that our song, whether we like it or not, is some Liverpudlian maths teacher who hummed a seventies rock anthem in the background when we first heard one another's voice? That's our song? The song that will forever remind us of one another?" Rebecca raised her eyebrows and walked into Shaftesbury Avenue.
"A song that defines our relationship. It's a classic. When played, it will fill our hearts with so much love, words will be non-existent. The only way to communicate and express ourselves to one another would be to perform the most passionate kiss ever," Michael said with a smile. He slotted the tablet into the drawer, closed the dishwasher door and pressed the start button.
"Oh. I hadn't expected that. So our song, if anybody asks, is 'Born to be Wild' by Wolf Man?" Rebecca accepted the disappointing fact.
"Steppenwolf. It's Steppenwolf. 'Born to be Wild'," Michael corrected.
"Right. OK. I've got another call. I'll see you later. I have a candidate to interview at half six, so hope to be back home by half seven or eight. Have we got potatoes?"
"I've got stuff already. I may pop to my folks for a bit, then. See you later on. Love you."
"Love you too. Byeeee."
5. BRIEF
The staffroom had worn, square, black sponge chairs. The walls were off-white, with cracks zigzagging across them. The upper half was a completely different colour: a mouldy green, pea soup shade with sections of plaster missing. Twenty-year-old John Lewis coffee tables placed next to each other were in the middle of the room, with a kitchen area in one corner.
Michael slouched against the back wall, next to Helen. A cup of tea in his grasp. He had spent the past two hours constructing a file which didn't previously exist as it consisted of the school experience of a former pupil: a boy from Nepal.
The boy had only ever received schooling from a goat herder, information that the IT course at the college he was applying for wouldn't particularly find useful or helpful.
Helen placed her cup of tea upon the table in front of her.
Paul sat himself on a chair opposite. He wore a cheap pair of off-the-shelf glasses and started to read a newspaper clipping. Patricia plumped herself near Helen, with a green card file on her lap.
Catherine Riverdale waddled into the room. She eyed everybody. Her chin jutted out and she nodded at Helen. Riverdale formed a most peculiar smile, yet it was delivered with a slight touch of suspiciousness.
"There's a cup of tea here, Catherine," Michael informed her.
She turned her back and eyed up the work-surface. She scanned the top like a forest creature crossed with The Terminator and a hob-goblin. A bizarre mix, though an extremely uncanny and accurate description. "Hmm? Oh, I'm getting coffee, thanks. Thanks anyway, Michael." Catherine fumbled inside a cupboard and rattled a jar of Nescafé coffee. "Oh actually, I think I will have a cup of tea. Why not? Live dangerously. Break a habit, as they say."
She turned around and eyeballed the seating arrangements. The only free seat was opposite Patricia. Catherine shuffled herself right next to her.
Patricia couldn't stand her. It showed in her face and body language. She became instantly uncomfortable and crossed her left leg over her right, with her left arm across her lap, upon her card files. Patricia exchanged a quick look with Michael, who raised an eyebrow.
Catherine caught his look. "What's on the agenda then?" She fixed her gaze on Patricia's lengthy finger on the top of her file.
Patricia managed a smile. It was more of a one-hundred-mile-an-hour mouth twitch.
The telephone rang and Michael rose to walk to the work-surface, where the telephone was.
"Hello?" he said, in a deep, peculiarly mysterious sounding voice. "Yep, we're all here. Just a mo."
Michael turned to see the team looking at him. He gritted his teeth at Helen. "That woman is on the phone."
Helen clambered up off her seat and made toward Michael, who handed her the telephone
"A song that defines our relationship. It's a classic. When played, it will fill our hearts with so much love, words will be non-existent. The only way to communicate and express ourselves to one another would be to perform the most passionate kiss ever," Michael said with a smile. He slotted the tablet into the drawer, closed the dishwasher door and pressed the start button.
"Oh. I hadn't expected that. So our song, if anybody asks, is 'Born to be Wild' by Wolf Man?" Rebecca accepted the disappointing fact.
"Steppenwolf. It's Steppenwolf. 'Born to be Wild'," Michael corrected.
"Right. OK. I've got another call. I'll see you later. I have a candidate to interview at half six, so hope to be back home by half seven or eight. Have we got potatoes?"
"I've got stuff already. I may pop to my folks for a bit, then. See you later on. Love you."
"Love you too. Byeeee."
5. BRIEF
The staffroom had worn, square, black sponge chairs. The walls were off-white, with cracks zigzagging across them. The upper half was a completely different colour: a mouldy green, pea soup shade with sections of plaster missing. Twenty-year-old John Lewis coffee tables placed next to each other were in the middle of the room, with a kitchen area in one corner.
Michael slouched against the back wall, next to Helen. A cup of tea in his grasp. He had spent the past two hours constructing a file which didn't previously exist as it consisted of the school experience of a former pupil: a boy from Nepal.
The boy had only ever received schooling from a goat herder, information that the IT course at the college he was applying for wouldn't particularly find useful or helpful.
Helen placed her cup of tea upon the table in front of her.
Paul sat himself on a chair opposite. He wore a cheap pair of off-the-shelf glasses and started to read a newspaper clipping. Patricia plumped herself near Helen, with a green card file on her lap.
Catherine Riverdale waddled into the room. She eyed everybody. Her chin jutted out and she nodded at Helen. Riverdale formed a most peculiar smile, yet it was delivered with a slight touch of suspiciousness.
"There's a cup of tea here, Catherine," Michael informed her.
She turned her back and eyed up the work-surface. She scanned the top like a forest creature crossed with The Terminator and a hob-goblin. A bizarre mix, though an extremely uncanny and accurate description. "Hmm? Oh, I'm getting coffee, thanks. Thanks anyway, Michael." Catherine fumbled inside a cupboard and rattled a jar of Nescafé coffee. "Oh actually, I think I will have a cup of tea. Why not? Live dangerously. Break a habit, as they say."
She turned around and eyeballed the seating arrangements. The only free seat was opposite Patricia. Catherine shuffled herself right next to her.
Patricia couldn't stand her. It showed in her face and body language. She became instantly uncomfortable and crossed her left leg over her right, with her left arm across her lap, upon her card files. Patricia exchanged a quick look with Michael, who raised an eyebrow.
Catherine caught his look. "What's on the agenda then?" She fixed her gaze on Patricia's lengthy finger on the top of her file.
Patricia managed a smile. It was more of a one-hundred-mile-an-hour mouth twitch.
The telephone rang and Michael rose to walk to the work-surface, where the telephone was.
"Hello?" he said, in a deep, peculiarly mysterious sounding voice. "Yep, we're all here. Just a mo."
Michael turned to see the team looking at him. He gritted his teeth at Helen. "That woman is on the phone."
Helen clambered up off her seat and made toward Michael, who handed her the telephone
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