Short and Sweet by Anna Jacobs

best in order to face all the fuss without making a fool of herself by bawling her eyes out.
    ‘I can afford a bit of a spend-up now, though,’ she said, thinking aloud. Did all widows talk to themselves? She’d spoken to herself at the supermarket the other day while she was loading shelves and young Karen had stared at her as if she was going senile.
    The thought of the supermarket didn’t please Emily, either. It had been interesting at first, going out to work and meeting people – not to mention wonderful to have her own money. But the novelty had soon worn off. The job at the supermarket was boring, the manager treated you like dirt and she was fed up to the back teeth of it. Perhaps she’d get herself another job. Yes, that’d be somewhere to start with in her new life – finding a more interesting job.
    She went downstairs and opened the newspaper to scan the columns of ‘Job Opportunities’. But it didn’t take her long to realize she didn’t have any of the skills they needed. She could use a computer now, and do emails, but she couldn’t do anything fancy on it. She’d even forgotten how to touch-type, it was so long ago that she’d studied typing.
    With a sigh she turned to ‘Domestic Help Sought’ and the advert nearly jumped out at her. Housekeeper required for senior executive and family . Must be competent cook. She was qualified for housekeeping all right. She’d spent her whole life keeping her house nice. And she was a good cook, even though she hadn’t had much chance to practise the fancier dishes she’d learned about at night school.
    She got as far as the hall, but there was another mirror over the phone and it was just as unkind as the one upstairs. This executive and his family would take one look at her and say, ‘No, thank you.’ She knew they would.
    Setting the receiver down, she walked back into the lounge and switched on the television.
    ‘Job search!’ announced a bright-eyed young woman with an impossibly thin body.
    Like a walking skeleton, she is! Emily thought, but for some reason she continued to watch.
    Good jobs were scarce, it seemed.
    ‘Tell me about it!’
    Dozens of applicants for each one, so you had to make a really good first impression.
    ‘I’d never impress anyone, not in a million years.’
    Qualifications were important.
    ‘That lets me right out.’
    You had to write everything about yourself in a résumé. Tears filled Emily’s eyes. Her information wouldn’t even fill a page. Housewife. Mother. Grandmother. Circumstances kept remaking her life, but always as an attachment to other people. Not as a teacher or chef or scientist – or even as a secretary, which had once been her ambition.
    She got angry with herself and switched off the TV, picking up the weekend magazine. The advert leaped off the page at her.
    ‘ Do you need a makeover? ’ Ha! She certainly did!
    ‘BEFORE’ showed a young woman with frizzy hair and an unhappy expression. ‘AFTER’ showed the same young woman, barely recognizable with a new hairstyle and subtle make-up. She looked gorgeous.
    Emily stared at it, then began to nibble her thumb. Why not do it and try for a more glamorous look? Well no, not glamorous. She didn’t think she could manage that, but perhaps smart. She could manage smart if she tried, she was sure she could.
    She read the advert again.
    Should she? Did she dare?
    Of course she should! What was she hesitating for? What had she to lose?
    Going back into the hall she dialled the number in the advert, then panicked and put the phone down as soon as it started ringing. What if they really could work miracles? How would it be if she looked too different? People might laugh at her, call her mutton dressed as lamb.
    Or – they might look at her with more respect.
    Coward! she thought. You’ve turned into a coward as well as a frump, Emily Baker. She stopped in shock. More and more she was calling herself by her maiden name, she didn’t understand why.