The Girl You Left Behind

fries with
     that?’ I had been let go after one of the doughnut girls caught me debating the
     varying merits of the free toys with a four-year-old. What can I say? She was a smart
     four-year-old. I also thought the Sleeping Beauties were sappy.
    Now I sat at my fourth interview as Syed
     scanned through the touch screen for further employment ‘opportunities’.
     Even Syed, who wore the grimly cheerful demeanour of someone who had shoehorned the most
     unlikely candidates into a job, was starting to sound a little weary.
    ‘Um … Have you ever
     considered joining the entertainment industry?’
    ‘What, as in pantomime
     dame?’
    ‘Actually, no. But there is an opening
     for a pole dancer. Several, in fact.’
    I raised an eyebrow. ‘Please tell me
     you are kidding.’
    ‘It’s thirty hours a week on a
     self-employed basis. I believe the tips are good.’
    ‘Please, please tell me you have not
     just advised me to get a job that involves parading around in front of strangers in my
     underwear.’
    ‘You said you were good with people.
     And you seem to like … theatrical … clothing.’ He glanced at
     my tights, which were green and glittery. I had thought they would cheer me up. Thomas
     had hummed the theme tune from
The Little Mermaid
at me for almost the whole of
     breakfast.
    Syed tapped something into his keyboard.
     ‘How about “adult chat line supervisor”?’
    I stared at him.
    He shrugged. ‘You said you liked
     talking to people.’
    ‘No. And no to semi-nude bar staff. Or
     masseuse. Or webcam operator. Come on, Syed. There must be something I can do that
     wouldn’t actually give my dad a heart attack.’
    This appeared to stump him.
     ‘There’s not much left outside flexi-hour retail opportunities.’
    ‘Night-time shelf stacking?’ I
     had been here enough times now to speak their language.
    ‘There’s a waiting list. Parents
     tend to go for it, because it suits the school hours,’ he said apologetically. He
     studied the screen again. ‘So we’re really left with care
     assistant.’
    ‘Wiping old people’s
     bottoms.’
    ‘I’m afraid, Louisa,
     you’re not qualified for much else. If you wanted to retrain, I’d be happy
     to point you in theright direction. There are plenty of courses at the
     adult education centre.’
    ‘But we’ve been through this,
     Syed. If I do that, I lose my Jobseeker money, right?’
    ‘If you’re not available for
     work, yes.’
    We sat there in silence for a moment. I
     gazed at the doors, where two burly security men stood. I wondered if they had got the
     job through the Job Centre.
    ‘I’m not good with old people,
     Syed. My granddad lives at home since he had his strokes, and I can’t cope with
     him.’
    ‘Ah. So you have some experience of
     caring.’
    ‘Not really. My mum does everything
     for him.’
    ‘Would your mum like a job?’
    ‘Funny.’
    ‘I’m not being funny.’
    ‘And leave me looking after my
     granddad? No thanks. That’s from him, as well as me, by the way. Haven’t you
     got anything in any cafes?’
    ‘I don’t think there are enough
     cafes left to guarantee you employment, Louisa. We could try Kentucky Fried Chicken. You
     might get on better there.’
    ‘Because I’d get so much more
     out of offering a Bargain Bucket than a Chicken McNugget? I don’t think
     so.’
    ‘Well, then perhaps we’ll have
     to look further afield.’
    ‘There are only four buses to and from
     our town. You know that. And I know you said I should look into the tourist bus, but I
     rang the station and it stops at 5pm. Plus it’s twice as expensive as the normal
     bus.’
    Syed sat back in his seat. ‘At this
     point in proceedings, Louisa, I really need to make the point that as a fit andable person, in order to continue qualifying for your allowance, you
     need –’
    ‘– to show that I’m trying
     to get a job. I know.’
    How could I explain to this man how much I
     wanted to work? Did he have the slightest idea how much I missed my old job?
     Unemployment had been a concept, something droningly referred to on the news in relation
     to shipyards or car factories. I had never considered that you might miss a job like you
     missed a limb – a constant, reflexive thing. I hadn’t thought that as well
     as the obvious fears about money, and your future, losing your job would make you feel
     inadequate, and a bit useless. That it would be harder to get up in the morning than
     when