Interview practice

A short story by Hannah Begbie

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he 9.42 from King's Cross to King's Lynn was the first off-peak train and usually it was crowded, but today Polly found herself with an empty table. She claimed exactly one quarter of the space with the things needed for her journey: black coffee, a notepad and pen, the job spec for Head Librarian: King's Lynn Library, and the notes on interview techniques she'd cribbed from the internet.

This was the fifth role she had applied for and the fifth time she'd made it to interview. "You come across as too much of a mouse," said her father. "You have to use an interview as a chance to shine." But librarians don't shine, thought Polly, they fade into the background.

Still, after five interviews and no job offer, something wasn't working, so she would have to use this two-hour train ride to somehow become a better, more assertive Polly.

As the train pulled out of King's Cross having a whole table to herself felt like a lucky omen. A quiet corner in which she could practise being charismatic.

She heard him before she saw him. The whole carriage heard him — a white-haired gentleman barrelling down the aisle, talking loudly on the phone clamped between his shoulder and cheek. He was holding a battered leather briefcase and two blue Ikea holdalls that collided with chairs and the odd passenger as he surged toward Polly.

He dumped his holdalls and briefcase on the seat opposite Polly, barked “Yep, yep, yep” into the phone, hung up and tossed the phone onto the table where it slid to collide with Polly’s coffee cup, spilling its last inch into her lap.

He appeared not to notice, engaged in hanging his jacket on to a hook beside the window.

As Polly mopped the coffee from her tweed skirt, the man's phone began to beep.

"That's my alarm," he said. "Would you mind?"

It took Polly a moment to realise that he wanted her to deal with the situation.

"You'll have to do the PIN. It's 0011."