“What compartment did you put the fabric softener in, Alex?”
I just stared at her. I’m not even sure I used fabric softener. What compartment? I squeezed some liquid into one of those plastic balls you put straight in.
She shook her head. “OK! We’ll have a little lesson about how to use the washing machine then!”
Couldn’t wait for that.
“It’s a Neff appliance,” she added.
I didn’t know what to do with that information.
“Expensive,” she explained. “So it’s a good idea to use them correctly, in accordance with the instructions.” She looked me in the eye. “Right?”
“Right,” I said.
“Are you going to stand there or come and sit down?” she asked. “I thought we should have a little chat.”
My stomach lurched at the anticipated horror. “Little chats” are never fun. I perched on the edge of the bed by my pillows, as far away from Kendra as possible, looking down at my white socks.
“It’s OK, Alex, we’re not going to talk about private teenage boy stuff.”
Well, thank god for that.
“What are your plans for the summer?”
Actually, let’s just talk about private teenage boy stuff.
“What are you going to do with all that time?” she said, in a way that made it very clear I should definitely be doing something really constructive. Sitting in my room playing Fortnite probably wasn’t going to cut it.
I swallowed and shrugged. “Well, Mum and Dad always said that if I knuckled down for the exams, the summer was mine, so—”
“Well, your mum’s on that commune with her female friend, so…” Kendra countered.
I flicked my eyes away from her. It’s not a commune. She’s joined a voluntary group for a year, committed to various environmental causes. It’s a sustainable eco-village in South America. And this whole “female friend” business annoyed me too. There was an insult hidden in it, but I couldn’t quite work out how.
“Also,” Kendra said, “you should know, because you’re old enough to know, despite what your dad thinks, that money is pretty tight. The divorce costs money, and your mum is being pretty inflexible. It’s fine, no one wants to see her out on the streets, but we’re all having to work extra hard to give her what she wants.”
I didn’t think that was true about Mum for one minute; I’d ask Dad later. But OK, I got it. She wanted me to get a job. And I had no objection to doing some work and earning a bit of cash. The independence would be a good thing, to be honest, then I wouldn’t have to endure Kendra saying “Don’t spend it all on sugary drinks!” every time Dad gave me my allowance. Trouble was, my ideal job would be getting paid to be in a science experiment to study the effects on humans of solitary confinement. I’d gone as far as to look if there were any opportunities in that field, but apparently humans need contact with one another, and solitary confinement for extended periods is cruel. I couldn’t understand it. It sounded pretty much perfect to me.
But there should be loads of other options. Although Newsands had been in permanent recession for as long as I can remember, it had recently turned a corner. Thanks to the rock-bottom housing market, lots of middle-aged Londoners had started buying places and doing them up, apparently loving the “faded seaside glamour” of the town. They were opening galleries in empty shop units, and pop-up street-food stalls on the rotting pier. They were spending money. And when people spend money, more stuff opens, creating job opportunities. Surely one of them would be right for me? I could work in a gallery. They’re notorious for having no one visit them.
“OK,” I said.
“Is that an ‘OK, I’ll get a part-time job’?”
“I’ll try.”
“Well, that’s great!” Kendra said. “Pulling your weight a bit – your dad and I would really appreciate it!”
I nodded and looked down at my socks again.
“What do you think your selling points are?”
I looked up. “Huh?”
“Tough job market out there, Alex. What do you think is going to make you stand out from the crowd? If I was taking someone on, how would you convince me it should be you?”
She was staring right at me, expecting an answer, and I couldn’t think of a single thing that made me “stand out from the crowd” unless my insane levels of misfortune qualify me for some sort of world record.
“Come on!” she demanded. “You’ve got ten seconds – sell yourself!”
“No, I—”
“What’s so special about you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“What’s going to seal the deal?!”
“I—”
“Are you confident?”
“No.”
“Good at maths?”
“Not really.”
“Team player?”
“I dunno, I guess some people say I’m pretty good at oral.”
She stopped dead and stared at me for five silent seconds. “You’re. Good. At. Oral.”
It was only when she spelled out what I’d just said that I realized what I’d just said.
She cleared her throat. “You know, Alex, you really shouldn’t be sharing that sort of—”
“Oral communication. It’s part of the English syllabus,” I muttered quickly. I stared harder than ever at my socks, the heat billowing from my cheeks.
She laughed. “Talking?”
I sighed, unsteadily. “Uh-huh.”
She laughed again. “OK, so you’re telling me you’re predicted a good grade for talking to people in public? Well, you do like to hide your light under a bushel, don’t you?! Wow.”
I didn’t like that “wow”. Also, at no point did I use the term “good grade”. I just said other people thought I was pretty good at it. Which they do. Relative to my other predicted grades – which, just so you know, are pretty ropey.
“OK, well,” she said, “being able to talk to people is a good skill. A valuable skill. That could put you in the running for all sorts of customer service positions.”
Oh, brilliant.
“Just do me a favour and don’t refer to it as… Don’t use the word ‘oral’, OK? That’s something quite different.”
Did she imagine I didn’t know that?
“Could lead to all sorts of misunderstandings and trouble,” she said.
I should be so lucky.
“But it’s good to hear you’re on board. Glad you’re engaged in this. Committed. I admire that in a young person.”
“OK,” I said.
“Especially one like you.”
I looked at her with wide eyes.
“Well,” she said, “I just mean you can be a bit…”
“Withdrawn?” I offered after a long pause, because it’s basically true.
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I was going to say ‘antisocial’ but let’s go with ‘withdrawn’. Sounds a bit better, doesn’t it? Like when people say ‘passed away’ instead of ‘died’.”
I looked straight down at my socks again. This was unbelievable.