The Cinderella Moment

‘I know.’

‘She’s eighteen, Jake. Eighteen.’

He nodded. ‘I know.’

‘I thought I was doing her a favour. Some pocket money, baby-sitting, bit of housework. She told me she wanted to travel. It’s so sordid.’

‘I know.’

‘David kept complaining about her, saying she wasn’t doing things properly. Like he would know! How she annoyed him, how she was always getting in his way, and how we were paying her too much. I should have guessed, Jake. I should have known. That’s what makes it so terrible. How come I didn’t see it coming? I love him, Jake – I’ve got the worst taste in men.’

‘Your taste in men is legendary, Cass. Now just shut up and go, will you, or you’re going to miss the train. When you get back, we could take Danny and the dog down to the beach, if you like, and then I’ll cook supper.’

‘You’re such a nice man, Jake.’

‘With instincts like that, it’s no wonder you always pick total bastards.’

‘And wankers,’ said Cass, picking up her handbag. ‘Let’s not forget the wankers. You’re OK to pick Danny up from school today?’

‘I’ve already said yes, and I’ve laid in a stock of food shaped like extinct amphibians. Who is it today?’

Cass picked up a sheaf of papers in a manila folder from the kitchen table and read the letterhead on the inside page. ‘Dumb, Bum and Stumpy, looking for someone to work in Human Resources.’

‘You can do that?’

‘I can try.’

‘Cass, honey, this is ridiculous – you’re an artist.’

‘And a woman with a mortgage.’ Cass looked at him and sighed. ‘David said I needed to grow up and get a proper job. Now, hand me my briefcase.’

He picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. ‘Where the hell did you get that from?’

Cass licked a finger and scrubbed at a smear of blue poster paint on the handle. ‘The dressingup box at Danny’s school; they said I could borrow it till the end of term.’

Jake looked heavenwards. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘I do. David told me that I see the world through rose-tinted spectacles and that my relentless optimism got him down. He said that I’d never be able to manage on my own in the real world without him. He said I was far too naïve.’

‘Come off it, Cass. He was being cruel, that’s all. You’ve got nothing to prove.’

‘I have, Jake. I have to show him that I don’t need him, that Danny and I can manage without him, thank you very much. And I need to do better than just manage – I need to do well. The worst thing I can do to David is be happy, solvent and successful.’

‘Yes, but not like this. Why don’t you at least think about Brighton?’

Cass nodded, even though she had no plans to give Brighton a second thought.

She checked herself in the mirror. ‘What do you think? Will I do?’ she asked, her attention on her reflection, doing a little half-turn so that she could check her back.

Jake looked her up and down. ‘Just the job. You put me in mind of a young Margaret Thatcher.’

Cass growled at him and headed for the front door.

‘So, what have you got to tell me, James?’ said a male voice with a soft Scottish brogue.

James Devlin, queuing by the ticket machine, tucked the phone under his chin and looked round, trying to work out whether he was being followed or just being paranoid. ‘Look, I can’t talk right now, but don’t worry, I’ve got the matter in hand. Everything will be sorted out by the end of the week.’

‘Well, that’s good news, I’m relieved to hear it. We’ll be in touch.’

James retrieved his ticket, dropped the mobile into his jacket pocket, picked up his suitcase and headed off into the crowd, eyes moving back and forth across the faces.

The railway station was busy. The platform was already crowded with travellers. Outside the ticket office a winding crocodile of small children in school uniform with rucksacks and packed lunches were waiting, getting increasingly restless and noisy, shuffling to and fro.

Cass bought a takeaway tea and, finding a reasonably quiet spot, ran through her mental checklist for the interview: notes, mints, the printout she had downloaded about the company from their website. Lipstick, hairbrush. The plan was a morning spent being shown around the company’s complex, a company film, a company buffet lunch and a series of informal company chats, followed by a company interview.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi?’

Cass swung round. The man with the peaches waved at her from across the ranks of mixed infants. This morning he was wearing a chambray cotton shirt in the palest blue that emphasised his tan and his big blue eyes, a cream linen jacket and darker chinos. He looked gorgeous. Cass rolled her tongue back in; this was not the moment. She really needed to get her fancying radar checked over.

‘Yours?’ he said, waving at the crocodile.

She laughed. ‘No, not today, thank God.’

He glanced down at her briefcase. ‘Another interview?’

Cass nodded and had another little go at the blue poster paint. ‘Don’t knock it. Apparently I’m extremely fortunate to have made the short list after a rigorous selection process. It says so in my letter.’

The man eased his way between the children until he was standing alongside her. ‘Congratulations. What sort of job is it?’

Cass pulled a face. ‘A proper one. You know, one with paper and deadlines and people on the phone wanting things.’

He nodded. ‘Sounds serious.’

He smelt nice. There was one of those tight pauses when nobody can think of anything to say, and then he said, ‘I’m going on a bit of an adventure today – a little trip – well, you know.’

Cass nodded; she had no idea what he was talking about, but was far too polite to say so.

Along the platform the crossing gates closed, the warning bell sounded, and a moment or two later the train pulled very slowly into the station.

The voice of the stationmaster echoed over the tannoy. ‘The train now standing at platform one is for London King’s Cross…’ A few doors up from Cass the crocodile scrambled noisily aboard, whooping and giggling and pouring on to the train like happy, brightly coloured ants.

‘Do you think perhaps we ought to get on?’ the man said, picking up a small suitcase and extending an arm towards the open doorway of the carriage.

Cass looked up at him; what a novel idea. She had rather hoped that, as soon as the doors slid open, he would jump aboard and rush to find a seat, but apparently not. The age of chivalry, it seemed, was not dead. Damn, just when she was hoping to have half an hour with a book, the computer printout and her thoughts, and not having to make polite conversation with someone she barely knew. Although he was cute. Make that very cute.

‘Why not?’ Cass said, hoping that Jake had been joking about her looking like Margaret Thatcher, at any age. Stepping up into the carriage, she headed down to one of the double seats with a table between, well away from the school children. She sensed him following close behind.