Chapter Twenty-One - Taking Stock

Tuesday 21st November

Paula Walker finished counting the tokens from lunchtime service at the Community Café but left her volunteer helpers to finish clearing up.  She had a Council meeting to attend a little later that afternoon, at which she planned to speak about the impact of so-called Welfare Reform on the town.  Her token tally was one indication that things were getting worse but she felt she needed extra evidence.  She went through to the storeroom at the back.

'Are you busy, Father?'

He clearly was, but said otherwise, putting down his battered clipboard and chewed biro.

'I could do with some hard evidence to hit the Council with today, on how our town has been affected by the benefit cuts,' she said.  'I couldn't persuade them to formally write to the Chancellor ahead of the Budget, supporting calls to make Universal Credit less harsh, even though plenty of other councils have done.  The Leader said they didn't have any evidence that reform was needed and that the case studies the guys at the Project gave me were only anecdotal.'

Father Cornelius gave an unusually cynical laugh. 

'I'd be more than happy to show any of your doubting councillors the state of our stockroom.  Look at the empty shelf-space, will you?  With Christmas little more than a month away and a cold snap forecast, there's every chance we could run out of supplies.'

'Really?'  Paula was shocked.  She had not realised things were that bad.

'We're usually blessed with a rise in donations around this time, as people start to think of others less fortunate than themselves,' Father Cornelius reminded her.  'So we may pull through.  I've started to notice a little pick-up, including the funds kindly raised by your dear lad and his fellow crooners but, for all that, it doesn't seem to be going as well as last year.'

'We still have collections to do at three of the big supermarkets,' Paula reminded him.

'That's true, although I'm not sure we're going to do desperately well there either.  The one this weekend was a little disappointing.'

'Dad-in-law said there didn't seem to be much going in the trolley while he was looking after it,' said Paula.  'What do you think's going on?  Is it compassion fatigue, perhaps?  We had a surge in support after Daniel Blake but I suppose if you have to keep asking, there's a risk people will get fed up.'

'It may be that,' said the priest.  'I'm inclined to be charitable to our fellow citizens and say not.  More likely, folks are struggling to afford what they need for themselves, with prices rising as they are.  It's not easy to put something aside for someone less fortunate when your own family is feeling the pinch.'

‘True enough…’

Father Cornelius agreed that Paula could photograph his bare shelves.

‘Is it all due to Universal Credit?’ she asked him.

The priest thought for a moment.   ‘It surely hasn’t helped,’ he said.  ‘I doubt if it’s the whole story, however.  The families we see here, they’ve been caught by other changes too.  If you think about Nicky Long and her kids, for instance…’

Paula knew the Longs.  They lived in her ward.  Nicky was a lone parent with five children, all by different dads, exactly the kind of character often singled out for demonization in the press but guilty only of being an eternal optimist, if not a very bright one, certain that each of the guys was going to be her man for life, if only they could make a nice little family together.  The latest boyfriend had worked, as had most of his predecessors; when he left, leaving Nicky holding the baby she dreamed would keep them together, she had come in for help to set up her new claim.  It had been for Income Support, however, not UC.  There was no six-week wait, no waiting days, no digital-by-default system for her to grapple with.  There was almost no Housing Benefit either; the Benefit Cap slashed her entitlement to help with the rent to just fifty pence a week.  

Paula had lobbied for a discretionary housing payment or ‘DHP’ from the Council to help bridge the gap and got half of Nicky’s rent covered - for six months.  That was all.  After that, they said Nicky needed to do more to help herself, ignoring the reality; she couldn’t afford to take a job because she couldn’t afford childcare.  The help available for minding the children through Tax Credits didn’t even come close to covering the real expense she would face.  When Paula pointed this out to the Housing Benefit Manager, she was treated to a series of platitudes about the dignity of work.  Coming from a well-paid senior local government officer, the observations sounded even more trite than usual, although Paula reminded herself, before biting back, that perhaps this arrogance was rooted in insecurity.  Universal Credit would ultimately sweep away Housing Benefit and this woman’s job with it.

Meanwhile, Nicky Long had found herself part of a working household again, having taken up with a delivery driver.  His wages waxed and waned but at least she – or rather, her landlord - got most of her Housing Benefit back.  She still dropped in for the occasional food parcel; a couple of the more self-righteous volunteers took a dim view, but the old priest’s charity never failed.

‘Do you think we should take a leaf out of the Trussell Trust’s book and say three visits per crisis or something similar?’ asked Paula. 

‘I’d be reluctant to do that, as you well know,’ Father Cornelius replied.  'If the Government doesn't see fit to limit a family's troubles to nine days, but makes them wait six weeks for their entitlement and imposes three-year sanctions, how can we set a clock on our response?  Things aren't inclined to miraculously sort themselves out after a week or so - indeed, wouldn't you say a family with a chronic crisis need us more than someone waiting for a payment they know will come soon?' 

There had been a somewhat tetchy discussion about a possible rationing system when the stockroom hit a low point during the summer.  The priest had fought his corner tenaciously but the arguments against him had also been persuasive.   Paula knew there were professionals who routinely used foodbank referrals as a quick fix, rather than haggling for their clients' rights with the DWP or Council.

'If I tell the Full Council we're short of supplies, they might even step in with some funding,' Paula suggested.  'They're starting to plan out the budget for next year.'

'If I thought they would divert money to us that would otherwise be spent frivolously, I would say amen to that!' Father Cornelius answered.  'The trouble is, what can you cut without potentially increasing the need for our work?  If it's the social services, more families will find themselves in crisis.  If it's services for addicts and the homeless, we will have more callers at the café.  If they cut staff, that's fewer fairly-paid, secure jobs for our townspeople.'  He sighed.  'They must see to their duties, although if any of the councillors or senior officers wish to put their hands in their own pockets, or put in a shift when we open the night shelter, I would welcome that.'

'I'll tell them.'

Paula left the stockroom feeling low and anxious.  They couldn't run on empty.  There was a case for asking the Council for support.  The priest had made a telling point; if she did that and won the argument, they would simply be taking funds from statutory services and, very probably, create a greater demand for their own.

Back in the café, there seemed to be a minor crisis developing.  Barbara, a foodbank volunteer who Paula found rather judgmental, was standing by the front door.  She was arguing with a young man who seemed to want to come in, despite it being closing time.

'The foodbank... is closed... for today.'  Barbara spoke loudly and slowly.  'You... will have to... come again... tomorrow morning.'

'I have food!' the man called, in a pronounced Eastern European accent .

'Not today.   You have food tomorrow.'

'No.  I have food.'

'We're closed.'

Paula thought she recognised their would-be visitor.  She went to assist.

'He doesn't want to take "no" for an answer,' Barbara grumbled.  'He’ll cause a scene outside at this rate.  I'm sure he can understand me.'

'I'm sure he can, but perhaps you can't understand him,' Paula said impatiently.  'It's Pawel, the boss from the Polish supermarket.'  He was an intermittent, if often generous, donor.  Paula opened the door.  'Alright, mate?'

'I have food for Father, but am parked on lines,' he said, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at his van, parked a little further down the street.  'We unload before I get ticket?'

‘We sure do!’  Paula said.  ‘Nip back to your van and watch for wardens – I’ll round up a posse.’

She rallied Martin and Deepak from the advice office, where both were working a little late, and tipped off Father Cornelius that they had incoming.  There was a surprising amount to unload, both fresh produce for the café and tins, jars and packet foods for the stores.  

Father Cornelius was delighted.  'Our guests will have the opportunity to sample some international cuisine over the festive season,' he chuckled, eying a crate of Polish pickles and preserves.

'I don't know what they'll make of these,' Barbara answered, scowling at the box of shrink-wrapped smoked meats and sausages.  'It's not my cup of tea.  Still, beggars can't be choosers, can they.'

'Indeed we can't,' replied the priest pointedly.

Paula had to leave the unloading to Barbara, Father Cornelius and Martin from the Advice Project, and dash off to her meeting.   The new council offices were a drive away.  Paula had to dodge through slow-moving gaggles of shoppers to get to the car park, mostly older people either admiring the Christmas displays now gracing the windows or complaining that it started earlier every year.  The lights, the same bulbs and sparkles as used for the last five years, were due to be switched on by the mayor and a minor celebrity at the weekend.  At the moment, they were still dark.  It didn't seem much like Christmas.

If you had made a claim for Universal Credit at the start of this story - congratulations, you're half way to your first payment date!

Chapter Twenty - Birthday Presents

Monday 20^th November

'I suppose, if we're going down to the cottage this afternoon, I had better let you get up and make us brunch,' Hilary Carrington teased.  ‘Maybe not quite yet, though…’

‘Jezebel!’ sighed Tom.  

‘You’re the one who said you were more comfortable on your back, due to your poor old knees,’ Hilary reminded him.  ‘I’m just being considerate!’

She laughed and leaned forward to kiss her husband.  

'What is the time now, my love?' Tom asked, a little while later.

Hilary glanced at her alarm clock.

'Goodness me!  It's eleven forty-five!'  She giggled.  'They do warn you that everything takes a little longer to do as you get older, don't they, darling?'

'They do.'  He grinned.  'I never thought that would be a benefit of aging, though!'

It was Hilary's birthday, her fifty-eighth, and it had begun much as her previous seven birthdays had done; really rather naughtily.

After Tom had dressed and gone down to the kitchen, she swept her cosy dressing down around her shoulders, climbed out of bed and peeped out of the window.  Golden autumn sunlight flooded the back garden of Andromeda House, picking out the bright colours of the cotoneaster berries and shimmering birch leaves, the jewel tones of the rainbow chard in the vegetable garden and blousy blooms of her hydrangeas.  It looked quite lovely, even in its faded foliage.  Not for the first time, she felt a pang of regret at the momentous decision she and Tom had made that spring.  It lingered as she drifted around the bedroom, choosing her clothes for the day and making the bed, remembering how he had decorated this room for her, ready for the start of their married life.

She trotted down the graceful staircase and into the kitchen, hearing Tom whistling to himself as their belated breakfast sizzled on the stove.

'I was going to bring it up to you, my love,' Tom said.  

Hilary noticed a tray, neatly set with a clean, white cloth and the last of the summer's roses in a bud vase.

'You are a dreadful old romantic!'  She slipped her arms around his waist.  'I'm very lucky, aren't I?'

'I'm glad you realise it, my lass,' Tom laughed.  He neglected his cooking for a few seconds to kiss her.  ‘In all honesty, though, aren’t I the luckier one?  All I’ve had to do so far this morning is lie back and think of Yorkshire!’ 

'I'm serious,' said Hilary.  'Meeting Catherine and thinking what a struggle it must be for her, bringing her daughters up on her own, has made me appreciate how few responsibilities I actually have.'

‘But no-one could accuse you of neglecting those you do – or those you chose to take on.  Thanks to you, your Jessica has a start in life few other young women can hope for, if she uses it wisely, and as for your generosity to my tribe…’

‘They’re my tribe too, thanks to you!’

Tom’s daughter Ruth was now the mother of two children who she and husband Alec had named Freya and Odin, a striking break from the Appleby tradition of respectable biblical names for their offspring.  Younger son Daniel and Sally Archer had married in the spring; elder son Joseph and his Danish partner Kirsten looked to have settled down too, opting to stay on her side of the North Sea following the Brexit vote. 

Hilary was fond of them all but, if shy, thoughtful Daniel was her favourite, Tom seemed to forgive her for it.

'I know what you mean about Catherine,’ he said.  ‘It must have been a terrible loss.  You have to admire how she's battling on, considering it wasn’t so long ago.  We've been pretty lucky at the Project, haven’t we, getting young Ashley on board and landing Catherine as a volunteer too?  Though I expect she'll be off to pastures new, soon enough.'

'You know Martin's thinking about cutting his hours?'

'He mentioned it to me last week.  I think he was sounding me out, to see if I could step in.’  Tom attended to his pans for a moment.

‘Do you think you might?’

‘I ought to give it some serious thought.  The painting and decorating side of things isn't getting any easier and Driving out Demons is doing no more to set academia alight than Vessels of Damnation.'  He looked over his shoulder at Hilary.  'Were you thinking Catherine could use those hours?'

'I'm sure she could,’ Hilary answered.  ‘But you are right about the decorating, darling.  You will have to stop soon.  It’s kind of the Co-op to keep you on but you keep telling me you’re worried you slow the others down.  If you took on Martin's couple of days, perhaps Catherine could have some of my time?'

'You are going to cut down?'

'To three days, I think.  I'm not sure fewer would allow me to stay properly up-to-date and cover enough appointments to be useful.'

'That's what Martin was thinking.  He didn’t think he could make two work.  It'll still leave him and Parveen looking for one day's childcare for the little one.  He didn't think they could balance the books if one of them stopped completely and didn’t want the children looked after by other folks as much as they’d have to be if they both went back full time.'

'I couldn't see Parveen as a stay-at-home mum.  She’s too committed to her work for that, much as she adores the girls.'

'I think the idea may have been for Mart to try his hand at being a stay-at-home dad, only with mortgage rates on the twitch...'

'It's a worrying time for the youngsters, isn't it?'  Hilary sighed.  'I do wish there was more we could do to help them.'

'That was rather the point of moving, wasn't it?  You have helped them, more than they probably appreciate.'

'It was supposed to allow us to slow down too.  I didn't mean to go back to full time, but when Toby asked so he could spend more time learning with Danika...'

'It was the right thing for everyone, back then,’ Tom reassured her.  ‘We won't have any full-timers, if you two both cut down, though.  I wonder what the Management Committee will make of that?  They’ve never quite taken to the co-operative model, you know.  I’ve an idea they tend to think of you as the manager!’

Hilary laughed at that. 

'We're lucky to have any paid staff at all and they know it.  Of course, our volunteers are all very lovely too!'  She sidled up behind him and squeezed his bottom.

'You're only after me for my sautéed mushrooms, Ms Carrington...'

Hilary enjoyed her sautéed mushrooms and the rest of her brunch, chatting with Tom about their plans for the little garden at the cottage and revising - again - her colour-scheme for the interior.  They had needed much less than half of the profits from the sale of Andromeda House to buy it and, even after honouring Hilary’s niece’s claim to half of the property, there had been enough left for a sensible nest egg and gifts to Tom’s children.

'We're so fortunate that Jessica can help us find homes for some of Mother's furniture,' Hilary continued, picturing several chunky items of Victoriana that would overwhelm their new home if not rehoused elsewhere.  'She doesn't think they're terribly valuable, but if she has a customer who finds them to their taste, it would be nice to spare them from the tip.  Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing how our little love nest is coming on – let’s get along now!’

Hilary had started referring to her prospective new home as ‘the cottage’ soon after she and Tom had decided it was the one.  Strictly speaking, it was a two-bedroom, Victorian, end-of-terrace house but with leaded windows and enough charming, if delipidated, original features that her description didn’t seem pretentious.  It would be a foolhardy friend who referred to it as Hilary’s ‘retirement home’, although they had ensured it was adaptation-friendly, should the need ever arise.  Not quite pretty enough, nor close enough to the historic city centre to be listed, they had been allowed to put photovoltaic panels on the rear of the roof and commission a few changes to the internal lay-out, all of which were now complete, along with the central heating and rewiring, and much making good of plaster.  All that remained was the decoration of a couple of key rooms and, had Hilary not vacillated between pure brilliant white and something softer for the living room, and been similarly reluctant to commit to a pastel shade for their bedroom, that too would have been done.  In the meantime, they occupied Andromeda House as tenants.  Patrick and Henry, the proprietors in waiting, were happy with this arrangement while the unpopular months of late autumn passed, but had expressed the hope of being ‘in before Christmas’ to catch any potential New Year bookings.

Tom seemed to have a couple of last-minute chores to attend to, but they were underway before one.  Hilary drove.  She knew the route well now, no longer caught out by one-way systems and with a savvy traffic-dodging short-cut avoiding the motorway.  The sun was off the front of the house now, but the little patio outside the French windows would be sunny and sheltered, even in autumn and winter.  If the Co-op crew hadn’t drunk it all, she could make Tom and herself a mug of hot chocolate and they could sit outside and plan the lay out their new garden, deciding where it would be best to site the vegetable beds, chickens and bee hives.  She wasn’t sure if the creatures would be happy if housed too close to the railway line, which ran at the foot of the long, if narrow, plot.

Unusually, parking was a problem, even for Hilary’s little Fiat.

‘How annoying – all of the neighbours must have visitors!’

‘I expect there’s an event on at the school down the hill, my love.’

Hilary got out of the car and walked briskly along the pavement and up the front path, keys in hand.  She had almost made up her mind that pure, brilliant white might be a little harsh for the living room, when the door in front of her opened and she was almost hit in the face by what seemed to be a small tree.

‘Surprise!’  It was Sally Archer, armed with a bouquet of enormous chrysanthemums, in an array of glorious autumnal tones.

‘Happy birthday, Hilary!’ added Daniel Appleby, peering around the flowers.  ‘Dad said you would probably come up today, so we decided to help you celebrate.’

‘How very sweet of you both.’  Hilary smiled, took the flowers and kissed her stepson and, standing on tiptoe, his wife.

‘It’s not just us – it’s all the gang,’ Sally said.  ‘Look!’

Hilary stepped across the threshold to find herself surrounded by many of Tom’s construction industry colleagues.  A spectacularly tuneless rendition of Happy Birthday to You led by Sally in an indeterminate key, followed.  There were soft drinks and crispy nibbles.  There was a pale blue cake with white icing roses.  There were also step-ladders, dust sheets and a range of emulsion paints.  Hilary’s initial anxiety about her casual choice of clothing and under-stated make-up faded.  There was work to do.

‘The gloss is dry, and a plain white mist and first coat,’ Sally explained.  ‘We wanted to get the rest done for you before today, as a small token of our thanks for what you’ve done for us, but Tom said you weren’t sure which colour to choose.  If you pick one now, we can finish off this room and upstairs, then you can finally move in.’  

Somehow, seeing the house full of friends and set up for a party, even if it wasn’t quite as she liked to do such things, finally reconciled Hilary to her decision.  Dithering about colour-schemes had become, she had to admit, a stalling tactic to delay the day when she had to leave Andromeda House behind.

‘I have to say, it does look nice and bright painted white.’

‘Is that what we should use for the top coat?’

‘Yes.  Yes, it is.’  Hilary was in decisive mode.  ‘And, I think the pale lilac for the bedroom.’  She glanced at her husband.  ‘I suspect Tom may want to add a few little flourishes later!’

He smiled.  ‘It would be my pleasure, dearest Hilary.’

Johnno launched into a merciless lampooning of his mate’s soppiness, but the banter was cut short by a rattle at the door knocker.

‘More helpers?’ asked Hilary.  ‘We’ll all be getting in each other’s way, if we aren’t careful.’

However, these visitors weren’t dressed down for decorating; Vaughan and Jim’s workaday attire was for gardening.

‘Whatever have you got there?’ asked Hilary, spotting what appeared to be a long, leafless stick protruding from a large pot.

‘A little something from your old home,’ Vaughan explained.  ‘It’s a pear, a maiden whip which I managed to graft from that old tree in your garden.  I still haven’t succeeded in identifying the cultivar and, I must confess, I personally don’t think the fruit is a patch on a good Commis, but Tom said it was of more sentimental than culinary value, so here we are!’

‘You could say that!’  Hilary kissed her old friend.  ‘How awfully clever of you.’

She led the gardeners through to the kitchen and out into her back garden.  Tom put the kettle on for more tea.

‘You’ve got smashing little place here, haven’t you?’ Jim remarked.  

‘Yes, we have.’

It was true.  It really was a charming small house, the like of which most young couples in the area couldn’t dare dream of owning, and the garden, with its south-facing aspect and established borders, promised to be a little patch of paradise.  The prospect of more time to enjoy it was one to relish.  Hilary shared her plan to reduce her working hours with Vaughan as they planted the precious sapling in a sheltered spot.

‘If you and Martin, as experienced advisers at the top of our pay scale, are both planning to cut back, that will bring us very close to enough funds for a full-time, more junior post,’ he observed, brushing the soil from his hands.  ‘I would be careful not to raise Catherine’s hopes of a part-time opportunity, in case that’s what the committee prefer to do.  We may also find that Deepak would appreciate an extra day, or Ashley might fancy full-time.  I don’t know if she sought part-time for a reason or if it was simply what was available.’

Hilary sighed.  ‘I know we can’t simply share the hours out among ourselves, but Tom gave up his paid hours when money was tight; it would be really rather unfair not to let him have some back!’  Hilary had started to imagine a future where they worked together for a few days each week, and played together for the rest.  ‘I don’t know Catherine’s circumstances, but I would be surprised if some temporary paid work, even if it’s just a month or so around Christmas, wouldn’t help her immensely.  She must be claiming UC or a JSA top-up or something, to have been mandated to do that dreadful course.  I don’t like to ask, in case it seems nosy.’

‘She may have other funds, of course, or a little capital,’ Vaughan suggested.  ‘Although Toby asked me to keep some petty cash by for her bus fares, she hasn’t requested for anything.  I hope I’m not so intimidating that she doesn’t dare ask!’

Hilary laughed.  The idea that anyone would be intimidated by kindly, old Vaughan was simply too silly.  Perhaps he had a point and Catherine was more financially secure than she had assumed.  Whatever the situation, someone was going to get at least a couple of days’ work a week in the New Year.  Hilary had a new home to settle into.

‘Time for tea!’ she said.  ‘And you must help me eat up my cake, or I’ll ruin my figure!’

Chapter Nineteen - Almost at Breaking Point

Sunday 19th November

'Okay, girls!  Ready in five!'
There had always been traditions in the Collier household.  One that seemed to have established itself since it had become an all-female one was the need to summon the daughters for Sunday lunch.  Catherine had hoped that a change to the menu might have prompted some offers of help with preparing vegetables and setting the table, or at least had them ready and waiting rather than requiring constant prompting.  There was, as ever, 'homework' to compete with.  How much was real and how much a convenient cover for Snapchat, Instagram, or whatever this month's craze was, she couldn't be sure.  In Kirsten's case, she suspected most was no such thing.
Despite a series of setbacks, from her lack of success in interview to the girls' continuing unwillingness to lend a hand, Catherine was feeling brighter and more upbeat this week than she had last.  She had, it appeared, won a concession from her landlord.  On the bus, on her way home on Friday, Catherine had come up with an idea.  She had already passed the estate agency owned by Mr Stevens, her landlord, when the idea came to her, but it was not too long a walk back.
'Can I help you?' asked the receptionist, a pleasant woman Catherine thought was called Fiona.
'I wondered if Mr Stevens was in.'
'Can I say who's calling?'
Catherine waited while Fiona went to check on her boss's availability.
'He'll be with you in a moment.'
After somewhat longer than that, Mr Stevens emerged from his office.  Catherine expected to be invited into it, since he must know she had come about the letter.  Instead, he seemed determined to speak to her across the counter, in Fiona's hearing, as he asked her what he could do for her.
'I imagine it's about the termination of your tenancy,' he added.
'Of course.'  Catherine came straight to the point.  'I hoped we might be able to negotiate a later date.  My elder daughter has her GCSE's this summer and it's going to be very disruptive for her to move so close to that time.  There's every possibility I'll be in reasonably well-paid work by then, but in case not, I would be more than happy to have the DWP pay my rent direct.'
Stevens shrugged.  'I don't mean to be cruel, but after the trouble I've had with late payment, non-payments, short payments and irregular payments off every one of my tenants whose gone anywhere near this Universal Credit, I'm simply getting out of letting to claimants.  There are enough professionals looking to rent without me having to scrape the barrel - no offence - and take in DSS.  You've all had notice for the end of the financial year, except those I can get out sooner.'
'I'm only asking for three extra months, for the sake of my daughter's education.  After the summer, when she's due to start college, it might make sense to move anyway.'
That was a negotiating tactic.  Catherine herself didn't want to move house.  She was sure Kirsty would hate the idea - she had a close circle of friends living nearby.  What Alex wanted to do after her exams would largely depend on her results, which were forecast to be good but not outstanding.
'If I make an exception for you, they'll all expect it,' Stevens replied gruffly.
'Who will?  I don't even know any of your other tenants, let alone their financial circumstances.'  She forced herself to stay calm and smile at him.  'I cleared my arrears, didn't I?  As I say, there's every chance I'll be off benefits soon.  I'm looking for work, I've had interviews.'  She smiled again.  'In fact, if you needed any help here - I used to be in housing management, you know?'
Stevens seemed briefly disarmed by that revelation.  'I'll consider it,' he conceded.  'As long as you don't get behind again.'
'Thank you.;
'In fact, I'll do better than that.  If you can get ahead a whole month, and stay that way up to the deadline, I'll sign a new agreement for the whole of next year.'  He looked towards Fiona.  'You heard that, didn't you?'
She nodded.
'I just need to keep my rent account in credit?' said Catherine.
'A whole month in credit - like normal people, who aren't on benefits do.  You've paid this month, you've caught up your arrears, so you'll owe eight-hundred on the first of the month, every month, after that.  You can do a direct debit, you can pay cash but it's due on the first.  I don't care when you get paid; that's when I get paid.'
'That's fine.  Thank you.'
It was far from fine but it was, perhaps, just doable.  Her Widowed Parent's Allowance was paid four-weekly, not calendar monthly, and was next due on the twenty-seventh.  She would have two more payments of Child Benefit.  If she could keep back two hundred and fifty pounds of last week's Universal Credit, she would have enough.  They would struggle for a fortnight after that, of course, probably with just the Child Benefit for emergencies, but the next UC payment and her WPA were both due before Christmas and, in all likelihood, would be paid slightly early.  In January, she would get two payments of WPA.  She would also, she was quite determined, get a wage.
Having negotiated a deal, she would need to brace the girls for a low-budget Christmas, their second in a row.  Sunday lunch seemed as good a time as any to explain. 
'You didn't invite Ralph, then?' said Alex, as Catherine poured each of them a small glass of wine.   
'No, I didn't.'
'Good.'
'Why?'
'He's boring.'
'What did you expect?'  Catherine looked quizzically at her elder daughter.  'Conjuring tricks?  Stand-up comedy?  Juggling with flaming torches?  He is a local government officer.'
'You're not dating him?'
'No.  I invited him to dinner on Tuesday because he gave us the squashes and gave me a lift to the station, and he knew how to cook them.  They were nice, weren't they?'
'In a boring way,' said Kirsty.
'Like Ralph!'  Alex sniggered.
Catherine ignored that.  'I thought we might have more vegetarian meals in the run-up to Christmas,' she said.
'He hasn't given you more of those weird things?'
'No, he hasn't.  It's just that it's easy to over-indulge at Christmas and I thought it would do us good to have a really healthy diet beforehand.' 
'We could join a gym,' said Kirsty.
'There isn't one close enough,' Catherine said.
'We could get a car and then join a gym.'
'When I get a new job.'
Neither girl responded to that.
'I'm going to a new employment agency on Monday afternoon,' Catherine explained.  'Now I've done my course, I might get a job in a nursing home.'
'Looking after old people?' said Kirsty.  'Gross!'
'Don't be horrible!' Alex told her.  'Some of them are nice.  Nanny was.'
'I don't really remember her,' said Kirsty.  'Or Dad's parents.'
'They didn't like us,' said Alex.  'That's why we never get presents from them.'
'They do live a long way away,' said Catherine, unsure why she felt the need to defend her in-laws.
'There's like, Amazon, though...' Alex answered.
'I suppose so.'  Having failed to sell the idea of veggie December, Catherine decided to tell the girls the truth about her planned economies.  'I'm afraid there might not be much in the way of presents from me either, this year, except one big one.'
'God!  You're not pregnant, are you?' cried Alex.
'No, of course I'm not!'  Catherine laughed.
'What is it, then?' asked Alex.
'It won't be a surprise if she tells us,' said Kirsty.
'It isn't something I can surprise you with because we've all got to work together to make it happen,' said Catherine.  'We're going to save our home.'
'You're buying the house from Mr Stevens?'  Kirsty looked delighted.
'We can't buy it, girls.  That would cost too much.'
The girls looked confused.
'What do you mean about saving it?' asked Alex.  'If you aren't buying it, what are you saving it from?'
'Our lease runs out next spring,' Catherine explained.  'It happens every year but, this year, Mr Stevens said he wanted us to move out.  Not just us - all of his tenants who need help to pay their rent from the Government.  He sent me a letter during the week, telling me we would have to leave in March.  But I've been to see him and he's willing to let us stay for at least another year, if we can make sure we always pay a month in advance, starting this month.'
'Why don't we?' asked Kirsty.
'We used to; when we had Dad's wages, when we had some savings, when I had my short-term job.  But my benefits pay our rent at the end of the month it's due, not at the beginning.  He isn't happy with that.  He wants it in advance, or he won't renew our tenancy, but if we're really careful this month, I think we can catch up enough to get ahead and, if I can get a job soon, we can stay ahead.  There won't be much money for Christmas, but I thought this would be more important.'
'I don't want to have to move,' said Kirsty.
'Nor me, love.  I'm glad you understand.'  She squeezed her younger daughter's hand, and looked towards the elder.  'And with your exams coming up, Alex...'
'This isn't my fault!' the older girl shouted.
'I didn't say it was.'  Catherine was surprised at her reaction but thought she understood.  'It's just that, of all of us, you're the one who I though would welcome the security the most.'
'But why haven't you got a job?'  The girl's tone was quite accusatory now.
'I've explained this before.  Because I wasn't working for a long time before Dad's accident, although I'm well-qualified, I'm not up to date with some things housing professionals need to know now.  That's why I did that temporary job and it's why I've been volunteering.  But, because I might not get a good housing job for a while still, I'm going to this agency to see if I can get different work, so I have a wage and so we can always pay Mr Stevens on time.'
'You'll have a job next week?'  Alex's tear-stained face brightened.  'And you'll get paid?'
'Maybe not that soon but, hopefully, by Christmas.'
Alex stared at her empty plate.  'Why did you buy beef and wine if we can't afford the rent?'
'I bought them before I got Mr Stevens' letter, because they were reduced and because I thought we could all do with a change from chicken,; Catherine explained.  'And, as I've failed to win you round to vegetarianism, because there's enough for two more main meals this week.  You enjoyed it, didn't you?'
'I wouldn't have done, if I'd known the truth.'
Catherine let the drama go.  It was all part of being fifteen plus.
'You know how you can't get a job because you've been out of work?' asked Kirsty.  'Why didn't you working when we were younger, so you could get another job easier now?  All my friends' mums work.'
'Your father...we... thought it would be nicer for you to have a mum at home, when you came home from school and during the holidays.'
'F'kin alright for some...'
'What was that. Alex?'
'I said, it's alright for some, at home all day with nothing to do.  If you won't get a job, I will!'
She scraped her chair back, stood up and ran up the stairs. 
'Alex!'
Catherine followed her daughter to the foot of the stairs.  She heard her bedroom door bang shut.  She came back to the table where Kirsty was sitting in sullen silence.
'As soon as I'm working, we'll have brilliant Christmases together,' Catherine promised.
'I miss daddy.'
'I know.'  Catherine started collecting up the plates.
'I don't want you to go out with someone else.'
'I'm not going to, love.  Not for a long time, anyway.'
'Not ever.'
'Not ever is a very long time away to make promises about.'  Catherine sat down opposite Kirsty.  'Is that what's upset Alex?  Does she think I'm going to get together with Ralph or someone, just so we have some money coming in?  Because I'm not.'
Kirsty shook her head.
'Is it something else?  Something at school.'
'She'll kill me if I say.'
'She's got a boyfriend, hasn't she?  Have they argued, because she can't go on the skiing trip?'
Kirsty seemed on the verge of spilling the beans. 
'Can I have a new tablet for Christmas?' she asked, slyly.
'I don't expect so, sweetheart.  Even if I get a new job, I won't get paid straight away...'
'I need one.'
'The one you've got is less than a year old.'
'Alex keeps borrowing it.'
'Why?  She's got one of her own.'  Catherine stood up again.  Gathering up the plates, she turned towards the door.  She was used to Kirsty's silly games, the way she tried to get his sister into trouble.
'No she hasn't.  She sold it.  She sold it to get the ski trip money.'
'She did what?'
'When you wouldn't give her the deposit money, she got Leo Finn to sell it for her.'
'Who the hell is Leo Finn?'
'A boy.  He got her the deposit money, so she's paid for the trip and she's got to go.  So if she's going on a skiing trip, It's only fair for me to have a new tablet, then I don't mind her keeping my old one.'
'Great God Almighty!'  Catherine dropped the plates onto the kitchen worktop and strode back into the hall.  'Alex!  Alexandra!  Come down here!  Right now!'
There was no reply.
'Alex!'
Catherine went upstairs, trying to keep her anger under control.  If she had been Alex, if she had been looking forward to this trip with her friends, if someone had offered what looked like a way to help her, if she had believed everything would turn out fine because her mother would get a job,,,
'Alex?' 
She tapped gently on her daughter's door.
'Go away!'
'I'm not going to do that.  We need to talk.'
'There's nothing to talk about!'
Catherine waited.  She saw Kirsty skulking at the foot of the stairs, obviously listening.
'Clean the plates off and load the dishwasher!' she ordered.
Kirsty vanished.  Alex's door opened.
'I'm sorry, mum!'

Catherine drew her sobbing daughter into a hug and closed the door behind them.

Chapter Eighteen - The Boys' Night Out

Saturday 18th November

Terry had lived next door to his mate Stu for forty years.  They had been best mates for about thirty-nine and three-quarters of those, give or take a few weeks immediately after the Walkers moved in and a couple of fall-outs while Terry was fighting his benefit appeals.  Their friendship was refuelled with a weekly drink together, at least when health, time and money permitted.  When the Works' club had closed, the venue of choice became the Lord Nelson pub near the railway station, named for the locomotive not the admiral.  Like the pub itself, Terry and Stu had been through good times and bad.  Unlike their local, Terry joked, they had kept the same management over the years.  It was just as well their bosses didn't mind them having the odd night out.

'I'm surprised you didn't want to take your Linda somewhere to celebrate tonight, Stu,' Terry said.  'It must be a relief for both of you.'

'You know what she's like, mate.  Can't miss Strictly, can she?'  He took a long gulp of beer.  'Anyway, her brother and sister-in-law are coming round later.  I can't stand them.'

Terry knew that.  Stu's brother-in-law had caused no end of trouble for him by convincing him to invest in a double-glazing business that had gone pear-shaped.  It had taken Stu a long time to get back on his feet afterwards.  He had never forgiven Barry for talking him into jumping before he was pushed and costing him a proper redundancy pay-out when the Works had closed.

'Fancy inviting them round when you were expecting to find out about...'  Even though his mate had got the all-clear, Terry still didn't like to use the word cancer. It was almost as if he was afraid of jinxing him.  'You're definitely alright, though?'

'Well, I haven't got cancer,' Stu said bluntly.  

'That's good, isn't it?' Terry checked.  'That's what you've been worrying about.'

'I'm still not right, mate.  I've got emphysema.  That's bad too.'

'That's what I've got,' said Terry.  'It's not great.  It helps if you give the fags up.'

'I haven't smoked for years,' said Stu.  'Well, not properly.  Not since they banned it in pubs.  Remember what this place used to be like?'

'You could hardly see across the room,' Terry recalled.  'Do you remember when I whistled at what I thought was a girl with long blond hair, and it turned out to be a young bloke?'

'Do I?  You were lucky not to get your nose broken,' Stu laughed.  'That must have been soon after we started coming here.  Of course these days, you're in trouble even if it is a bird you're whistling at.  Modern women don't know how to take compliments, do they?  I bet if I whistled at that good-looking girl over there, she'd report me to the police.'

Terry followed his friend's line of sight.

'If she didn't, I would.  That's our Shells, my granddaughter!'

'No way!'  Stu was mortified.  'I didn't recognise her, mate.  I though she was twenty-odd, made up like that.  What's she doing in here, and dressed like that?  I bet her mother doesn't know.'

'I reckon she does.  She's sitting next to her.'

'I thought that was her sister!'  Stu squinted past the partition into the lounge bar.  'What's going on through there?'

'I forgot,' Terry said.  'Our Shane's band are on tonight.'

'Band?'  Stu swore.  'I remember when this used to be a proper old-fashioned boozer, where you could have a quiet pint,..'

'If no-one glassed you or the police didn't turn up to bust the druggies in the bogs.'

'You can mock, Terry, but I've said it before.  If she's not careful, that Marie's going to ruin...'

'Ruin what, Stu?'

A mountainous figure blotted out the light from the stained glass light fitting as it leaned over to pick up Stu's empty glass.

'Ruin all the competing pubs for miles around, Wayne!' said Stu, immediately recognising the owner's husband.  'Terry says she's got a band in tonight.  She spoils us, doesn't she?'

'It's a benefit gig,' Wayne Reynold's explained.  'Didn't Terry tell you?'

'I forgot.'

'Forgot!'  The big man shook his head disapprovingly and took their empties away.

'What's it for?' asked Stu.

'Our place,' said Terry.  'Where Lyn and I do our volunteering.  They want to open up at night, so the homeless have somewhere to crash out.  They need money for extra electric, hot drinks, blankets and breakfasts, and extra insurance.'

'I wouldn't have thought old Wayne was a bleeding heart about stuff like that.'

'You'd be surprised, mate.  He gave us a load of blankets last year, after Big Sally's gang came in with some camping mattresses.'

'Aren't her lot doing something across the road from the café?'

'Yeah. They're doing up the old shops and getting the flats above fit to let out.'  Terry said.  'Lyn says the Housing Association need some small homes for single people and couples.  It's that Bedroom Tax thing.'

Stu grunted.  'We had a dose of that when I was out of work,' he said.  'I thought we were going to get chucked out at one point.'  He looked through to the lounge again.  'I might chuck a few quid in, if they aren't shit.  What do they play?'

'Drums and a couple of guitars, I think.'

'No, mate.  What sort of music?  Rock 'n' roll?  Country?  Blues?'

'They're a rock band,' said Terry.  

'Noisy?'

'Pretty noisy.  And political.'

'The regulars won't like that, will they?'

'Some of them will,' said Terry.  'Looks who's here.'

A very tall, sturdy woman with long red hair had just come in, and was soon joined at the bar by a dark haired young man.

'Is that her husband?' asked Stu.  'He only looks like a nipper.'

'He is only a nipper.  He's twenty-five.'

'He doesn't look that.  Makes you wonder what a big, self-sufficient girl like Sally sees in him.  You'd have expected her to do better, even though she's not all that pretty.'

'You watch what you say about that young lady, Stu.  I owe her my liberty!'  

That might have been a slight exaggeration by Terry, although Sally Archer's part in Terry's first appeal victory had been crucial.

'Don't run her other half down either,' he added.  'He's a clever bloke.  That weird house he designed for old Wayne was going to be on one of those TV programmes. Amazing Designs or whatever they call it '

'When?' asked Stu.  'I wouldn't mind seeing that.'

'I said was, mate.  I don't know exactly what happened but, according Tom, Sally's father-in-law, there was some kind of row and old Wayne did a Jeremy Clarkson on the producer.  That was the end of that, wasn't it?  Big Sally wasn't happy, as you can imagine, because young Daniel could really have done with some good publicity, what with him trying to set up as an architect.  Old Wayne's doing his best to make it up to him and hires him to do the plans for some of his buildings, but it's not like being on telly, is it?'

‘I suppose not, mate,’ said Stu.  ‘Still, having a bloke like Wayne Reynolds owing you a favour could come in handy, couldn't it?’

Stu missed whatever Terry said in reply due to an ear-splitting squeal of feedback from the other bar.

'If they keep that up, I'm off down the Engineers Arms,' he said.

Terry didn't comment.  The band started sound checking, rattling the drum kit and twanging out a few chords from their guitars.

'I don't reckon this is going to be my cup of tea,' Stu decided.  'The beer's cheaper at the Engineers and...'  He stopped.  'They might be okay, though.'

Terry wondered what had prompted the abrupt change of heart, until he saw that the latest arrivals for the gig were Tom Appleby and his wife, Hilary Carrington, done up for a night out and showing a tidy bit of cleavage.  Old Stu had always fancied Hilary.  

'We ought to go through, or the good seats will all have gone,' said Stuart,  He picked up his pint.

Terry decided to wind him up.  'It'll be too loud through there.  We can hear them from out here and still talk.'

'Your grandson won't be very impressed if he doesn't see you in there supporting him.'  Stu stood up.  'Come on, mate!'

Terry stayed where he was.  'He's got all his mates in there listening, and probably girls who fancy him.  He doesn't want an old fart like me cramping his style.'

'His mum's watching.  That's not cool either.'

'You're not bothered about the music, Stu.  I know you.  You just want to get an eyeful of old Hilary's...'  Terry checked himself as a familiar figure came past.  'Tom!  Hello mate!  We were just coming through to see the band.  This my neighbour, Stu Grant.'

'We've met.'  

Terry thought the Yorkshireman looked a good deal less friendly than usual.

'That's right, you have.'  In this very pub, when Stu had been hitting on Hilary, if he remembered correctly.  'Can I get you a drink?  And would Hilary like anything?  She's looking lovely, as always.

'Spending your back-pay then. Terry?' asked Tom.

Terry didn't know what he meant.

'Hilary saw something in the paper about people who swapped from Incapacity Benefit to ESA being underpaid, for years,' Tom said.  'It's not clear exactly what the problem was.  We'll have to see if affects you at all, won't we?'

'In that case, mate, the drinks are definitely on me!'

'I couldn't possibly let you, Terry.'  Tom said.  'Apart from anything else, Hilary's asked for something a little stronger than usual.'

'Not baby news from the newlyweds, is it?' Terry asked. seeing Sally and Daniel talking to Hilary.

'Nothing quite so momentous, though I wouldn't be too surprised if we had that to contend with before too long.  We've got a moving date.  The work's all finished on the cottage and we can move in whenever it suits us.  We might aim for this side of Christmas.  Quite where we're going to put everything we don't want to leave behind, I'm not sure, but there is a garage.'

'What's happening to your old place?'  Terry seemed to remember Lyn telling him that Hilary had a fancy house out towards Winchester.  'I suppose they're knocking it down to build a load more.'

'Nothing of the sort,' Tom insisted.  'Vaughan got the local Victorian Society interested and listed it some while ago.  It's being taken on as a going concern by a couple of lads in the hotel and catering business.  It was starting to get a bit much for us, so we thought we'd quit while we were on top.  It'll allow Hilary to go properly part-time next year, if she wants to.'

'Not thinking of retiring, is she?'

'I wouldn't use the R-word near her, if I were you,' Tom warned.  'She's a WASPI woman.'

'She's certainly dished out some stinging comments to me in the past!' Terry joked.

'That's as in Women Against State Pension Inequality,' Tom explained.  'It's a campaign.'

'How's that?' asked Stu.  'Isn't all this business with the retirement age going up down to women going on about equality, and the bloody EU interfering too?  They've brought it on themselves, if you ask me.'

'They could have put our retirement age down, mate,' Terry reminded him.

'Whereas poor Hilary's has gone up, then up again,' Tom explained.  'We can't complain, financially, but other women, whose pension arrangements were geared up for retirement at sixty or soon after, are having to work on for five or six extra years, if they're in a job where they can do that, or finish before their state pension is available.'

'I wonder if your Linda's affected by this?' said Terry.  'Old Lyn's been on at me about it.  I thought she'd be getting her pension at sixty, but apparently not.'

'Linda's is due next spring, I think.'  Stuart frowned.  'I told you, bloody EU bureaucrats...!'

Whatever he was going to add was lost in a thrashing of guitars and the thunder of drums.  The band were ready to go.

Terry followed Stu towards the lounge bar area.  While they had been talking with Tom, more people had arrived, including Terry's elder son, Darren, and younger son Mike and his family.  Darren was still dressed for work and must have picked up Lyn on his way there, as she was sitting beside Hilary with a big grin on her face, cheering her grandson as Marie announced The Chancellor's Men.

'Budget day next week,' said Stu, on hearing the name.  

'Yeah,' said Terry.  

'We'll have to go round the Engineers after that,' said Stu.  'They always put the price of beer up, don't they?'

'Beer and petrol, mate.'

Paula and the old priest had been talking about a load of other things that might be in it this year, but Terry couldn't remember what they were.  He couldn't hear himself think for loud, strident music.  

'Let's give the Engineers a try now,' he said.