“See anything you like?”
Aware of the blush rushing up her neck, Claire dropped her gaze down to her bag on the pretence of searching for her keys, letting her heavy hair fall over her face.
Clearly one for the ladies, she decided. Mr Cheeky was right. Or maybe Mr Smarmy. In no danger of falling for his charm, she was nonetheless grateful for his support throughout her ordeal.
Jason, or Mr Mean, as she preferred to think of him, had earned his moniker during the hour-long interrogation. Everything from her marketing qualifications (limited), tourism credentials (non-existent), Myers-Briggs profile (forgotten), reason for changing jobs (undisclosed) and recent history (blagged) had been torn apart and challenged.
The remaining individuals had thrown out one question each on cue but Claire surmised that they were there for aggrandizement purposes only. Except Conor, head of marketing and business development and her potential line manager. His questions had been thorough and relevant and sometimes too acute for comfort. It seemed, like now, that he liked to put her on the spot to see how much he could make her blush.
“Thank you for showing me out.” Claire flicked her hair away and shone her coolest smile. No need to give a man like that encouragement.
“It was my pleasure.”
Claire shivered. Even the most innocent statement sounded like a come-on. His words lit an unexpected fire in her belly, and she gritted her teeth. Glaring at him through narrowed eyes, Claire turned and headed for the door.
“Wait!”
Claire looked back, eyebrows raised.
“Don’t you want to know what happens next?”
The eyebrows shot up further. “What happens next? Jason interviews a man, who clearly will be more suited for the role, and I carry on with my life?”
Conor frowned at her words. “Is that what you think? That he gave you a hard time because you’re a woman? And I thought you were smart.”
She turned again and didn’t stop when he called for her to wait a second time. She heard his footsteps as he strode after her and fell in step with her as she walked across the small car park. She stopped before she got to the Skoda, some part of her unwilling to give the man more ammunition.
Facing him, she waited for him to speak.
“He gave you a hard time because you’re by far the best candidate for the role, and if something looks too good to be true it usually is.”
Claire felt a pulse throb in her temples. How long had it been since anyone told her she was good at something? She couldn’t remember.
“If I have my way, he’ll hire you. We need someone like you to bring some life to the company.” He ran a hand through his sandy hair, as if unsure of what to say. “Look, I’m sorry you had a tough time. You have to understand, this is a new organisation. There’s a limited budget and no strategy. But I see huge potential. Jason, Tim, and the others, they’re public sector workers. They came over from the Council to set up this venture. They’re bean counters, regulation enforcers.”
Taking a breath, Conor rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, except you’re the only person to walk in here and get what we’re trying to achieve. Purbeck is an amazing part of the country, with beaches to rival the Continent. But people came here as children, and stayed in caravans with their gran. They see it as old fashioned, out-dated. It needs an injection of life, of world experience, to show people what it can be. Look at Swanage. I came here when I was a kid. There was life. Now it’s practically an old-people’s home. We need you.”
Claire looked round the car park, unsure what to think. Conor’s passion surprised her. She had taken him to be a salesman, in for the quick buck.
“I need time to think about it. Besides, I’m not sure you’re right. Jason didn’t strike me as the type to take a chance on someone.”
“He’ll come round, leave it to me.”
He gave her a grin that made him look about twelve, then, with a half-wave, he headed back into the building.
Claire stood for a while, deep in thought. When she was sure he was gone, she paced to the Skoda and hid herself inside.
***
TWENTY-THREE
Claire closed her iPad and looked out the hostel window. In contrast to the dark wood furniture in the dim room, the view that beckoned sparkled in the late evening sunlight. In the distance the sea reflected the blue of the sky, in a deeper hue. Behind the strip of water, a long barrow of land jutted out into the ocean. Claire could just make out fields falling into the limestone cliffs of the Jurassic Coast. Her research informed her there were several pleasant walks up from the National Trust car park near the Bankes Arms pub in Studland. If the sun continued to shine in the morning, she knew where she would be.
So far, her impression of Swanage matched Conor’s description. The faded seaside town showed glimpses of its former glory, in the amusement arcades and the long wooden pier. Rather than Victorian ladies promenading along its length, Claire met only blue-rinse grannies out for their afternoon constitutional. As she had driven around looking for the youth hostel, she had seen more signs for retirement complexes than B&Bs.
It would be a tough ask to increase tourism here. She knew that Purbeck included other towns, but Swanage was the main seaside resort.
There’s also a nudist beach, but I can’t see Jason signing off tourism promoting that particular asset.
She tried to imagine living in the town for any length of time. If she had envisioned an end to her wanderings, this didn’t seem the natural place. No Waitrose, no Starbucks, so mainline train, nobody under fifty. It’s not really selling itself to me. Poole or Bournemouth were marginally better, as far as she could tell as she came through. At least Poole had Waitrose and a Starbucks, as well as being the home of the Sunseeker luxury yacht factory.
Not that I could afford one, even if I saved every penny they’d be paying me for a dozen years. Still, maybe I could hang out with the rich and famous at Sandbanks and hitch a lift.
Claire sighed and reached for her tea. One sip told her it was stone cold, and she replaced the mug with a bang on the dark wood table. Assuming Conor wasn’t exaggerating his ability to influence Jason, and I wouldn’t put it past him to do so, I will have a job offer to consider by the weekend. Two, if you include New Zealand. So why don’t I feel better?
She thought about the imminent trip back north to see Kim’s opening night. Butterflies reared in her stomach and she discovered at least one cause for her unease. It was more than fear of facing her erstwhile best friend, though. Normally she would have a gut feel for whether a job offer was the right one. Now, there was nothing. Only confusion
If only Josh were here, he would advise me what to do.
The thought took hold in her mind and grew. With a quick mental calculation, she worked out how many hours before she could call him. Without pausing to consider the wisdom of her decision, Claire gathered up her things and headed to her room to wait.
***
TWENTY-FOUR
“Claire? It’s Carl.”
Claire paused in her walk along the bay and perched on the stone wall, gazing out to sea. I knew I shouldn’t have answered the phone. After believing her boss was trying to force her out for months, it was hard not to be confused by his sudden terrier-like behaviour, now she had finally resigned.
“Have you had a chance to consider my offer?” Carl spoke into the silence.
“What offer?” Claire watched as a couple wandered along the sand, fingers entwined. Behind her the amusement arcades advertised their wares with raucous music and flashing lights. The air smelled of salt and candyfloss.
“I sent you an email.” Carl’s voice sliced through her reverie.
“I’ve been busy. Catching up on the blog and collating my notes together to pass to my replacement.”
Carl didn’t respond immediately, and the scream of hungry seagulls rent the still evening air. Claire envied them their freedom of expression.
When Carl spoke again, his tone was nonchalant. “I merely emailed you with a counter-offer, as is standard procedure when someone resigns in the middle of a critical project or contract negotiation.”
Claire wasn’t fooled by Carl’s insouciance. Sitting up straight, she narrowed her eyes and glared at the arm of fields stretching into the sea, as if embracing the bay.
“And are we? In the middle of contract negotiations? With whom? Happy Cola? The YHA? Both? That would have been rather pertinent to our conversation earlier this week, don’t you think?”
“So, you’ll reconsider?” Claire heard his tail wagging furiously. “Both accounts are more than pleased with the early results of your social media activity. The YHA have seen a marked increase in bookings at the hostels you’ve written about and Happy Cola have cited a significant increase in the healthy associations of their brand in recent regional market research.”
He sounded like Sky explaining why she should be allowed ten minutes more on the iPad, or a second chocolate bar. Claire felt her cheeks twitching in a smile, while her head reeled with possibilities. Her fingers itched to load her email and discover exactly how big Carl’s counter-offer was. Not that it’s actually a counter-offer, unless I am offered the Purbeck role, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Claire felt swept up in a tide of emotion. From being the outcast black sheep of the organisation, she belonged again. No more nasty challenges from Julia, or scrawled queries on her expenses forms. If she was the king pin securing two important deals, the world was her oyster.
Although a grin stretched her cheeks, Claire forced her voice low and doubtful. “I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it. The job here is a fantastic opportunity for me to make a difference.”
“Promise you’ll think it over? Look at the counter-offer. It’s not set in stone.”
Glee surged through Claire as she heard the panic in her boss’s voice. She could imagine the strain on his face as he rehearsed the conversation with the Board that centred on granting her a significant pay increase.
Blind to the beauty of the orange sun sliding across the sky, staining the sea blood-red, Claire said farewell to Carl and loaded up her emails.
***
TWENTY-FIVE
Claire stared at the email until the words blurred. Blinking fast, she checked it again. If this number isn’t set in stone, it means there could be even more on offer. The figure in Carl’s email was twice her current salary, with a bonus to make her eyes water, as and when she completed her tour of all the YHA hostels.
Speculation sprinted through Claire’s mind. This can’t be just because of writing a few blog posts. There must be something else going on.
With a few taps of the screen, Claire loaded up her blog stats. She hadn’t looked in a while, because the paltry figures were demoralising. The graph bore no resemblance to the one she had last viewed. The little bars built exponentially. The viewing figures for that day alone were in the thousands.
What the…?
Scrolling back, Claire tried to see which post had sparked the increase. It was impossible to make sense of the numbers on her tiny phone screen. Her heart fluttered like a new-born child, fast and shallow. Trying to jump down from the wall, the trembling in her legs gave a pre-warning before she collapsed into the sand. Sitting in a tangle of legs, Claire laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks.
What a mess. Why didn’t I check my stats before I resigned? She thought about it, as the chill of the sand seeped through her jeans. Would l have done it? Her eyes widened in horror. Does Carl think I only resigned to force his hand; to get more money?
She thought back to their conversation, when he had asked her why she was leaving, intimating that the lure of a fancy car had precipitated her resignation. All the mirth drained away, and she shuffled across the sand to lean her shoulders against the wall.
Her words came back to her, barely audible through the tinny sound of the amusement arcade music still playing behind her, only partially muffled by the wall. No man, no money, no shiny car or bigger office. Just an opportunity to make a difference; to be me. To live a little in the real world.
Claire shivered and pulled herself up, walking along the beach to the steps. This isn’t just a bigger car. This is a chance to save a significant amount of money, to fund my future. That amount of cash going into my account, while I live in hostels on expenses; that’s life changing. I could help Ruth, I could fulfil any dream, if I only stick it out for a year.
With a jolt Claire realised she didn’t have a dream. Aside from a vague interest in travel writing and an impulsive urge to visit the other side of the world, there was nothing in her future to pull her forward.
Walking blindly, Claire didn’t realise she was lost until the change in sound alerted her. The noise filling her ears was no longer the grating tone of the amusement arcade, but the mellow tones of a man singing, with the twang of an electric guitar.
Dragged from her reverie, Claire looked up and saw she was outside a pub. The sight reminded her of her intention to call Josh; that she’d only gone for a walk to kill time and to get something to eat. Carl’s phone call had driven the thought from her mind, and her gurgling tummy reminded her that she still hadn’t eaten.
Without hesitating to wonder whether going into a local pub alone was a good idea, Claire pushed through the door and found herself in a dim, cosy interior that smelt of sweat and beer. The low-ceilinged room felt crowded, but she was able to get to the bar without making eye contact with any of the punters. The entertainment was set up in a corner, and most eyes were focussed on the singer.
Shouting over the music, Claire asked if the pub served food. With a shake of his head, the barman indicated that crisps and pork scratchings were all he could offer. Cursing her stupidity, Claire ordered a gin & tonic and two bags of crisps. While the barman prepared her drink, she looked around to find an empty table. Her heart rose when she spied one in the corner, shielded from the live music.
Claire wove her way to the secluded corner, praying no one accosted her. When she reached her destination unmolested, her overwhelming sensation was surprise. Are people really polite in Swanage, or are they ignoring me because I’m not a local?
Glad of the anonymity and the loud music drowning out her troubled thoughts, Claire ate her meagre dinner and tried to formulate a plan. Was a dream essential, to enjoy life? She was pretty certain no-one she knew had a burning ambition to do anything more than pay the bills and buy the things that made working bearable. Now she thought about it, the fact struck her as sad. Aside from Ruth, who at least had Sky to focus on, the only person she knew with a dream was Kim, with her ambition to become a famous actress. As unlikely as it was, at least it was a tangible goal.
Thinking about Kim increased Claire’s sadness. She would see her friend in two days, but what kind of greeting would she get? Kim hadn’t answered any of her calls or messages since the wedding. She couldn’t believe their friendship was irrevocably broken, but it was starting to look that way.
If Josh’s wife forgave him for running away to the other side of the world, surely Kim can forgive me for revealing her secret to Michael? It wasn’t my fault he blurted it out to everyone.
All the elation from earlier seeped away, as Claire drained the last of her gin. She was still contemplating whether to drink another and drown her sorrows completely, when a familiar voice hailed her from near the door. With a start she looked up, unable at first to see who had recognised her in this backwater place.
Her searching gaze met a smiling pair of glass-green eyes, and her heart gave a lurch. Conor, that’s all I need. As if I haven’t got enough to think about. She was tempted to drop her head and ignore his hail, but knew it was too soon to burn any bridges. Tempting as Carl’s offer was, it wouldn’t hurt to keep the options open.
She raised her hand in greeting, and Conor threaded his way through the crowd to her table.
“Enjoying yoursel
f? I told you Swanage was a great place.” He leant close, to allow his words to be heard over the music.
Claire inhaled the overpowering scent of his aftershave and leaned back slightly as the man filled her personal space.
“Can I get you another drink?” Conor nodded at her empty glass.
Claire didn’t want to stay; her mind was jumbled enough without being on friendly terms with the man who wanted to be her boss. Unable to think of an excuse without appearing rude, Claire nodded her head.
“Yes, please.”
As she watched him take her glass back to the bar, Claire fought an overwhelming urge to cry.
***
TWENTY-SIX
“What do you think then?”
Claire looked up with narrowed eyes. “What about?”
“All of it. The town, the job, hell the band even. You're a gal who keeps her cards close.”
Claire looked up in surprise at Conor's words. Sitting in a bar with him, she felt exposed, as if her every thought was pasted on her face. Maybe it was the lack of make-up, or the jeans, but she felt more visible outside of the office. Conor kept his gaze on her, waiting for an answer. His features were indistinct in the dim bar, but Claire could still visualise the piercing green eyes, pinning her down.
“What do you love about it?”
Conor laughed. “Oh, slippery lady. I'll have the truth from you, you see if I don't.”
She raised an eyebrow and he held his hands up in mock surrender.
“Ah, go on then. What do I love about it? It reminds me of home. The friendliness, the sea, the hills. It has a warmth that closes round you and keep you safe.”
Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume Seven Page 6