Swan (8 page)

One of the girls, Sabina, glanced at her watch and
gave a toothy grin. ‘They’re running a bit late aren’t they? It’s nearly twenty
to.’

‘Who cares?’ the guy sitting next to her, Barry,
answered, ‘at least it gets us off the phones. If you ask me, they can take as
long as they want.’

I remained silent.

The kitchen door opened and Angela popped her head
in.

‘Apologies for the wait, guys. The projector clapped
out, but I think we’ve got everything sorted now. Would you like to come in,
please?’

We followed her into a spacious training room that
contained a projector, a couple of desks and a white board. Near the middle of
the room, six chairs had been arranged to form a circle, presumably for the
group exercise.

Angela instructed us to take our seats, then handed
us each a photocopy of the agenda. Five minutes later, a red-haired man
introduced as Dominic Prince from HR joined us. He would be sitting in on the
interviews, Angela told us, to provide support and guidance where necessary.
She then handed over to Dominic to describe what the group exercise was about.
He spoke with jolly gusto, with the condescending air of a children’s TV
presenter.

I groaned inwardly. It all sounded so dull and
pretentious.

First of all, we had to write a list of bullet
points describing what our definition of good customer service was. Then we had
to list all the bad points. Afterwards, we had to perform a role-play, showing
what the council could do to improve its services to the public.
[E4]
 

We broke for lunch at twelve-thirty, and then
returned for the one to ones in the afternoon. Mine was at two. When at last
Angela called me in, I felt an unexpected pang of nerves. I smoothed down my
skirt, straightened up my jacket. It was my first interview in years, so I felt
so out of practise.

Angela smiled thinly. She had on mascara today,
which in my opinion made her look a lot less butch. ‘Right, make yourself
comfortable Madeline. How did you find the morning session? Was it okay?’

‘Yeah, it was good.’ My throat had gone all dry.

She rifled through some paperwork on her desk and
pulled out my application form. After familiarising herself with it, she began:
‘So Madeline, what skills can you bring to the management team?’

I rambled on for a couple of minutes about my
experience in the call centre and how I felt the service could be improved by
taking me on. Angela listened silently, taking carefully worded notes. Then she
asked me a series of questions relating to the candidate specification, and
asked me to give examples of how I was ‘proactive’, ‘intuitive,’ and a ‘team player.’
I answered what was thrown at me with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Considering I’d had so little time to prepare, I
reckoned I’d delivered a pretty sound interview. I wasn’t sure how I rated in
the bigger scheme of things, but overall I was pleased. Even if I wasn’t
successful, at least I knew I’d given it my best shot.

I got up to leave. Angela shook my hand passionately.
Her eyes were warm, friendly. ‘Thanks for coming, Madeline. It was really nice
getting to know you better. I’ll be in touch soon.’

I smiled and nodded. As I stepped out into the
corridor, I felt a surge of elation. Perhaps I was in with a chance after all.

* * *

I switched off the dryer, ran my fingers through my
hair and glanced in the dresser mirror. I wasn’t sure how to wear my hair to
the cinema. Should I have it down or up? No, definitely down, I decided. I
wanted to make an effort without making it look too forced.

I switched the dryer back on and continued fanning
my hair, straightening it into long shiny tufts. I caught a strand between my
fingers and relished the warmth against my skin. It made me think about David’s
massage. I closed my eyes and remembered how good it felt. A tingle of
excitement raced through me.
Those hands.
Those otherworldly hands
. I wondered what else they could do. My reflection
smirked back at me. Caught me off guard, making me blush. I shook my head and
told myself I was a fool for having such salacious thoughts. We were only going
to the cinema for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t necessarily going to lead anywhere,
was it?

After I had finished blow-drying my hair, I went to
the wardrobe and selected a long black knitted dress, black leggings and grey
pumps. Black was the rule. It didn’t scream absolute desperation, but hopefully
exuded an understated sexiness that David would find appealing.

Finally, I opened my jewellery box and fished out a
pair of demure gold studs. I was ready to go.

I blinked at my reflection, wondering what lay
ahead.

Then the doorbell rang. Seven o’clock on the dot. I
was impressed. David was certainly very punctual. Picking up my handbag, I made
my way to the front door and opened it.

‘Hello, are you ready to go?,’ he grinned.

‘Yeah,’ I said, closing the door behind me. I gave
him the once-over. He had on a crumpled brown jacket and navy blue jeans
– pretty normal until you got an eyeful of those hideous crocodile shoes.
Typical David.

The night was cool and dry. We walked side by side,
almost as strangers. Then he broke the deadlock.

‘Did you get any more ideas about what you want to
watch?’

‘Yeah, there’s this new Woody Allen film out, can’t
remember the name. Let me think ... oh yes, that’s it –
Everybody Loves Sid
.’

I looked at him to gauge his reaction. His face was
impassive. ‘Sounds good. I quite like Woody Allen. What’s that film he did was Diane
Keaton?
Annie Hall
– that was
great. Haven’t seen much of his recent stuff though.’

‘Well, this one’s had a lot of good reviews.’

‘Who’s in it?’

‘Chet Vincent.’

‘Chet Vincent? Hmmm ... that name rings a bell.’

‘He’s the one who died recently. It’s been all over
the news. You can’t have missed it.
Everybody
Loves Sid
is his last film.’

David nodded glibly. ‘Yeah, I think I did hear
something about it. You’ll have to forgive me; I’m so out of touch with that
sort of thing. Not really into all that celebrity malarkey.’

‘I see.’

We walked in virtual silence the rest of the way to
Canary Wharf

station. When we reached the ticket barriers, David
had to top up his Oyster at machine. I didn’t need to as I already had a
monthly travel card. Then we got the train to North Greenwich.

Cineworld was located on the second floor of the O2.
As we approached the box office, the smell of fresh popcorn was everywhere, and
I felt a rush of butterflies in my stomach. Ever since I was a kid, going to the
cinema had been a magical experience for me. It was something I looked forward
to, like Christmases and birthdays. There was just something so special, so
epic about seeing my idols blown-up on a massive screen.

I stopped in my tracks. A full-length poster for
Everybody Loves Sid
stood outside the
entrance to Screen One. I studied it with wide-eyed fascination. Chet looked so
handsome, so debonair. He had a funny little Clark Gable moustache and his arms
were draped lovingly around his lithe leading lady, Lin Yu. I felt a lump in my
throat as I wondered, fleetingly, if anyone would notice if I nicked it. Then I
remembered I had company. I was with David. What on earth would he make of me
being carted off by the police for theft? He probably wouldn’t speak to me
again. Still, I had to laugh. It would have been be pretty funny, wouldn’t it?

‘Shall we get the tickets?’ David asked, snapping me
out of my daydream.

‘Oh yes, let’s.’

We reached the box office and ordered two tickets
for the eight o’clock showing. As David reached into his pocket to pay, I
rested my hand on his arm.

‘No worries, this is my treat.’

‘Really?’ he smiled. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. I invited you to come to the cinema, so
it’s on me.’

He stared at me for a second, his face unreadable.
‘I’m so touched. You know, this is the first time I’ve ever taken a woman out
and she’s offered to pay for me.’

‘Well, maybe I’m not like other women.’ I handed the
box office assistant the money, took our tickets and scrutinised them. ‘I think
we’re in screen six.’

‘Okay. Do you fancy some popcorn? At least let me
get that for you?’

I nodded eagerly. The evening was getting off to a
cracking start.

When we got to screen six, the auditorium was
already packed. Even so, we still managed to find a cosy seat at the back, my
favourite place. Hidden away in the darkness I could fully immerse myself in
the fantasy of the film.

‘I’m so glad we made it in time for the adverts,’
David grinned. ‘It’s one of my favourite parts of going to the movies.’

‘Mine too!’

After ten minutes of trailers, the opening credits
to
Everybody Loves Sid
flashed up on
screen. I experienced a wide range of emotions: happiness, sadness, ebullience.
Died
.
Each scene, each word of
dialogue had added poignancy because I knew that Chet was gone, dead, his
swansong. History in the making. I glanced around the audience. They appeared
to be similarly moved: couples huddling together, holding hands, teenagers
silenced into quiet reverence, lapping up every bit of Chet’s performance. The
closing credits prompted a standing ovation from the auditorium. His
performance had been sublime. It was a career best, and truly deserving of an
Oscar.

I turned to look at David. He had been very quiet
during the film. Hadn’t made a peep. He’d seemed so intense, so serious -
transfixed by every small detail on screen, like it completely encompassed him.
He hadn’t laughed once. Apparently he found the whole business of watching it a
solemn affair.

‘Did you enjoy it?’ I asked as the lights went up.

David sat there blinking for a couple of seconds. He
seemed confused, disorientated, like he’d forgotten where he was. Then a slow
smile spread across his face.

‘Yes, it was pretty good,’ he replied breezily.
‘Let’s go, shall we?’

When we got outside the cinema, I was still buzzing
from the film. I wanted to watch it all over again.

‘That was the most amazing film I’ve ever seen!’ I
gushed. ‘Don’t you think Chet Vincent was absolutely fantastic?’

‘Er, yes. He was good.’ David paused. ‘What do you
like about him so much?’

I flushed with excitement. ‘Oh I don’t know.
Everything. I’m telling you, if he doesn’t win an Oscar, I honestly don’t know
what the world’s coming to. Chet Vincent is – was - the most amazing
actor ever.’ I paused for breath, looked at him. ‘It’s so sad he’s gone, isn’t
it? All that talent ...’ I tried to sound upbeat, but deep down, I was growing
increasingly emotional.

There was a curious expression on David’s face that
I couldn’t quite place. Then, it suddenly hit me.

‘Chet Vincent!’ I blurted. ‘That’s who your eyes
remind me of.’

He gave a nervous laugh. ‘What are you talking
about?’

‘It’s been bugging me ever since I met you. Your
eyes ... the colour, the shape. They’re so like his.’

‘Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. He’s
a very good-looking guy. You’re the first person to ever say that, though.
Personally, I can’t see the resemblance.’ Gently, he slipped his arm through
mine.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

My heart was thudding in my ears. This was the first
time a man had ever showed me affection in public. The first time anyone had
ever laid claim to me. I swelled with pride.

‘So Madeline, the night is still young. What do you
want to do now? Do you fancy getting a bite to eat somewhere? My treat, of
course,’ he added.

‘Oh, you don’t have to.’

‘Nonsense! I’m absolutely starving. There’s a nice
French restaurant in Canary Wharf I’d like to try.’

‘Yeah, okay, great.’

We got to Café Rouge at just after ten-thirty. At
first, we weren’t sure they’d admit us, but in the end David managed to persuade
them into giving us a table inside.

The moustachioed waiter immediately came over to
take our order. David began conversing with him in French. I watched,
open-mouthed as the two of them grew increasingly animated, laughing and joking
like old friends. Was there no end to David’s surprises? Krav Maga,
professional masseur, now this.

‘I think I’ve got everything sorted,’ he whispered
conspiratorially. ‘The waiter says he’ll give us a free bottle of wine when his
manager’s not looking.’

‘I didn’t know you spoke French,’ I giggled.

‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? I lived there for a couple
of years, just after I graduated.’

‘You have so many hidden talents, David!’

‘And you haven’t seen half of them.’

Whatever could he mean? I felt that same tingle of
excitement again.