folk here have nice stuff. They don't want some druggy little scrote from the council estate swiping the kiddies' iPods or their Blu-ray player. But the number one thing they want to preserve is their
feeling
of security. It's not about the stuff. It's the violation, the loss of peace of mind.
It's not what they take, it's what they leave behind
. Let them know you understand that.

‘If a man answers the door, use words like
protection
and
defence
. Ask them if they work away from home a lot. If it's a woman, use words like
attack
and
invasion
. If they have a big dog, point out that dogs can be poisoned. Make them feel vulnerable and they'll be thankful you're there to help.

‘Joseph, you start at that end, take the even numbers. Kirsty, you take the odds and start at the other end. We'll rendezvous here in half an hour. Now off you go and get me those referrals.'

The wind hissed through the hedges, following me as I walked the length of the street. Sunlight reflected flatly from double-glazed windows. From the first house I approached, I heard a
television playing and voices, laughter, family noises. Already I felt self-conscious. At least I could do the apologising part with sincerity. I pulled my shoulders back a notch, hung a smile on my face and rang the doorbell. The door swung open, fanning rich cooking smells over me. My empty stomach growled.

A teenage boy wearing a Radiohead T-shirt, fringe covering most of his face, took one look at my smile-and-clipboard combo and retreated along the hall. When he got to the stairs he cocked his head and shouted ‘Muhuuh, s'feyoo,' before shuffling out of sight.

The door started to swing shut. I put out a hand to stop it slamming but it was caught from inside by a woman who raised her eyebrows at my still-outstretched hand.

‘Yes? Can I
help
you?' The pointed way she emphasised
help
made it clear that what she actually had in mind was something closer to
punch
. She pulled the door back and held on to it.

I did my best to keep my smile in place and launched into the spiel. She nodded impatiently so I cut to the chase, gave her the stuff about being in the area, blah blah. I raced through it, wanting it to be over. I tried to maintain eye contact, like Derek said, but couldn't stop my gaze falling. As soon as she got the gist, she deployed a brisk ‘sorrythanksbutnothanks' and closed the door with a thump.