and nodded to signify that another question was more than welcome.
"When can you start?"
And that was it; she'd become a member of the proactive team.
***
It turned out that her ‘competition' for the interview hadn't exactly been stiff. Only one other person made it past the application stage and she was as thick as a ditch. When asked why she wanted the job, Cathy's competitor had answered that her jobseekers allowance would be cut if she didn't go for a few interviews. Cathy learnt all of this over coffee with the ladies from the interview panel. The two ladies, Margaret and Mary, made up the entire organisation.
Margaret and Mary were fifty-something ex-teachers who'd spent most of their prime teaching in secondary schools in working class areas. Margaret had the hardened look of a badass librarian; thin, bespectacled and possessing an intimidating habit of looking at you over the top of her glasses to emphasise the seriousness of life. Mary gave off the breezy air of a thespian actor who'd taken up teaching drama when she discovered the harshness of starving for the craft. Then she got fat. Physically, they were polar opposites. It was inevitable they would attract each other.
They met at the last school each of them taught in, Corpus Christi Boys Secondary School. In the staff room, they swapped stories about the teenage tearaways they'd taught over the years, and how much potential they'd witnessed waste away. Kindred spirits, they soon became inseparable. They received no further satisfaction in their posts at Corpus Christi, as they found the teenage boys who attended practically unreachable from the early age of twelve. Good behaviour and ambition were seen as weaknesses and as such, they became rare.
The aging teachers, jaded by the school system, took early retirement in order to set up the Outreach Centre with the aid of government and EU funding. They aimed to reach as many troubled youths that slipped through the cracks in the education system as they could. Cathy envied their optimism, but in her heart she knew that they were wasting their time. Still, a job was a job.
The man from the interview was their accountant, Roger. He didn't work on the organisation's premises. The ladies hired him from one of the big firms in the city when he was needed. This pleased Cathy. She'd had her fill of professionals in the work place and had never met an accountant she liked. Not dealing with Roger on a day-to-day basis could only be a good thing.
As far as the job went, what really floated her boat was the filing. Each visitor to the centre had a confidential file which recorded the little darling's progress. Cathy had to store each one alphabetically in the huge fireproof filing cabinet, when they landed on her desk, after a one-to-one session with Margaret or Mary. They made for great lunchtime reading. And an insight into the easily damaged human psyche could prove helpful if her dream career in contract killing ever became a reality.
The John Fisher incident had shaken her confidence, but after a little time to regroup she'd find a new practice run. Maybe one of the Outreach Centre files would mention a drug dealer or the like worthy of her attentions.
She spent a couple of days reading up on a young man named Jim McCracken. This young fellow yammered on about some friends who'd got mixed up with the devil. It took Cathy a couple of rereads to realise that he wasn't talking about a new drug. He was talking about some form of occultism.
He worried about how his mother would react when she found out about his gang's activities. Cathy read over his history of drug abuse. Of course, as Jim was only seventeen, this may have been a false history. His legal records, as a minor, were confidential, and as such the file comprised of Jim's own admissions. In sessions he had dropped hints about hallucinogen usage and at one point relayed an experience at a borstal, where he had served a few months on a drug-dealing
"When can you start?"
And that was it; she'd become a member of the proactive team.
***
It turned out that her ‘competition' for the interview hadn't exactly been stiff. Only one other person made it past the application stage and she was as thick as a ditch. When asked why she wanted the job, Cathy's competitor had answered that her jobseekers allowance would be cut if she didn't go for a few interviews. Cathy learnt all of this over coffee with the ladies from the interview panel. The two ladies, Margaret and Mary, made up the entire organisation.
Margaret and Mary were fifty-something ex-teachers who'd spent most of their prime teaching in secondary schools in working class areas. Margaret had the hardened look of a badass librarian; thin, bespectacled and possessing an intimidating habit of looking at you over the top of her glasses to emphasise the seriousness of life. Mary gave off the breezy air of a thespian actor who'd taken up teaching drama when she discovered the harshness of starving for the craft. Then she got fat. Physically, they were polar opposites. It was inevitable they would attract each other.
They met at the last school each of them taught in, Corpus Christi Boys Secondary School. In the staff room, they swapped stories about the teenage tearaways they'd taught over the years, and how much potential they'd witnessed waste away. Kindred spirits, they soon became inseparable. They received no further satisfaction in their posts at Corpus Christi, as they found the teenage boys who attended practically unreachable from the early age of twelve. Good behaviour and ambition were seen as weaknesses and as such, they became rare.
The aging teachers, jaded by the school system, took early retirement in order to set up the Outreach Centre with the aid of government and EU funding. They aimed to reach as many troubled youths that slipped through the cracks in the education system as they could. Cathy envied their optimism, but in her heart she knew that they were wasting their time. Still, a job was a job.
The man from the interview was their accountant, Roger. He didn't work on the organisation's premises. The ladies hired him from one of the big firms in the city when he was needed. This pleased Cathy. She'd had her fill of professionals in the work place and had never met an accountant she liked. Not dealing with Roger on a day-to-day basis could only be a good thing.
As far as the job went, what really floated her boat was the filing. Each visitor to the centre had a confidential file which recorded the little darling's progress. Cathy had to store each one alphabetically in the huge fireproof filing cabinet, when they landed on her desk, after a one-to-one session with Margaret or Mary. They made for great lunchtime reading. And an insight into the easily damaged human psyche could prove helpful if her dream career in contract killing ever became a reality.
The John Fisher incident had shaken her confidence, but after a little time to regroup she'd find a new practice run. Maybe one of the Outreach Centre files would mention a drug dealer or the like worthy of her attentions.
She spent a couple of days reading up on a young man named Jim McCracken. This young fellow yammered on about some friends who'd got mixed up with the devil. It took Cathy a couple of rereads to realise that he wasn't talking about a new drug. He was talking about some form of occultism.
He worried about how his mother would react when she found out about his gang's activities. Cathy read over his history of drug abuse. Of course, as Jim was only seventeen, this may have been a false history. His legal records, as a minor, were confidential, and as such the file comprised of Jim's own admissions. In sessions he had dropped hints about hallucinogen usage and at one point relayed an experience at a borstal, where he had served a few months on a drug-dealing
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