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      ‘So, would you like to tell us in your own words exactly why you’d like this job, Ms…Ms…?’ asked the woman, fishing around for a name. She had a face like a bullmastiff and a moustache to match. Had she never heard of waxing? Moustache fluttering in the breeze, the woman peered down at the application form in front of her. An application form with a ghost of pasta sauce smeared across the top right-hand corner.

      ‘Mrs Hammond,’ offered Cass helpfully. Not that anyone was listening.

      ‘Ms Hammond?’ the woman read. She smiled in Cass’s general direction, although it didn’t look as if she was experiencing any particular joy at the hand life had dealt her. ‘So…’ steepling her fingers, making determined eye contact, ‘why would you like to work for Peck, Reckett and Gore?’

      Good question. Cass hesitated. There had to be a reason – she’d filled in the application form, posted it and everything. ‘Because…’ Cass took a deep breath, teetering, toes over the edge of the gaping crevasse that her mind had just become. ‘Because…’

      The woman leaned forward a little more in a gesture presumably meant to encourage her, and as she did the draught from an open window sent a ripple through the forest of hair on her chin that Cass had been struggling to ignore.

      Damn. Cass grimaced, fighting to concentrate on the speech she’d concocted on the way there, while trying to hold back a honking great giggle.

      She glanced at the rest of the interview panel; God they were ugly. The opening bars of the giggle slipped out.

      She mumbled an apology, swallowing the giggle down with a cough. What would happen if she told them the truth? Well, you’ve seen my CV; I’m not exactly spoilt for choice, am I? I need the money, my life is shit, my credit card bill would bankroll a small multinational, my son needs new shoes, and the man who swore he would love me until hell froze over and the seas ran dry has just buggered off with the girl who did our ironing, so not only am I heartbroken I’m also horribly creased.

      The Moustache tipped her head to one side and, glancing at her watch, tried out another smile.

      Maybe the truth wasn’t such a great idea after all.

      ‘Take your time,’ said one of the men on the panel. The one who had spent most of the last fifteen minutes trying to get a really good look down the front of her blouse.

      Cass painted on an expression that she hoped would suggest cheery enthusiasm, tempered with reliability and competence – a bit of a tall order with only the one face, but worth a shot.

      Smile, relax…Taking a deep breath, Cass started to speak. It felt as if she was launching a heavy dinghy, pushing the answer away from the side: ‘Well, I’m looking for a position that offers me a combination of interesting personal challenges, job satisfaction and a decent career structure – I think Feckett, Reckett and Snore can give me…’

      Feckett, Reckett and Snore? Had she really said that? Cass felt a great breathless flash of heat and panic. Maybe her brain had just pretended, to keep her on her toes. Maybe they hadn’t noticed. She looked anxiously from face to face. Across the table the panel were nodding, yawning and fiddling with their pens.

      ‘…all those. This position seems ideal in…in, in lots of ways.’

      It wasn’t going well.

      ‘…I’m a good team player with a mature approach to problem solving and good people skills. This project looks exciting and challenging and…and…’

      Cass took another look, trying to work out how well she was doing. Did it all sound a bit too gushy? A bit too Miss