Page 9

‘Hello, is that Brooke?’ a man asks.

He sounds older, maybe my dad’s age, and he’s got a strong Yorkshire accent.

‘Speaking,’ I reply.

‘Great, well, my name is Bryan Vose, I’m creative director at Leeds Lions.’

Oh my God. It’s the job Ron said he’d put me forward for.

‘Oh, amazing,’ I blurt. I should probably let him talk.

‘We have interviewed several candidates already,’ he tells me, clearly gearing up to let me down. ‘But Ron says you’re worth meeting so, tell you what, there’s a match tonight. Lions vs Sharks.’

‘I was going to say I wonder who will win, but I suppose it depends where they’re playing,’ I joke, because I imagine sharks have the advantage at sea.

He laughs.

‘I know, we’ll thrash them at home,’ he replies.

Oh, fab, he thinks I’m talking about the teams, not the animals.

‘So, what time do you want me?’ I ask.

‘Well, sooner the better,’ he says. ‘Kick-off is at eight, so I’ll want to be in my seat with a pint by then. I’ll send you the details – Ron gave me your email address.’

‘Great,’ I say. ‘See you soon!’

I’m trying to keep a lid on my excitement, trying to play it cool, but how great would it be to get this job? I know, I know nothing about sport, but I’m brilliant when it comes to PR. Plus I’d love a new challenge.

Shit. Okay, so I need to get the train back to Leeds, and then another train out to Headingley, where the stadium is. I’ll probably need a taxi at the other end too. Luckily I dressed smart, to try to impress my friends, so I can probably go like this.

I’ll just douse myself in more perfume.

I can’t believe it. I have a job interview already. I know, it’s got a nepo baby edge to it, but it’s a glimmer of hope when I need one.

Wish me luck!

4

Well, I’m here in Headingley, but only just.

First, I missed my train. Then, when I got off the train, I was in such a hurry that I left my bag on there. My bag containing my purse and my phone. As if I wasn’t feeling nervous enough, now I feel vulnerable too.

The good news is that I let them know at the station, they got in touch with the train, and my bag has been safely picked up by the conductor. It will be waiting in Leeds for me to pick up later. So more of an inconvenience than a disaster, but it’s not helping. I’m worrying again, about bad things happening in threes. I’m sure my gran used to say there was an antidote, something you could do after two bad things to ward off the third, but without my phone I can’t google it. Plus, she had so many superstitions, I’m certain she must have made some of them up.

Anyway, I’m here now, at the Evergreen Stadium. Sweaty, breathless, annoyed at myself, but here.

It’s impressive. I think I had something smaller in mind; I don’t know why. Probably because Ron always tells me it’s not a huge sport. But, no, it’s big, clean – parts of it look quite new even. I think the thing that I like most of all is that there is something strangely exciting about the whole place. An unmistakable atmosphere. People are moving in streams towards the entrances, wrapped in blue and yellow scarves, wearing replica shirts. And it’s not all blokes like I expected it to be; there are plenty of women, lots of families too. It’s just not what I pictured. The last time I went to a football match it was all ‘lads lads lads’, offensive chants, excessive boozing. Here, it’s different. There are kids everywhere, many of them with their faces painted, clutching balloons or stuffed lions. I notice a man selling programmes who looks like he’s been here for as long as the stadium has, not because he’s old, but because he looks so at home, letting passers-by know that he’s selling programmes like he’s said the words a million times before. I can even see Leo the Lion, the team mascot – now he looks like a lot of fun – charging around inside the grounds. He’s posing for photos with kids, and I wonder if it’s cool for adults to ask for pics, but I should probably prioritise today.

Bryan Vose told me, in his email, to report to the corporate entrance, where someone would meet me and take me up to his office. At least I’m 99 per cent certain that’s what it said, and I don’t have my phone with me to check. I always check details like that again and again, unless they’ve magically changed while my phone is lost.

The corporate entrance is quieter than the main gates. I notice two women standing in the doorway, both dressed smartly in blue skirts and blazers. They look sleek and professional, but I’ll bet they don’t take any shit. I’d fear a woman in a power suit over a doorman any day.

As I approach them, I run my fingers through my hair and rub my lips together in a pointless attempt to revive my lipstick. I feel so unprepared without my bag. It’s not that I need anything for the interview, but I’d feel a lot better with my warpaint and my emotional-support phone.

‘Hi,’ I say, shooting for bright and professional, but landing somewhere closer to quiet and terrified. ‘My name is Brooke York. I’m here to see Bryan Vose.’

One of the women checks a list of names on a clipboard. In reality, it probably only takes a second or two, but in my mind it feels like twenty minutes of me thinking I’ve made a mistake, I’m not supposed to be here, my name isn’t going to be on that list…