Caroline Roberts - The Cosy Teashop in the Castle

Ellie opted for an early night. The trip up north, the interview, had drained her. Lying there under her single duvet, within the four pink-painted walls – one cerise, three blossom, (she’d chosen the shades aged twelve) of her small bedroom, she thought about her day at Claverham Castle. Was there any chance they might offer her the lease? If so – wildest dreams – would they also offer her a room there? What might it be like, working there, living there? Her dreams felt like bubbles, floating iridescent in a blue sky of hope. But, then, wasn’t there always the inevitable pop, then plop, when you came splatting back down to earth?

Her thoughts spun on, sleep elusive. She should have been better prepared, done her homework, thought about it all more thoroughly. And , she hadn’t even mentioned half the things in the interview that she’d mentally prepped in bed the night before. Maybe her mother was right; doing things on a whim was never the best option. But something inside told her she was right to try for that interview today. She’d been so excited reading the ad in the job pages of the Journal , then ringing up, actually getting an interview, taking those steps towards her dream. She could make a go of it, given half a chance. The if dangled before her, her dream on a very thin thread, making her feel queasy in the pit of her stomach.

Concrete, steel, glass – Ellie’s working world. Tuesday, the day after her tearoom interview, and walking into the impersonal open-plan insurance office made her feel flat; just serving to remind her of how the next ten years might pan out – the most exciting prospect being a promotion to claims supervisor, more targets to push for, deadlines to beat, staff to rally.

The other staff there were fine, to be fair. Her ally, Gemma, the only one she could trust with the truth about the interview and why she’d taken a day’s holiday, collared her at the coffee machine.

‘ So? How was it?’ her friend uttered in hushed tones. She knew how much this interview meant to Ellie, and had volunteered a few days ago, half-jokingly, to become a waitress for her should it all come off. Gemma was a townie through and through, and dreaded the thought of leaving the city for anything .

‘It went okay-ish … I think,’ Ellie whispered back, taking a plastic cup in hand, positioning it and pressing the button. ‘It’s hard to tell. There’s someone else lined up for it, though, I think.’

‘Ah, but you never know. Good luck!’ Gemma smiled encouragingly right through to her blue-grey eyes. She was tall with a lean, boyish figure and platinum-blonde hair cut in a short, choppy style.

‘I’m just waiting for …’ Ellie started.

‘Morning, ladies.’ Weasly William, a colleague in their claims team, shuffled up beside them, making Ellie jump.

‘Morning, Will,’ Ellie replied. Gemma just raised her eyebrows. He always seemed to appear just when you were chatting about something you shouldn’t: sex or alcohol, in Gemma’s case. She was sure he did it on purpose. Her theory was, and this had been giggled over on many a night out, that he was either a spy for the management, a perve, or just fancied the pants off Ellie.

Anyway, his presence cut their conversation short.

‘Right, then, I’d better get back to work,’ Ellie said cheerily, taking her coffee with her.

‘Catch you later, El. Full details at lunchtime. I’ll get us a Krispy Kreme.’ Gemma grinned.

Back in from work, her feet throbbing from the walk from the metro station to the house – not ideal in two-inch heels on uneven pavements with a gaggle of commuters.

Her mum shouted from the lounge as Ellie’s feet hit the welcome mat, ‘There’s been a call for you.’

Ooooh. ‘Oh, okay, who?’ She sounded calmer than she felt.

‘Joe, somebody-or-other … Uhm, Ward, I think.’

A lump tightened her throat. So this was it – the decision. The rejection. She’d be staying at the insurance office for the foreseeable future, then.

‘Any message?’ Deep intake of breath .

Ellie was frozen in the hall, her mum behind the closed door of the living room, by the muffled sound of her voice.

‘Just, could you call him back? He’ll be there until six. I’ve jotted the number down on the pad.’

Deeper breath . She glanced at her wristwatch. OH MY GOD – she only had ten minutes left to ring him back. She wanted to know, but it was almost better not to. At least now, not knowing, there was still the slightest possibility that she might be in with a chance. Her stomach lurched. She was planted to the spot.

Right, Ellie May Hall, her mind gave her a kick, keep to the 3 Cs – cool, calm, collected. She kicked off her stiletto shoes, wriggled her toes. The relief was fabulous. And now for the phone. All this fannying about had already lost her, she glanced at her watch again, two minutes.

‘Okay, then,’ she spoke aloud to herself, in her best calming tone. ‘Let’s do this thing.’ She grabbed the notepad, pen, handset. All she had to do was dial the number. Gulp.

She didn’t want to. What if she broke down, couldn’t reply at the ‘Sorry, but’ bit?

And there was this horrid nagging thought that this would be the last time she would hear Joe’s voice, and then she could forget about ever seeing him again. And why did that matter? It was weird, unsettling. And now there were only seven minutes to go … He might have left a bit early … JUST BLOODY RING HIM!

So she did.

Dial-a-dream coming up … or was it Dial-a-disaster?

0-1-6-6-5 … every punch on the handset seemed to impact on her heart.

The dialling tone. Her pulse quickened.

‘Good afternoon, Claverham Castle, Deana speaking.’

Aah, Deana, a friendly voice.

‘Hello, Deana. It’s me, Ellie … umn, about the job. Umn, I think Joe called earlier, when I was out at work.’ She was babbling, she knew; it always happened when she was nervous. ‘Anyway, is he still there? Could you put me through?’

‘Yes, I think he’s still in the office. Give me a sec, Ellie, and I’ll transfer the call.’

The longest pause, it felt like her dreams were holding their breath. Then his mellow tone, ‘Joe Ward speaking.’ He sounded formal.

‘Oh, hello … you asked for me to call back. It’s Ellie … about the tearooms.’

‘Ah, Ellie, yes,’ his tone softened. Was he just preparing her for the blow? ‘Right, well …’

Another second of agony.

‘We’d like to see you again, for a second interview.’

‘You would? ’ Her tone was slightly incredulous. She wanted to laugh, for some weird reason.

‘Yes, this Thursday, if that’s at all possible.’

Two days.

‘Would you be able to make it for eleven a.m.?’

She would. Of course she would.

‘Yes, of course.’ She’d have to play a sickie, but she’d do it, needs must. Gemma would cover for her, for sure. ‘That’ll be fine.’ Oh My God, she’d have to prepare herself more this time, apply immediately for a course for her food and hygiene certificates, and find some other evidence of how fantastic she might be … but what? Oh well, she had two days to think about it. Google was going to get a lot of hits.

‘Well, that’s good. We were impressed with you at the interview.’ It sounded like he was smiling.

You were?

‘And we just want to find out a few more details. Check your experience, perhaps get a couple of references, that kind of thing.’

Ah, the one second of elation was replaced by a sinking feeling at his last words. She wondered if Kirsty at the café would give her a reference, make her sound more experienced than she was.