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Short Story
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A CHANGE OF CAREER
Jenny Campbell, Sherborne Scribblers
Sunita came out of the bank carrying a large cardboard box. She stood at the top of the steps for a moment, dazed by the array of cameras, flash bulbs and news-hungry journalists facing her. They were, she thought, like a pack of Bengal tigers, teeth bared as they reached for another morsel of information about the collapse of one of the biggest banks in the world.
Determined not to feed them a scrap, she descended carefully wearing the biggest smile she could muster. Even before she reached the sidewalk a microphone was thrust in her face and questions were fired at her like a rattle of bullets.
‘What’s your name, honey? Is it true all you guys have been told to quit? Can you tell…’
But Sunita clutched the box to her like a shield, warding off her interrogator, and began walking to nearby Central Park.
Everyone in New York brought their troubles to the cool, green serenity of the park: the deadbeats, the dropouts, the sick and the lonely as well as people like her – high-fliers, young, talented and destined for success in their chosen profession. Until, that is, through no fault of their own, they suddenly found themselves among the unemployed with no income and, in all likelihood, no home. Sunita tried not to think about losing her much-loved, rented apartment in Greenwich Village, concentrating instead on finding a secluded bench. One where she wouldn’t have to make polite conversation and say things like, Yes, it is a beautiful day. Yes, the Yankees are doing just great this year. and, No, really, I’m fine. because, now, the tears were starting to fall as she thought of her parents back home in London. In about four hours’ time, they would be switching on the TV in the kitchen to watch the breakfast news, as usual, and probably the first thing they’d see would be the daughter of whom they were so proud, leaving the bank after losing her job.
There was an empty bench on a small path running along the side of the lake and Sunita sat down on it, placing the box at her feet. Already, in her head, she could hear her parents’ conversation.
‘My God, Daddy-ji! What is this? Our daughter being sacked! Oh, the shame of it! And what am I going to tell those Guptas whose son is at Barclays bank? He’s never been sacked!’
‘Be quiet, woman, and listen. Our Sunita has not been sacked. All the workers have had to leave because there has been some hanky-panky and mismanagement high up, is all, and the bank is going into administration.’
At this precise moment in Sunita’s frantic thoughts, a playful Afghan hound pranced
towards her and managed to knock the box over, spilling most of its contents on to the ground: notepads, pens, make-up bag, books, spare blouse and a little black dress which the Afghan was doing its best to rip apart. The dog was now followed by its breathless owner, a middle-aged woman whose face looked vaguely familiar to Sunita.
‘Oh, my dear, I must apologise for this mutt. Chloe is an inquisitive creature who knows that boxes always have interesting things in them.’ She began replacing the spilled items, then paused as she looked up and caught sight of their owner’s tear-stained face. ‘Mind if I sit down?’ she said.
Sunita shook her head, suddenly recalling where she had seen the woman. It was on the back cover of the latest Becky Brooklyn novel that she had been reading. On such small twists of fate are lives and, indeed, careers changed. After listening to Sunita’s story, she offered her the job of live-in dog walker – just for as long as wanted and at almost the same salary. Like most dogs, Chloe seemed to sense unhappiness and was now resting her aristocratic head against Sunita’s knee.
‘Honestly, my dear, I should be working on my new book right now instead of walking this lady round the park. But my regular dog walker has just left to get married and Chloe obviously likes you, so you would be doing me an immense favour.’
Sunita was too bright a young woman to want to spend the rest of her life doing this particular job. But she recognised opportunity when it presented itself and many a stellar career has begun in just such a way. Besides, there were hundreds of pampered dogs and their hired walkers in New York so it was almost like joining a select city club. One thing she had not counted on was Becky Brooklyn’s wide circle of friends including some very influential ones on Wall Street who recognised talent when they saw it.
Less than a year later, Sunita’s mother could not wait to call Mrs Gupta.
‘Yes, my Sunita is doing very well now, in New York.’ She had never dared to mention the dog-minding, but she could not resist adding, ‘And how is Raj? Still at Barclays, yah?’
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