Page 3 of Summer in Sunset Harbour
‘So therefore, it’s no longer relevant.’
‘But—’
Jonathan tapped the clipboard with his pen. ‘So, no experience, no references … I suppose we could consider you for an unpaid internship, just until you learn the ropes.’ He looked up and grinned. ‘Would that work?’
‘You want me to wait tables for free until you’re satisfied that I can carry a plate of food from one corner of a room to another without perhaps managing to throw it up in the air?’
‘Mrs. Roberts, if you have so little respect for the catering industry, why are you applying for a job at my restaurant?’
‘Because I’m desperate?’
‘Mrs. Roberts, waiting tables is so much more than carrying plates of food from, as you say, one corner of a room to another. Good waiters are … artists.’
‘I can believe that, at eleven-fifty an hour.’
Jonathan grimaced and stood up. ‘Well, thank you for coming, Mrs. Roberts. I wish you luck in your continued search for employment. Should you wish to take me up on that offer of an unpaid internship, please do not hesitate to contact me.’
Josie could only sigh as Jonathan turned and walked away towards the kitchens.
‘It’s Ms. Roberts,’ she said, shoulders slumping.
‘So you’re actually thinkingabout working for some backstreet soup kitchen for free?’ Hilda said. ‘Are you out of your mind? I wish a plague of Japanese knotweed on that place.’
‘I’ve been to three job interviews this week. One told me I was too old to start a career in data entry. The second one said I wasn’t tall enough to clip the tops of park hedges and that they couldn’t afford the additional insurance required for me to use a stepladder. The third wanted me to wait tables for free. I’m desperate, Hilda.’
‘How desperate?’
‘Well, I’m not quite ready for begging outside the bus station, but give it another week and ask again.’
‘If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?’
‘Huh?’
‘Just answer the question.’
Josie frowned. She reached for a cup of coffee she had just made, then took a step backwards as a spider rushed out from under the fridge and raced across the floor. The coffee sloshed; only dipping her face to take the little brown wave in the face stopped it going down the front of her dress.
‘Ah, I’m an oak,’ she said, wiping coffee off the end of her nose with a hem of her sleeve.
‘Why?’
‘I’m old.’
‘Says you, talking to the woman drawing her pension. Why else?’
Josie smiled. ‘I like to think I’m tough. Hard to cut down. And I would make a decent table, or at least a doorstop.’
‘Resilient, that’s good. Stands up in a strong wind. Doesn’t run away.’
‘What most trees do?’
‘I’ve moved beyond the tree analogy now. Listen, I might have something, but I don’t think it’ll be easy, and you’ll have to move out of Bristol.’
‘Where to?’
‘Down here, to where I live.’
‘To Porth Melynos? You want me to come down and live in your little coastal town where rental costs are probably more than my yearly salary?’
