I drive Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen into Benidorm and we locate the radio station headquarters with barely a word between us because she is on her phone, and it feels rude to interrupt. We are ushered into the recording studio and fitted with headphones. It looks very professional, and there are more staff here than I imagined for a local radio station. My stress levels are beginning to rise. I place my lists and handbook discreetly beside me with a shaking hand as the presenter comes in and settles herself on the chair opposite. Hopefully, she will have no idea about life coaching.
She smiles at us and then barks at a man at the mixing desk, ‘Play something long while I finish this fag!’ A Spanish instrumental immediately blasts out across the studio.
Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen and I watch mesmerised as she rummages around in her bag, not once pausing for breath as she takes three back-to-back calls, offers us a ciggie, tuts as we decline (although I’m sure Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen was about to reach for one) and then proceeds to scribble away on her notepad declaring that she is writing her shopping list before she forgets what she needs to pick up from the Mercadona after the show. ‘Brain fog!’
‘How old is she?’ Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen whispers to me. ‘It is so difficult to tell these days, especially when you Breets have lived out here in Spain for decades and not once thought to apply sun cream to your leathery, wrinkled faces.’
See? Zero people skills.
I point to the microphone poking between us as the presenter pushes her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. ‘I’m seventy-three,’ she says, screwing her eyes at us.
This is not going well at all.
‘BEETROOT!’ she suddenly yells.
‘YES PLEASE!’ I yell back instinctively.
Christ alive.My nerves are in shreds as it is. Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen turns to give me a strange look.
Juniper is quick to react. ‘No. I forgot the beetroot. I swear by a good beetroot cleanse, don’t you?’ she says, cackling. ‘Especially when you get to my age.’
She then launches into an unnecessarily detailed account of her alimentary tract.
‘Can I just stop you there, Juniper?’ I say firmly but politely to her. ‘I’m sure we could talk all day about how your bowel activity has shown considerable improvement since you went gluten-free. I mean whose hasn’t? But could we start the interview, please? I am extremely busy.’
By busy, I mean, of course, desperate for this to be over with. She’s told us all we need to know about herself and the trouble she has processing wheat.
Suddenly the Spanish guitar solo is ripped from the airwaves. Juniper flicks some switches and stubs out her cigarette.
‘Welcome back, and thank you for keeping me company today. We have two very interesting guests coming up for you now. They are SO desperate to talk to you because they claim to have the answers to ALL of life’s problems.’
Shitting hell.
‘The first question I have, Eleanor, is why do you think engaging the services of a life coach are vital to today’s generation of lost and hopeless underachievers?’
Fuck.
‘Call me Nell,’ I say, turning to bring Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen into the conversation. ‘And it’s not just underachievers, is it? We cater for all sorts of sad and desperate people, don’t we? Life coaching is vital to them. Vital. Isn’t it?’
‘Yes, butvitalin what way?’ Juniper asks.
I’ve been so busy studying all week - literally every night - my brain is completely frazzled and unfortunately for me, when faced with a set of headphones, a microphone and a beady-eyed old crone, I’ve momentarily forgotten what a life coach does and why anyone would need them. My mind is a complete blank. Plus, I’ve had the terrible fears of people finding out that I’m an inexcusable charlatan.
‘Would you like to answer this one?’ I say to Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen. She nods back, a vacant look in her eye. It is about time I checked to make sure she knows what a life coach is.
The presenter leans in excited to hear what my assistant has to say about my valuable and life-changing services as a life coach.
Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen swivels her wide eyes from me to the presenter and back again. I can see she is unnerved at this question, opening and closing her mouth. From the little I know of her, Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen rarely shows enthusiasm for anything other than herHola!magazine. It doesn’t take me or the presenter long to realise that this very basic question has stumped her. It’s almost as if Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen has not evenheardof a life coach never mind read the handbook. I quickly glance down at my notes and jump in to rescue her from the embarrassment of not knowing what her employer does for a living.
‘We prevent people, no wehelppeople with boring jobs and boring lives,’ I glance down at the notes. My brain is a congealed lump of hummus. ‘I help them find purpose and… erm… truth to… their… erm… so they can really own their truth, you know?’
I can see the presenter is amused at this vaguer than vague answer. She dips her head and scribbles some notes on her pad. I roll my eyes at Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen. Maybe this was not such a great idea after all.
‘You help people like a counsellor would?’ Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen says, trying to be helpful.
‘No, nothing like a counsellor,’ I reply, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. Nidi specifically told us both last week that a coach is nothing like a counsellor.
‘Like a therapist?’ Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen asks me hesitantly.
