What the hell did I know about beauty? I mean, I did the usual ablutions as every woman does – the odd manicure and pedicure, shaved my legs, went to the hairdresser’s every couple of months to have my corkscrew riot tamed – but that was about it.

I thought again about my CV and application. This wasn’t the job I had applied for. I had gone for the investigative reporter’s job. At least I thought I had. Had I read the spec properly? Maybe I had submitted my application for the wrong one.

Doubts about myself surfaced. No. I had applied for that post. I know I had. So what was going on?

I had all these ideas and plans tumbling around my head for future features. A spotlight on working mothers in the publishing industry. An interview with the latest female football referee. I wanted to write about Goddess readers, for Goddess readers, not enthusing over stone massages and spa weekends.

“Sorry,” I managed through a forced laugh. “I think there has been some sort of mix-up, but I’m sure it can be rectified.”

Athena’s eyebrows fenced.

“I’m not here about the beauty writer role. I applied for the investigative reporter vacancy.”

Athena’s hand hovered over the gold door handle of the meeting room. “That post has been filled,” she chimed.

I blinked at her. No. This couldn’t be right. “Filled? Already? No, there must be some mistake. I was only interviewed for that role this morning.” If you could call that farce an interview.

Athena pursed her lips. “It transpires we have another applicant who possesses more experience on the ground, as it were.”

It felt as if I were trapped in some confusing dream. I waited for Athena to expand but she didn’t. They had awarded that role to someone else? Who? When had that happened?

My previous optimism at the job offer deflated like a pricked balloon.

I gripped the strap of my shoulder bag tighter. “Sorry,” I stumbled. “I’m a bit confused by all of this.”

Athena appraised me. “I don’t see what’s so confusing about it. You came for a job interview and we are now offering you the job.”

“Yes,” I faltered, struggling to smile. “But that wasn’t the job I applied for and it wasn’t the job I was being interviewed for this morning.”

Athena propped one brow. “We are still offering you employment. I thought you would be delighted.”

“Yes, I am pleased you are offering me a job,” I clarified, my panic rising. “But it’s not the job I wanted.” I cleared my throat. “You’re offering me the job of beauty reporter?”

“It has all the same perks and benefits,” chimed in Barbara from the corner of the room with her clipboard. “Six weeks annual leave, bank holiday entitlement, company pension scheme…”