‘How did it go with Dr Loveheart?’ Zoe asked, when Daisy staggered back into her sister-in-law’s house, wondering if she’d ever be able to walk properly again. Who knew riding was so physical? Though maybe she was feeling wobbly because of the kiss, and Noah’s instructions that she should have a hot bath and massage her thighs whilst she was in it, left her wishing he’d be the one to do the massaging.
She was about to tell Zoe, when her mother bustled into the room.
‘About time, young lady,’ Sandra said. ‘I’ve got bingo to go to. Oh, and I forgot, to tell you, but some man called earlier.’
‘Some man?’
‘Said it was about an office junior’s job.’
‘He phoned here?’ Daisy could have sworn she’d put her mobile and her mother’s landline number on her CV.
‘No, silly, he phoned me.’
‘You? Have you applied for a job?’
‘Why would I do something like that? I’ve got a job already – looking after you lot. He wants you to ring him back. I’ve got the number somewhere.’
Daisy did a quick mental search through the numerous jobs she’d applied for and came to the conclusion this one must be for the builders’ merchants. She checked the time – five pm – and hoped she wasn’t too late. Whenever Freddie had gone to a builders’ merchants (ostensibly to pick up patio slabs or paint, but in hindsight, Daisy wondered if it had been to ogle the builders themselves), he’d always gone early because they were often shut when normal people were just coming home from work.
Daisy took the piece of paper from her mother and tried to read the scrawl.
Mr Bradley, or was it Bartley? And was that a five or a three. Mr Bradley, she decided, as she keyed his number into her mobile.
‘Hi, I’m Daisy Jones. I applied for the office junior role you’re advertising?’
‘Bit old, aren’t you?’ The voice on the other end was deep and gruff, and sounded rather testy.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, you’re a bit old. From your date of birth, I worked out you must be thirty.’
‘Yes, um, that’s right.’
‘Hmm. Got any experience?’
‘A bit, but the advert said, “no experience necessary”.’
‘I was expecting school leavers to apply,’ he said. ‘They don’t usually have any experience.’
‘And have they?’
‘Have who done what?’
‘Have school leavers applied?’
‘Yes.’
So why phone her?
‘I’m looking to retrain,’ Daisy said, cautiously. ‘I can answer the phone, I’m used to dealing with people,’ (was she?) ‘and can use Word and Excel,’ (she’d have to google Excel), ‘and as you can see, I’m used to using email.’
‘Do you know the difference between sharp sand and fine sand?’ he barked.
‘No, but I’m a fast learner, and I’ve got the advantage of maturity on my side,’ she added, getting into her stride.
Was this an interview? It certainly felt like one, even if it was being conducted over the phone.
‘I see you’ve been working for Caring Cards. Good with your hands, are you?’
‘Eh?’
‘Making cards.’
‘Ah, no, I didn’t make them myself, I er…’ Oh dear, there was no choice, she was going to have to tell Mr Bradley exactly what she’d done at Caring Cards. ‘…constructed the verses. As well as other things.’
‘Like what?’
Daisy ran through a list of the other staff member’s roles. Design? Nope. Accounts? Nah, she couldn’t add up to save her life, and as for stuff like VAT and tax – ug. Human resources? Hmm, all Joyce had seemed to do was send out wage slips and calculate holiday entitlement.
Ah! ‘Part of my role was to explore new markets,’ she said, knowing full well she was talking about visiting any new clothes shops as soon as they opened, so it wasn’t strictly a lie, was it? It just didn’t have anything remotely to do with her former job.
‘What sort of markets?’
Time to lie. Daisy rattled off a list of supermarkets and chain stores – anywhere she could think of which sold greeting cards. Getting into the swing of it, she added, ‘It was my job to ensure our stockists were kept supplied with the right cards at the right time – no point in sending them Mother’s Day cards at Valentines,’ she chortled. ‘I also contacted new outlets and arranged a salesman to call.’
‘Were you any good at it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, confidently.
‘Oh, all right, then. Come in on Monday for a proper interview, so I can check you over. You’ve got to be better than the last girl – moody as hell, she was, and she dressed like she was going to a funeral. Always crying over some lad or another. She used to put the customers off. They don’t want some bird blubbing when she’s weighing out a pound of nails.’
‘That’s my point exactly, Mr Bradley. ‘You won’t get any of that with me.’
‘Got any kids?’
What? ‘No.’
‘Any plans on having some?’
Daisy was speechless. She was pretty sure that prospective employers weren’t allowed to ask those kind of questions – discrimination, and all that.
‘No,’ she replied somewhat stiffly. Bet he wouldn’t ask a man that question.
‘I’ve got three, and two grandchildren with another on the way. You don’t want to leave it too late.’ How dare he make a comment about when she should have children!
‘I’m sorry?’ she said, her tone frostier than a bag of peas in a freezer.
‘Before coming in on Monday. The earlier the better, in fact, say, eight-thirty?’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Eight-thirty, it is.’
‘That’ll give me a chance to see to the early customers. Can you make tea?’
‘Yes, I can.’ At last, a question she could answer truthfully.
‘Great. See you then.’ He rang off, leaving Daisy staring at her phone with a bemused expression.
‘Job interview,’ she said, unnecessarily to Zoe. Sandra had already waltzed out of the door. ‘Um… where’s David?’ Daisy asked suddenly.
‘Upstairs,’ Zoe replied, with a tinge of pride in her voice. ‘He can get up and down them now. And the wheelchair has gone back. They collected it when you were out, on your date. You’ve got to tell me all about it, I’m going stir crazy.’
‘How did David get up the stairs?’
‘On his bottom, backwards. Your mother said he used to get up them the same way when he was little.’
Things were starting to look up, Daisy thought. She’d got a boyfriend (ish), a new job (ish), and maybe she’d be able to relinquish her caring duties and move back home soon.
She hesitated. Maybe the last one wasn’t quite so good. After all, who in their right mind would want to move back in with their mother and nan?
But, like the old song says, two out of three ain’t bad.