heart rate rocketing, the sound of the door crashing closed echoing around me, trapping me within the confines of the brick tunnel. My hands start grappling at the wall, feeling their way across the bricks in an attempt to get me back to the door. The ground beneath my heels is rocky, my shoes not coping with the uneven surface, making me trip and stumble.
It’s a few frantic moments, but I finally make it back to the door, and it takes just two solid tugs on the handle for me to conclude I’m going nowhere except further into the black hole. ‘Fabulous.’ I have two options. I can stand here in the dark and rot, because it doesn’t seem like anyone is rushing to greet me. Or I can risk breaking an ankle while attempting to make it to the end of this black hole to nowhere, because it seems the only way I’m getting out of here is by finding someone who can let me out.
I feel my way down the alleyway again, tentatively putting down each foot before settling my whole weight on it. This is ridiculous. Has every interview candidate endured these conditions? ‘Some light would be handy,’ I grumble, hearing a repeat of my words when the echo travels into the black distance ahead of me. ‘Phone!’ I blurt out, blindly feeling in my bag for it. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?
But the second I lay my hand on my mobile, light floods the pit of darkness. My hands instinctively come up to shield my eyes from the sudden glare.
‘There you are, dear.’ It’s that voice again, except this time there’s no trace of irritation, only warmth.
I blink repeatedly, trying to find my focus, and when the black blobs finally dissolve from my vision, I see a face that matches the voice perfectly. The voice belongs to a small and round woman, aged at least seventy, and the short curls sprayed into position on her head are violet. Once I can bring myself to rip my eyes away from her wild-coloured hair, I let my gaze drop to find her dressed just how I would have guessed. A mid-length skirt, a two-piece matching blouse and cardigan, and to round the look off perfectly, a string of pearls draped around her neck.
‘Hello,’ I say cautiously. She defies the unnerving circumstances and environment that I’ve found myself in. She’s all cute and cuddly. This place is anything but.
‘You made it halfway, dear,’ she tells me. ‘I’ll escort you the remaining distance.’ She gives me a little jiggle of her head, an indication for me to follow, before she turns and leads the way. I rush to catch up with her, watching my feet on the uneven cobbles as I go. ‘The name’s Mrs Potts, dear.’ She marches on, and I smile to myself at the fitting name. ‘We’ll have a chat over a cuppa.’
‘A chat?’
‘Oh.’ She laughs, waving a hand indifferently. ‘I’m sorry. We’re supposed to call it an interview, aren’t we? A bit formal for my liking.’
‘Formal?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Forty-three years, dear.’
My eyes widen and my heart plummets. Everything so far suggests I’m walking into an interview for a job that’ll be no more beneficial to my dream career than running my dead father’s dead business. I wince at my stray thoughts. ‘That’s some service,’ I murmur.
‘I’m part of the furniture, me.’ She takes a sharp right, and I follow, glancing around, regardless of there still being nothing but brick walls closing me in. ‘He’ll need a wrench to turf me out.’
‘He?’ I ask.
‘Yes, dear. The boss.’
My eyebrows rise, my face contorting into something I can only imagine looks like bewilderment. If she’s seventy-odd and has worked here for forty-three years, how old is the boss? ‘What’s the name of the company, if you don’t mind me asking?’
She halts abruptly and swings around, regarding me with interest. It makes me back up slightly. Her head tilts to the side. It makes me nervous for reasons I can’t fathom. She’s an old lady. She seems perfectly harmless. ‘That will be disclosed to the winning candidate.’
My lips press together as I frantically search my brain for an appropriate response. I can’t find one. ‘Oh.’ What is this, the magic circle? Every second longer I spend in this cold, damp alley with this unexpected old lady is increasing my anxiety, and, I’ve got to admit, my curiosity too.
She turns and trots off, and I glance over