Chimurenga by Wendy Wright

Author:Wendy Wright
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Modern & contemporary fiction
Publisher: Troubador Publishing
Published: 2022-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

Friday 24th August 1979

“This is Hood Road. Tessa, how far along did you say it was?”

“Exactly halfway to Highfield Road. I’ve no idea how far that is I’m afraid. We’ll just have to keep our eyes peeled.”

She’s slowed to a crawl. It’s a good job no-one’s behind us.

“Gill says the façade is all face brick and glass, and that… There it is! On the left.”

Mum flicks the indicator on. A black youth in a red T-shirt and khaki shorts, about to cross the car park entrance, hesitates, mid-stride, one foot extended. She waves him across, turns into the gravelled area with much crunching and brakes in front of a set of broad concrete steps. They’re flanked by brickwork flower boxes, but they’re empty. I guess they’re awaiting re-planting for the new season. There is a lot of face brick and glass, just as Gill described, and ‘Concrete Structures Ltd’ in bronze letters that stand proud of the brickwork over the main doors. My hands are clasped together in my lap, palms sweaty.

“Well this is it. Wish me luck.”

“You’ll be all right.” She leans across and gives me a peck on my nose. “At least you know your interviewer. Not many people get that chance. He’ll put you at ease I’m sure. I’ll be waiting for you here.”

I’m sure I should be carrying something – a file or a folder or a briefcase. People who go for interviews on TV or in movies always carry some sort of important documents with them. But I have nothing. And I really wish I’d stood up to Mum and insisted on a proper outfit. I just hope I look suitably employable. Mind you, knowing Charles, I doubt he’d notice anything unusual if I turned up in my jodhpurs, boots and show jacket.

With one foot on the lowermost step, I take a second and try to visualise myself arriving here every morning for work. The image eludes me. I can’t quite get round the not-going-to-school-anymore thing.

The main entrance doors and side panels are made of that ochre smoked glass that you can see out of but not into. My own reflection and that of Mum’s car as she parks it on the far side of the gravel area are sharp and clear, if ochre coloured. I tug on the chrome handle but the door’s heavy and I have to take a couple of steps backwards to swing it open fully. Once inside, I try to pull it closed again but it resists me until I realise that if I just leave it alone it’ll close itself. Okay. Faux pas number one.

Don’t look at the receptionist behind her desk against the far wall yet. Don’t acknowledge that you’re making a spectacle of yourself. Take your time and survey the surroundings like you’re doing a critical appraisal. Like you’ve done this before.

The reception room is high ceilinged and bright from the light coming through the large glass panes. The entrance directly faces the sun so the room has a welcoming warmth after the cool winter air.

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