She  pressed  two  wads  of  rough  blue  paper  against  her  eyes.  Sorry,  sorry, sorry, you were saying.‘

I‘ve lost my place now, you bursting into tears like that.‘

I think you were telling me that my life was going nowhere,‘ and she began to laugh and cry at the same time. She grabbed a third piece of kitchen paper and wadded it against her mouth.

Scott waited until her shoulders had stopped heaving. So are you interested in the job or not?‘

You  mean  to  say—‘  She  placed  her  hand  on  a  twenty-litre  tub of  Thousand  Island Dressing —all this could one day be mine?‘

Emma, if you don‘t want the job, just say, but I have been doing it for four years now—‘

And you‘ve done it really well, Scott—‘

The money‘s adequate, you‘d never have to clean the toilets again—‘

And I appreciate the offer.‘

So why the waterworks then?‘

Just I‘ve been a little . . . depressed that‘s all.‘

De-pressed.‘ Scott frowned as if hearing the word for the first time.

You know. Bit blue.‘

Right.  I  see.‘  He  contemplated  putting  a  paternal  arm  around  her,  but  it  would  mean climbing over a ten-gallon drum of mayonnaise, so instead he leant further across the desk. 

Is it . . . boy trouble?‘

Emma laughed once. Hardly. Scott, it‘s nothing, you just caught me at a  low ebb, that‘s all.‘ She shook her head vigorously. See, all gone, right as rain. Let‘s forget it.‘

So what do you think? About being manager?‘

Can I think about it? Tell you tomorrow?‘

Scott  smiled  benignly  and  nodded.  Go  on  then!  Take  a  break—‘  He  stretched  an  arm towards the door, adding with infinite compassion: Go get yourself some nachos.‘