‘Yes, thanks,’ I say politely,wondering why he’s still bothering. ‘Yourself?’
‘Well, I could have done without getting detained for an hour and missing my lift, but you know,’ he says, seeming a bit annoyed.
I immediately bristle. ‘You’ll have to take that up with the Spanish authorities.’
He shakes his head, looking away.
Once I’m on the bus and settled into my seat, which is only one row down from Oliver, I bring up the job advert on my phone. From what I’ve found out, I’d be perfect for it. You have to be a kind, compassionate and caring person. You have to be well-organised, have good listening skills and have lots of life experience. The downside is that I’m not quite ready to face people yet. But I’m sure after a few days at the retreat my anger towards the human race will have subsided enough to ensure I can function in the workplace.
I ring the number and ask to speak to someone called Nidi about this life coaching job.
‘Hello, I mean hola,’ I say, trying to sound friendly.
The receptionist speaks to me in rapid Spanish.Gaaah!
‘I’m sorry. I was just saying ‘hola’ to be polite,’ I say. ‘I can’t actually speak that much Spanish. Do you speak English?’
The receptionist starts hissing down the phone. ‘Yes, of course,’ she replies.
‘Can I speak to Nidi about the job advert, please?’
‘If you want,’ she says abruptly. ‘But she is busy saging the office. The moon is not quite right. She can feel it in her kidneys.’
I must have misheard. Maybe she is cooking dinner. ‘What do you mean the moon isn’t right?’
While the receptionist presses lots of buttons and mistakenly puts me on hold several times before hissing into the phone and mumbling something in Spanish that I can’t understand, I take a quick look around to make sure no one is listening in. I’m surprised to make eye contact with several passengers dotted around me.
Everyone is listening in! Everyone. I glare at them as I swivel my eyes round the bus.
Oliver is the first to drop his gaze. He clears his throat and looks quickly away, out of the window. The others follow suit but I can feel their ears pricking up.
How embarrassing.
I slump down in my seat hoping that they can’t hear. When I’m eventually put through to Nidi she asks me lots of pertinent questions and within minutes I feel as though I’m chatting to a friend.
‘Nice to talk to you, Nell. How are you?’ she asks.
A seething hot mess, fresh from being detained by the armed police at the airport and trapped on a bus full of curtain twitchers.
‘How long have you been in Spain for?’
Less than five minutes.
I hope she can’t hear the beeping and rumble of buses around me as we leave the airport. She asks where I would be based, and it turns out our family villa is only a short twenty-minute walk from her office, down near the beach, so I cling to this as a clear sign it’s meant to be.
‘Do you have family here?’ she asks.
You mean the people I grew up with who stabbed me in the back?
‘No. No, I have no family. Just me. All… gone. Thank God,’ I say.
I have no idea why that slipped out but they may as well be dead to me at this present moment in time.
There’s an understandable hesitation while she makes soothing noises and offers commiserations.
I am a terrible person. Terrible.
I take the opportunity to check that no one is still listening in.
