Page 9
* * *
Half an hour later and the Spanish officials have decided that they no longer think I am a threat to national security or well-intentioned males, and even though I’ve come clean about my deep disappointment in my family and of people in the workplace, they have seen fit to release me into the wild.
Oliver could not get away from me fast enough. From the way he kept rudely sighing and checking his phone every two minutes, I’m not convinced he was paying full attention to my upsetting autobiography anyway.
I have a sharp word with myself as the heatwave encompasses me on leaving the cool airconditioned security office. I pick up my heavy case and lug it over to the bus stop to check when the next bus to Albir is due. I must get a grip. This is not the time to be having a colossal breakdown. I must stay positive. But the more I think about returning home, facing my family and the endless scrolling for jobs, the longer it makes me want to stay away. The sun is shining; the early evening sky is an amazing cobalt blue. I feel calmer just looking at it. Maybe I should stay here. Permanently. Everyone is too busy to visit our holiday villa these days, so it seems a waste not to use it properly. Besides, what have I got to lose? There’s literally nothing and no one to go back for.
I sit down at the bus stop and get straight onto Facebook to check what local ex-pat groups there are and what jobs are going. If this is going to work, then the first thing I need to do is replace the job I’ve just lost with a much better one. One that doesn’t involve people this time.
Say what you like about Gen Z, we may all still live at home with our parents but if there’s one thing we are bloody brilliant at, it is stalking people on the internet and turning our hands to any, and I mean any, job going that will pay cash. Anything. Anything at all. I flick through the adverts. Unfortunately, it’s very slim pickings jobs-wise. I could teach English for two hours a week. I could work in a restaurant or bar for ninety-six hours a week. I could sell mojitos on the beach for a hundred and forty hours a week. All involving too much people-contact for my liking. I see an urgent vacancy for a naked cleaner.
Stay positive. Think positive thoughts. Send positive vibes out into the universe.
Within minutes, I find the only thing remotely doable that seems like a step up. It’s an advert for someone to join a coaching company. They are looking for a life coach who can help expand the business by guiding people to be the best versions of themselves. The hours are flexible. If there’s one thing I’m an expert in, especially after today, it is not living your best life. I’d totally understand people who feel that life is passing them by. That they are only ever living their second-best life. It might even be quite nice to listen to people moan about not achieving their goals. I might meet others who feel like a complete failure. I can tell them they are not alone and that people do hit rock bottom at times. I quickly search ‘Life Coach’ and get reading.
‘Hello again.’
It’s Oliver, looking awkwardly down at me. I scootch up the bench so he can sit down. Typical. I would never have told him intimate details of my personal goings-on if I thought I’d ever see him again.
‘Feeling any better?’
‘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 again. 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?’
‘Eef 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 offal for 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.
