This is based on a true story. Sarah is me. That's all I'm going to say!

Comments always appreciated.

Stick bloody straight, thought Sarah, staring venomously at the wall tile hanging lopsided; an inane smirk in the cement. All day she’d been on the DIY and now she was sick of it.

“It’ll only take a couple of hours,” her Mum had said, “You don’t mind helping your ol’ Mum…”

Of course she didn’t mind, but she was getting the feeling her benevolence was being abused. The tile gave up to gravity, falling to the bare floor-boards, it cracked loudly; an alarm sounding to rein in her altruism. Throwing down the trowel, Sarah stood up, washed her hands and left the bungled bathroom.

Downstairs, a mug of hot chocolate and a hob nob biscuit later, Sarah was more subdued. Her usual, contemplative nature had kicked back in. Flicking through the paper, she breathed in sharply, yet another bombing…somewhere. Instantly guilt spiked her, so many were born to a life of hell, what did it matter if the tiles didn’t fix and the job offers didn’t flood in, she led a charmed existence and should be thoroughly grateful.

An unexpected lump welled like a walnut and wedged in her throat. Instead of all this war and conflict, why couldn’t everyone just love each other? Trade words instead of bullets. Seek compromise instead of confrontation. She didn’t understand, why was love and happiness forever on ration?

Dejected and saddened Sarah opened the local newspaper, its lack of international news coverage a distinct advantage in the quest for brighter headlines. Scanning through the ‘Accountants on the Move’, ‘New Hairdressers Opening’ and ‘Budgie found on a Washing Line’, Sarah arrived at the job page.

With adverts for the most mundane of jobs, Sarah sighed. She wanted something more. More than just the nine to five toil for a pay check. She wanted something that would change her life.

Sarah turned the page, and a stunning if somewhat ambiguous strap line caught her attention:

Intrigued, she read further. Wording seemed to suggest some kind of new business role rather than just sales. And it was in electronics. Maybe now she could put to use that expensive science degree she’d struggled tirelessly to achieve. The closing date was in a week’s time. But Sarah wanted to strike quickly.

Opening her email editor, she rapidly wrote a covering letter and attached her CV. Her hand arching over her mouse, she moved the cursor to ‘Send’. Then she paused. Do I really want to do this?

Hearing the front door creak open, Sarah looked towards the door. A shuffle on the carpet sounded and slowly the study door swung open.

“Hello love, have you finished the bathroom yet?”

Sarah turned in response to her mother’s question, and shook her head.

“Oh…I’d have thought it would’ve been done by now. Not like you’ve found a job or anything yet…have you?”

“No, no, I haven’t!” answered Sarah bitterly, and she manoeuvred in front of the screen to prevent her mother from seeing what she was doing. Her close friend Pam had given her the unbelievable notion she now had, and why she was taking such defensive action.

And so Sarah decided to do just that.

Moving forward, her Mum peered inquisitively at the desk, prying purposefully into Sarah’s activities. With a swift swoop Sarah flipped down the laptop’s screen.

Revolving, she turned to face her Mother and saw she was bristling with frustration. Her face gaunt, her mouth down turning in a cruel sneer:

“Okay Sarah. But you won’t forget, will you. I don’t want that mess hanging around all week.” The sharp admonishment in her Mother’s voice was blatant.

Sarah snapped that she hadn’t forgotten and she’d get on to it after she’d finished her chocolate. Mumbling something mildly abusive about her daughter being a ‘lazy sod’, her Mum retreated from the study.

Alone again, Sarah pulled back the screen, and waited for it to come back to life. The LCD surged with energy, radiating light, and her email popped up, still ready. Sarah resumed her previous position, hand curled gently round the mouse, cursor poised above ‘Send’. What the hell, let’s do it, she thought, and she hit the button.

Simultaneously sent along with the email was her silent, heartfelt wish to succeed.

Checking her emails a week later Sarah noticed she’d received one in response to the job she applied for. She couldn’t believe it. The first job she hadn’t told her mother about, and suddenly she’d got an interview. More than just coincidence, mused Sarah reading the message.

The interview was at the end of the month. Friday, the day of the interview, crept steadily into Sarah’s life and with the day came immense anticipation. Reading the job description, she was left in no illusion, the role would be demanding; a major opportunity to make that difference she so desperately wanted to.

Thankful her mother was out shopping, Sarah used the morning to prepare, grateful to be free, if only for a few hours, of her interrogative stares and snide insinuations. Sarah thumbed through clothes in her wardrobe, considering carefully what to wear.

It had to be her Kaliko navy trouser suit. She’d bought it for her graduation ceremony 9 months ago, and it hadn’t had an outing since. Hanging it on the hook at the back of her door, Sarah smiled. This could be it. This could be the one.

In the mirror, she nodded appreciatively inspecting her look. Being tall, trousers always accentuated her best features: a slim waist and curvy hips, and kept eyes away from the fact she was virtually flat chested.

She swept her blonde hair off her face, and it slipped like honey down her back. She brushed her high cheek bones with the faintest whisper of blusher, and outlined her bottom lid in brown kohl; the dark brown contrasting and starkly highlighting her azure blue eyes. Her lips were rose pink, full and well-defined, and needed little else but a glisten of neutral lip gloss to make them stunning. A final glance in the mirror gave her the confidence she needed.

But that confidence was soon to go as she sat in reception, eyeing up the other candidates. They were all older, infinitely better dressed and probably had years more experience. What chance did she have?

In acknowledgement to Sarah’s sudden neurosis, the woman sitting opposite, reading Tatler, stared at her; an expression of such sheer superciliousness slipped down her surgically-enhanced face, Sarah almost believed she had dog muck on her shoes. Such was the look of disdain burning from her fellow contender. Probably in shock ‘cause I’m wearing Clarks and not Jimmy bloody Choo.

Moments passed, Sarah avoided any further eye contact, and flicked through a magazine.

“Miss Bellworth, could you come this way.”

Sarah raised her head, hearing her name, stood up and followed the middle-aged, matron-like lady.  The woman announced Sarah’s name to the panel of interviewers, but Sarah wasn’t listening.

The clever responses she’d created; the interesting introductions she’d painstakingly written, the reasons why she was right for the job, the intelligent insights into future market potential, all the bright, wonderful things she had on the tip of her tongue, all vanished.

She had no words to say. All she could do was stare... into the deepest, darkest pools of chocolate brown ecstasy. And his heart wrapped around her.

Seventeen years later, his love for Sarah remained as strong as when he first glanced. Her love for him enveloped her world…and changed her life completely.