The Empty Hour

The offer came with a folder, a proposed rota and a description of Hugo that he found dangerously pleasant to read.

Neroli wanted him to lead the volunteer programme for the next year. The summer sessions had worked; more people wanted to take part. He was patient, organised, able to make a nervous newcomer useful without making them feel inspected. It would be unpaid, with expenses covered, two regular evenings and a Saturday most weeks, plus the calls and rearrangements any programme of adults inevitably required.

“Think before you answer,” she said, handing him the folder across the centre’s office desk. “I need someone who wants the job, not someone who enjoys being asked.”

He smiled. “I do want it.”

“Then think about what it actually is.”

She had already marked the less attractive portions: records, last-minute cover, several weeks when her own hours would be reduced. He appreciated her…