Karen Wallace

Productive Bliss

1.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ says my supervisor, Debbie. Her watery blue eyes narrow as she squints at me across the desk. Small clumps of black are dotted along her lower eyelids – badly applied eyeliner, I suppose, although I’m not one to talk, having not worn makeup for years.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, my heart sinking. Here we go again.

‘I never know what you’re thinking, Anna. You’re very hard work in the office. Very quiet. In your own world.’

‘Sorry,’ I say, although I don’t think I’m really sorry. I clench my fists in my lap. It’s as though she’s saying: Stop being who you are.

Maybe she’s annoyed because I never make tea or coffee. I have intended to offer, but then I think about the prospect of trying to balance ten brimming mugs on a tray as I walk down the narrow staircase from the kitchen, and I chicken out because of the incident at my last workplace, Sunbeam Insurance, when I dropped two full cups of hot tea and gave myself a nasty burn on my forearm. I still have the scar. Or in the place before that, when I broke the coffee machine on my first day, and flooded the worktop and kitchen floor with scalding, dark brown liquid.

‘I can’t say you’ve successfully passed your probation period. You’re not a good fit for our culture. We want someone who’s a team player, who’s open and approachable, who’s willing to go the extra mile and generate creative ideas.’

This job is boring – mostly data entry and distributing post – but I was getting used to it. The brainless work let me drift off while everyone in the office talked and bustled around me and it was even quite relaxing at times, meditative. I can’t afford to lose it. Not another one. ‘I can try to do better.’

Debbie purses her lips, inexpertly smudged with dull maroon lipstick. She shakes her head. ‘We’ve been interviewing for a permanent Administration Assistant position, and we’ve found someone who’s much more our kind of person.’

‘Oh, right.’ Why didn’t I know about the permanent position? They’ve gone behind my back. They want to replace me with someone who has waitressing experience and no qualms about making a perilous descent with hot beverages.

She wants me gone by the end of the day.

The office is almost empty at midday so this seems like a good time to make my exit. Debbie’s probably expecting me to stay till the end, but what’s the point? I clear out a pencil and half a packet of dark chocolate digestives from my desk drawer and call a half-hearted goodbye to my remaining colleagues. No one replies. I guess they didn’t hear me.

I don’t want to go home yet because Mum will be there, so I decide to kill some wandering around the big Tesco down the road. There’s nothing else to do here in Fairfield.

At the in-store café, I order a chocolate twist, a brownie, and a large caramel latte with whipped cream. I find a table in the corner, by the window, with a pleasant view of the car park. My shame melts away with every delicious bite and sip.

Afterwards, I grab a basket and fill it with whatever takes my fancy – packets of chocolate Hobnobs, two big bars of Dairy Milk, Häagen-Dazs salted caramel ice cream. I might never find another job and these could be my last ever purchases, so I may as well indulge in a spectacular final feast.

What am I going to tell my parents? I’ve lost count of how many jobs I’ve been let go from now. I still don’t want to go home. The ice cream will melt, though, if I don’t get it in the freezer soon.

As I leave the shop, I almost collide with a woman. I stop just short of her, my head bowed, intending to mutter an apology and get out of there, but she says,

‘Hey! Anna!’

I raise my head and look up into the tanned face of Caroline Frost. A bolt of panic runs from my throat to my stomach. It’s been so long since I last saw her – about five years, when we parted ways on the last day of school, aged eighteen. She hasn’t changed much – she’s a more polished version of her old self. Long wavy, bleached hair, full make-up, a cropped top showing off her toned midriff even though it’s only April.

Of course I run into her now, right after losing my job.

‘Hi, lovely! It’s so good to see you!’ She bends down and hugs me, lightly, her arms barely touching me. It takes me a moment to respond – I’m not a great fan of unsolicited hugs – but I reach my arms around her and pat her gently on the back.

‘You too.’ Can I make my excuses and leave? I really want to, but I restrain myself.

‘Wow, how long’s it been? Five years?’

‘Yep, five years.’

Voices from many years ago replay in my head – cruel laughter, cruel words: Are you an alien? Yet I’m smiling now, eager to please her, desperate to show her I’m interesting, despite remembering how she used to be. How does she do it?

‘What have you been up to all this time?’ She’s taking in my unbrushed hair, scuffed shoes, and crumpled shirt with a faint ketchup stain. Perhaps Debbie would’ve kept me on if I’d made more of an effort to look nice.

‘Not much. I’ve had a few jobs but haven’t settled on a career yet.’ Why did I say that? I want to rewind and make up something that’ll make her envious of me. ‘How about you?’

‘I went to university, as you know, which was amazing. And then I took some time out and went travelling and taught English in Cambodia. I was away for two years, only got back a few weeks ago and went straight into a job – lucky me, I know – at the Mullan Foster private bank in town last week. I’m living with my parents at the moment which is a bit of a drag, but I’m going to get my own place soon.’

‘I’m living with my parents too.’ I feel strangely pleased to have this common ground with her.

She goes on about how great it is to bump into each other and says that we should exchange phone numbers and go out for a drink soon.

Maybe she’s changed. It seems as though she wants to be friends, to atone for the way she behaved at school. It would be nice to have a friend again, the kind that lives nearby and who you can go to things with. ‘That would be great.’

Mum’s out. She’s left a note saying she won’t be back till after five.

In my bedroom I’m about to log in to Lands of Legend but I keep forgetting that I completed the final level last night and I need to find a new game to play. I look at my favourite gaming website and get drawn into browsing. One of my online friends, MouseKing, has been playing a new game called Elfin Quest for eighteen hours straight. It must be good. I Google it and read the description: For years, the evil elves of Svartálfaheimr have laid low underground. Now they’re rising up and attempting to conquer the peaceful kingdom of the good elves. Whose side will you be on? Join the battle now!

I’ve always had a soft spot for elves. I pay for the game and wait for it to download. It takes an hour, so it might not be ready before dinner. I want to play it now.

At dinner, I can’t eat a thing. Hopefully the mashed potato that I’m pushing around my plate will magically disappear through sheer movement.

Mum looks concerned. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

It is unusual for me not to eat. It’s partly because of my feast in Tesco’s café, yes, but also because the idea of telling them my news is making me nauseous. ‘I’m fine. It’s just that I had to leave my job today.’

‘But you haven’t been there long,’ says Dad.

I feel particularly bad because Dad got me the job in the first place, through his friend’s wife who works in HR at Prince’s Plastics. Not only that, it’s the latest in a line of jobs he’s wangled for me through his network of contacts, some in the financial services company he works for in London, others here in Fairfield, or in nearby Reading. Dad is relentlessly optimistic. He seems certain that whatever he finds me next will be it.

‘Why did you have to leave?’ asks Mum.

‘They kind of made me.’

‘What did they say?’

‘Something about not being a good fit.’

My face feels hot. It’s embarrassing admitting to your parents that you’ve failed at something. Especially when you’ve had to do it approximately every three months for the last five years.

I hope Elfin Quest has finished downloading. I’m almost twitching with anticipation.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ says Dad. ‘They have to give you more information than that.’

‘I think it’s because I didn’t make tea for everyone.’

‘People can make their own tea,’ Mum says. It’s a very good point.

Dad finishes his meal, wipes his mouth, and throws down his napkin. ‘I’m going to ring them tomorrow. Find out the real reason.’

‘Dad, there’s no need.’

It’s no use. He won’t be talked out of it. Once Dad decides to do something, nothing can stand in his way.

When I go to my room after dinner, the game’s finished downloading. The first screen that comes up is to create my avatar. There are lots of creatures to choose between, not just good and evil elves, humans too, and orcs, Samodivas, centaurs, giants, dwarves.

I choose a good elf and call her Demelza. Look at all the different hair colours and styles, eye colours, face shapes, professions, skills! I’m going for long silver hair and purple eyes. I like the sound of herbalism as a profession – I was a healer in Lands of Legend and I loved that I was always needed, always had a role.

Demelza starts in her home town, the secluded Elfin Glades, a picturesque village untouched by the evil elves. There are several buildings on the main village street – an apothecary’s store, a weapons shop, an inn. I’m drawn towards the softly glowing windows of the apothecary. Inside are rows and rows of bottles containing potions in an array of colours, from dull and greyish, through subtly tinted, to pink and fizzing.

The apothecary gives me a quest – make three tansy potions. My reward will be one hundred points towards my herbalism proficiency and Emerald Robes, which will offer +5 damage protection (better than the +1 protection of my current Cloth Robes).

Tansy flowers grow all around the village – at the edge of streams, on embankments and near woods. To be made into a potion, the flowers must be dried immediately after collection, which I accomplish by placing them in a flower press that I bought from the apothecary.

Collecting the flowers isn’t a peaceful task – there are vicious wolverines around and I have to fight them off. At the moment I’ve only got a Basic Dagger for close fighting and a Rugged Staff for casting spells from a distance, but the dagger is fine for these low-level creatures.

After playing for a while, my eyes are gritty and I’m feeling sleepy. I glance at the time – bloody hell. Two a.m. I can see now how my friend MouseKing played this game for eighteen hours straight.

The next morning, I feel groggy. In the kitchen I grab a packet of chocolate Hobnobs.

Mum’s voice behind me makes me jump. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Not bad.’

‘Ten o’clock is quite late to be getting up.’

‘Mmm.’ I’m chomping on an oaty biscuit. Mum looks as if she wants to say something else, but stays quiet. Perhaps I’m disappointing her in too many different ways and she doesn’t know which one to start with. I’m saved by the landline phone ringing. She goes to answer it and I escape to my room with the biscuits.

A few minutes later, she comes into my room without knocking.

‘It was your dad on the phone. He says he phoned Prince’s Plastics and asked why they wanted you to leave.’

‘Oh god.’ I know Dad always does what he says he’s going to do, but I still can’t quite believe he actually rang them.

‘It took him a while to get through to the right person, but you know your dad, he’s nothing if not persistent. He spoke to your boss, who explained…’

Mum looks hesitant to tell me what Debbie explained to him.

‘Mum. It’s fine. I’ve already heard it from her.’

‘She explained that you weren’t a good fit and they’ve found someone else who is.’

I nod. I’m not entirely sure why Mum felt the need to tell me this. Although I’ve heard it before, hearing it again is just rubbing salt in the wound. She lingers in the doorway, as if she has more to say but doesn’t want to say it.

‘Did he say anything else?’ I prompt her.

‘No, love.’

‘Do you have something to say?’

‘I just wondered what you’re planning to do with yourself today.’

It’s a good point. As much as I hated working at Prince’s Plastics and am relieved not to have to go there today, I haven’t given any thought to what I’ll do instead. I say what I think she’s expecting me to say: ‘I’m going to be looking for another job.’

It’s the right answer, because Mum smiles. ‘Good. Let me know if I can help at all.’

It’s almost five o’clock and I’ve been playing Elfin Quest all day. I close the game and open a browser window. I don’t even know how to look for a job. Maybe it would help if I had a burning passion that just happened to match an inviting career path. People play computer games for a living, don’t they? Some of them earn millions. I’ll look into it later.

I scroll through reams of meaningless job titles on a vacancies website: Engagement Facilitator; Development Coordinator; Planning Adviser. Nothing is even slightly appealing. I don’t understand the requirements: ‘three years’ experience of successfully streamlining workflows’; ‘the ability to influence stakeholders at all levels’; ‘the dynamism to collaboratively generate ideas to drive business forward.’ What?

Job-searching is awful. There’s nothing for it but to squeeze in some more Elfin Quest before dinner.

There’s a new WhatsApp message on my phone. It’s from Caroline. Hey lovely! So good to run into you yesterday!! We should have a proper catch up – want to come out for a drink tomorrow night?! Xxxxx

I reply straightaway: Hey Caroline, it was great to see you yesterday! I’d love to come for a drink – let me know where and when. A xx

I feel excited already. When was the last time I went out for a drink with someone? Probably at university. Something else I’d rather not think about. I lasted only a term studying accounting, stopped going to lectures, and had to tell Mum and Dad that I wasn’t going back after the Christmas break. Not my finest hour.

‘How was the job search?’ asks Mum at dinner.

How do I answer? I can’t admit that there’s nothing out there for me and I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself. I’ll have to tell them eventually that I’m a complete loser, but I’ll delay as long as I can. I nod enthusiastically. ‘Several things I want to apply for.’

‘That’s good news,’ says Dad. ‘I’m asking around at work as well, see if anyone knows of anything.’

‘That’s great, Dad. Thanks.’

I don’t have high hopes. I must be well known among all his friends now as That Girl Who Can’t Keep a Job. I’m probably on a blacklist. Even if he did find me something, would I want it? Is there any company who’d keep me on long term?

Thinking about jobs makes me feel heavy and sad. Best change the subject. ‘I ran into Caroline Frost yesterday.’

‘Your old school friend?’ says Mum. She looks wary.

‘Yeah. She’s asked me to go for a drink tomorrow.’

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

Mum was never happy about me being friends with Caroline, which was understandable after what happened. ‘She’s changed.’ Mum still looks doubtful. I add, ‘We’re older now.’

‘Whatever happened to your old friend Sam?’ Mum does this sometimes – goes off on nostalgia trips about people I knew as a child.

‘I’m not sure,’ I say. I haven’t seen him since primary school.