I was an overexcited teenager when my church suggested a radical disco-and-sleepover concept which appealed to those of us at the experimental stage hugely.
Oh, yes, I thought. It would give me a chance to get a proper crack at the young man called Frances who had a Gene-Hackman sardonic humour and a rakish face to match. I had been trying forever to get a little quality time with this Good Catholic Boy. A disco seduction followed by a cosy sleeping-bag fest in a church hall sounded ideal. I was quite certain of my powers of allure, being 15 and green as they came. I dolled up, I dressed the part, I experienced those teenage-girl butterflies which make one want not to eat but to think of the beloved from dawn till dusk.
I was not, it seemed, the only one with such designs. To the strains of ‘The Eye Of The Tiger’, I espied Frances kissing a girl with endless street cred and my schemes crumbled before my eyes. Sleeping on a hard church floor was not the dream it had promised to be.
Forever and a day, I had lived in awe of a cool, clever sixth former, just a year or two older than me, but with Opinion and Presence and a cascade of red hair. I was usually mute with admiration in her presence.
As the night wore on into the early hours Frances developed angst as young men are wont to do, given lager and a late night. Others were drawn in, and around myself and the ice-queen redhead, teenage politics bubbled dangerously.
“Oh Kate, what do you think we should do?” the redhead asked querulously.
She was asking me?
Any other time, I would have earnestly entered into a discussion, flattered; but the real me was out. I was tired and irritable, and I wasn’t taking prisoners. My tone of voice said it all when I advised her: “I intend to try to get some sleep.”
Meek as a lamb, she acquiesced. We lay down in a storm and woke up, eight hours later, to a tirade of young snores.
We all have an inner someone. Some of us let them out all the time; some keep them at bay. Some of us are just plain outspoken and we feel we must curb who we really are, simply to be civil.
I fell into bed on Sunday evening after watching those men at Heathrow test various stairs to see whether they would match my plane for an hour or so, while I sat on the plane watching vital seconds tick by. Travel is never simple.
I was up at five the next morning finalising arrangements for a job interview, printing, copying, planning, ironing, showering. At ten to ten I arrived to teach a model lesson to 28 ten-year olds, followed by an interview.
The lesson went swimmingly and then I began to answer the usual barrage of questions . Things were going well. And then they asked the one I always loathe: sell yourself, it says between the lines. “Tell us” the lovely deputy head asked me, “why you are the person for this job.”
And out she came. Me. Probably helped out of hiding by a late night on the tarmac, a surfeit of Euro Disney and some bad news I had had at Charles De Gaulle: but the real me.
I took a deep breath. And I hatcheted any chance I would ever had of being employed at this charming village school.
I said, with the most engaging of smiles:”You have seen what I can do; and you have heard what I have to say. If you like what you see, employ me; and if you didn’t, don’t. I shall be content with your decision either way.”
The more I retell it, the more aghast I am that I said it: but of one thing I am sure. It came from deep within.
On Sunday evening I received a text as I sat in the comfortable French designed furniture of Charles De Gaulle airport. Call me, Kate, a friend urged.
But I’m in France, I said: can it wait 12 hours?
My friend, Chris, was taken ill with breast cancer three weeks ago. It was in its advanced stages. The hospital sent her home to rest before the start of chemotherapy.
Chris is Macaulay’s best friend. He adores her. She walks him for miles in the forest, and looks after him at Christmas when we go away. She is an extraordinary woman: someone with profound values, but a gruff, sledgehammer London sense of humour devoid of sentiment and rich in irony. She is a globe trotter; she loves Egypt and camels.
I was so relieved to see her at home again! She was guffawing about the pigeons who kept her entertained with their courting antics, there outside her bedroom window. I gave her a picture of Mac shaking his sorry hide back and forth, a crazed piratical expression on his face. She laughed and talked.
She called me a few days later: would I bring Macaulay? We could even have a little walk…I double bathed him, removing all trace of his beloved odours. He was overjoyed to see her once more.
But I had to admit: she looked very poorly.
The phone call at Charles De Gaulle was to tell me that my friend had died.
I will miss her more than I can express. The inner her was deeply private, the outer her sardonic and outspoken but infinitely tolerant of me, a scatty friend who generally got things wrong. She would sit around my kitchen table and drink black tea. I was always putting in milk by mistake.
Whenever I did anything dotty she would say to me, with a huge grin: “Kate, don’t ever change.”
I think she was true to that person within her. And she urged me to be the same.
A true friend indeed.
The image is from here .
Kate Shrewsday 
“endless street cred” is not a term with which Americans would be familiar. But I get it. A simple “hot” says it all here.
I think you have hit he nail on the head, Carl 🙂
Oh, Kate. I am so sorry.
I lost a friend to breast cancer 10 years ago (in the January that has just passed) and I still miss her. Every now and then I find a trigger in every day life that makes me think of her… planting out tomatoes, a certain recipe, a gesture in someone else.
A few nights ago I dreamed of her, alive and talking with me and it was a shock when I woke up to understand again that she would never be here in real life again. But friends like that leave such a deep impression that we never lose them: they are part of us and who we are as we have learned and shared with them so much during their lives.
I wish you a grieving that re-lives the wonderful moments you spent together, remembering her personality, ‘warts and all’ – but sparing you too many of the memories of her final illness. xx
Thanks Pseu, what a lovely comment, and vivid memories of someone dear to you.
It all sounds so sudden, Kate. So lovely you had a chance to take her little four legged friend around to see her.
She was so chuffed to see him, although of course she couldn’t cuddle him. He’ll miss her, I know.
Sorry for the loss of your friend, Kate. What a poignant and beautiful post – I so love how you weave prose and keep me riveted until the last word. I love the inner Kate – what strength to be able to say what you really feel.
Sunshine xx
Really sorry to hear of the loss of a friend who seems to have been one really worth having.
As for the interview – that was the real you. If they didn’t like it, then they don’t deserve you. Pity it’s the kids’ loss, though..
Thanks Col 🙂 There will be kids somewhere waiting, I feel sure…
Thank you Sunshine: it is good to share these things sometimes, isn’t it? Lovely to hear that sunny voice of yours again.
Sorry for your loss, Kate.
Regarding the interview question, I think that was a great answer. I too have grown weary of those open ended, stupid type of questions which favour the self promoters. I had a job interview recently in which I kicked myself afterwards for brutal honesty. Due to several earthquakes I had to withdraw the application, but I will always wonder how it went down.
I think interviwers should not expect applicants to engage in specifically interviewish conversation. The most irritating example I remember is meeting a new boss who told me to take a seat and ‘Tell me the Lynley Stace story.’ I still wish I had concocted fiction!
I bet The Eye Of The Tiger triggers memories for you everytime you hear it.
Stace, what a cheering comment 🙂 I suppose even the questions are an indication of the calibre of the potential employer. And you’ve got it: the Eye of the Tiger conjures that scene up as if it were yesterday…
Oh, sad, sad about your friend, Kate.
She was right – be true to yourself – sometimes what is expected of us, isn’t the best way.
Condolences on the loss of a treasured friend, Kate. bb
Thanks BB. Good to have that reminder to be oneself, even if it doesn’t always get you what you might think you want.
Oh, it was so sad.. Sorry for your loss Kate. Having a friend who accepts who you really are is a true blessing.
Thanks Gemma. You’re right: she was someone to be thankful for.
I’m sorry, Kate, very sorry.
Thanks Cindy.All a bit quick.
The Civil Me says, “Sorry to hear about your friend.”
The Real Me says, “That sucks.”
“Both of us” are glad that you and Macauley had a chance to get around to see her not long ago.
Your interview response sounds perfect to me.
A law firm once asked me the same sort of question, “Why do you want to work here?”
I smiled and said, “I’m not convinced, yet, that I do. What do YOU like best about it?” 😀
It was FUN.
I didn’t get the job.
But I don’t think I would have enjoyed working for them anyway.
I’m pinning your comment on my fridge, Nancy 🙂 Civil me and Real me. Now they both have names. Good to hear your interview technique. Great style and great fun.
a true Kate post that takes one on such a ride. teenage memories, the hole left by the passing of someone so special.
Kate, I can’t mourn the loss of the teenage you, I like the one that’s with us now, but I can mourn with you the passing of a special woman, a true friend and a real person. My sympathy; her loss will reverberate through your life for a long time, she filled so many spaces in it.
Thank you Sidey, as usual you put it beautifully.
Oh, Kate, I am so dreadfully sorry at the loss of your friend, Chris. There is a special place in our hearts that tugs particularly hard when a friend passes away. For what it is worth, here is what I think, which is that Chris was with you in spirit when you answered that question and she was urging you on, grinning, with a “Kate, don’t ever change”. Peace and my prayers are with you. Penny
Thanks so much, Penny. What an amazing thought.
Friends are so much part of our routine: everywhere I look, including at my beloved insanitary dog, I am reminded of where she isn’t. But that catch phrase of hers leaves something to hold on to.
I’m so sorry about your friend, Kate. In light of that loss, one interview doesn’t matter. There will be other jobs.
Yes there will, Tilly 🙂 Life is a funny old business, isn’t it?
OMG Kate, you’ve been going through a lot. Huge hug and kiss to you from SA, with deepest sympathy to you – and Macauley – for the loss of your dear friend. The Eye of the Tiger really positions your teenage story 😀 and I’m with you on releasing the Real You when it counts. She no doubt has her own way of guiding you along your best path, XO
I’m sure you’re right, Naomi 🙂 Thanks for those lovely words.
Kate, both the Civil me and the Real me want to give you big hugs right now. The perfect interview response for the most imperfect of times.
Wishing you strength, and stubborness and the ability to hold on to that person within you- keep on being you
x
Thanks Speccy, to both of you 🙂
I’m not at all surprised you gave the answer you did after the news of Chris’s death. I think when someone we care about dies it makes us determined to cut to the essential in our own lives and LIVE (by which I mean be ourselves to the maximum of our ability).
Hold on to you and be true. I don’t know you at all but what comes accross in your writing seems to me to be worth holding on to. Take care.
There’ll be another job.
Earlybird, thank you so much. What a warming comment. Holding on for grim life right now, but I’m sure it will get easier.
I’m so sorry to hear of the loss of your dear friend. I offer you a heartful of warm wishes. And as for your interview reply – it was absolutely, unimpeachably perfect.
Thank you Elizabeth 🙂 I wish you had been on the interviewing panel!
Oh, Kate. I’m so sorry. I hurt for you. Your friend was special indeed.
Liz
Thanks Liz 🙂
I am so sorry about your friend, Kate. I have lost a few friends to breast cancer too.
Re your job interview, good for you. I did something similar once. At the end of the interview I was asked whether I was interested in the position and, before I could stop myself, I pointed out all the negatives and said, “No thanks.” You should have seen the guy’s face! I don’t know what possessed me… 😀
Actually I DO know why I did this. The MD had such a condescending attitude… he thought he was doing me a huge favour!
It’s funny how we will let the Real Us out at these key moments, isn’t it, Adee? Something in us tells us this is not the person we want to sound the next few years with…
Dear Kate, I am so sorry. I also lost a dear friend last week to that dreadful disease. They sound something of a pair actually. My friend Nancy, a gifted physician and very very bossy. I hope they’re somewhere good together.
Me too, Tammy. So sorry to hear you’ve lost someone special too.
Kate ~ my heart goes out to you. I’ve lost two very close friends suddenly and it is so very hard. Just tonight, I was going through my text addresses and my good friend, who passed over a year ago came up; it still pains to see her name knowing she is not here.
You know, you’ve actually honored your friend’s memory in the greatest way possible by being Kate; bravo. Perhaps it is time to stop rehashing your answer and celebrate your ability to be ‘real’ in a world so full of plastic. Take care of you ~
Thanks Angela, I think you are absolutely right. We’re Real and proud 🙂
Beautifully remembered teenage feelings – the job wasn’t for you – so sorry to learn that you have lost your good friend Kate.
Thank you Rosemary. I’m sure the perfect job will turn up 🙂