Chapter Seven – Personal Independence

Tuesday 7^th November

Lyn Walker waited for Terry to close his door, get the crutches from the boot and walk round to her side of the car, before she opened her door and swung her legs round, carefully placing her feet on the road where she could see it was level.

‘Ready when you are, Lyn love.’ 

Terry steadied the crutches as she levered herself up.  She almost overbalanced and fell back into the seat with a gasp.

‘Are you sure you’re okay to come in today?’ her husband asked.

‘I’ll be better here than moping about indoors.  Anyway, I’ve got appointments to do.’

‘Hilary said Vaughan had offered to come in, if you couldn’t.’

‘But I can.’  She eased herself up again.

Terry held her arm as she stepped up onto the pavement.  When he was sure she was steady, he reached behind her to close the door.

‘I need my bag out, luvvie.’

Terry opened the door again and reached for his wife’s handbag on the back seat.  He retrieved it and closed the door again, carrying it awkwardly in his left hand as he crossed the pavement and opened the café door for his wife.  Inside, Paula was dishing up breakfasts.  Most of her customers, men and a couple of women wearing high vis jackets, looked to be Sally’s builders.

‘Why are you lot skiving in here?  Haven’t you got work to do?’ Terry called over.

‘We’re waiting for the okay to go back on site,’ one of the lads explained.  ‘The boss reckons she’s spotted asbestos in the boiler room at the back, so we’re waiting for the specialist team to check it out.’

‘Our old place was riddled with the stuff,’ Terry muttered to Lyn, as he helped her down the corridor to the advice area offices.  ‘It never stopped us doing a day’s hard graft.  Young Sally’s too soft with that lot.’

‘You won’t say that if old Stu’s cough turns out to be something nasty.’

‘It’s a touch of bronchitis, that’s all.’

‘They wouldn’t be sending him for chest X-rays and scans if that’s all it was.  I often wonder what messed your lungs up.’

‘That was normal dust.  There was loads of it about, at least in the early days, from filing the sharp edges off after we cut the panels out.’

‘Metal swarf!  Hardly normal dust, Terry.  It’s a pity someone like Sally wasn’t running the old works back then.  You’d probably still be fit as a fiddle.’

Terry didn’t answer her.  He pushed open the door to the general office for Lyn.

‘Morning all!’ he called in.  ‘Wotcha Toby, Hilary…  And you must be the new lady!’  He had caught sight of an unfamiliar figure sitting quietly by the bookshelf, perusing a CPAG Welfare Benefits Handbook.  ‘Nothing like a little bit of light reading to start you off!’

‘Terry!’  Lyn shushed him.

‘Sorry, sweetheart, I mean the new woman.  Mustn’t be an old chauvinist, must I?  My missus will give me hell about that when we get home!’

‘Give me strength!’ sighed Hilary, looking down at whatever was on her desk.

‘This is Catherine,’ Toby said, as the woman rose from her seat and came over to shake their hands.  ‘Catherine, this is Lyn, one of our volunteer workers, and her husband Terry, who Father Cornelius keeps out of trouble while she’s busy with us.’

‘How do you do?’ the stranger said.

‘Not too bad today, thank you,' Lyn replied.  'Nice to meet you, luvvie.’

Terry shook hands awkwardly, still holding Lyn's handbag in his left hand, before putting the bag down on a desk and excusing himself back to the café.

‘He’ll probably try to get himself another breakfast,’ Lyn confided in the other woman.  ‘Paula will say no, though.  He’s not allowed to put weight on.  It’s bad for his heart.’

'She knows what he's allowed, does she?'

'Oh yes, luvvie.  She's our daughter-in-law.'  Lyn gave a little laugh.  'It's getting like a family business around here!'  She settled into her usual chair.  When she dropped one of her crutches, Catherine quickly stooped to pick it up for her.

‘Thanks, luvvie!’

Lyn chatted to her new colleague for a few minutes, finding out where she lived and that she had two girls.  She didn't mention a husband or partner, so Lyn didn't ask.  You never knew where questions like that could lead, especially in this line of work.  Lyn might have had good cause to grumble about Terry over the years but, if she hadn't realised it already, there were plenty worse out there than him.

Lyn thought Catherine seemed nice, if rather shy and old-fashioned.  She wore her hair short, in a very simple cut, wore very little make-up and, although her clothes were nice quality, Lyn thought they were rather old for her, as she only looked to be in her early forties.

‘Are you sure about doing appointments today, Lyn?’ asked Hilary.  ‘Vaughan’s emailed to say he’s still free, if you’d rather not.’

'I'll be alright, luvvie.'  She looked up the clock to check the time.  'The boys are late in today.'

'Martin and Deepak are both representing this morning.'

'Both of them?'

That was unusual.  As a rule, if two clients had cases on the same morning or afternoon, one worker would take care of both, unless there was a very special reason not to.

'They both have cases listed for ten o'clock and their both PIP appeals.  It's not uncommon to have an ESA hearing clash with a PIP one but they must be hard-pressed if they have both courts dealing with PIP.'

'It's all wrong, luvvie,' Lyn explained to Catherine.  'We go out of our way to make sure our clients' claims go in with all the relevant information nice and clear and they just seem to ignore it.  It makes you wonder why we bother!'

'At least because we bother, the tribunal has a good picture in front of them before the hearing starts,' Hilary replied.  'Thanks to you, Lyn, a lot of the time.'

'It's the least I can do, after all you've done for us.'  Lyn smiled at Hilary, then turned to Catherine.  'Are you going to help us with PIP claims?'

'I'm not sure.'  She glanced towards Toby.  'I think the idea, at least to start with, is for me to help Toby in the IT suite.'

'It certainly is,' said Toby.  'In fact, it's about time to fire up the machines, so if you'd like to follow me...'

'Do you need a hand to get to your room, Lyn?' asked Hilary, before Toby was through the door.  'Your Disability Rights book, scrap paper and pens are all set up.  Toby saw to that first thing.'

'I think I'll manage, thanks,' Lyn answered stoically.  'Who's doing reception?'

'Tom will be, when he's finished the breakfast shift.  I'm seeing any drop-ins.''

'Is his poorly knee better?'

'They're both poorly, Lyn, and they're not better, although the specialist thinks they could be, and without surgery at that.  They're going to try to improve his posture with some inserts in his shoes.'

'I've never noticed anything wrong with his posture, luvvie.'  Lyn didn't think she ought to add that there didn't look to be much wrong with the lovely Dr Appleby in any respect, but she thought that would be a bit cheeky. 

She had been settled in her interview room for several minutes when there was a gentle tap at the door and Tom looked in.

'Mrs Hussain is here,' he said.  'Shall I show her in?'

'Yes please, luvvie.'

Lyn had been expecting a man from the name on the drop-in notes.  She wondered if Mohammed Hussain had dropped in the week before to make an appointment for his wife and that hadn't been clear due to a heavy accent or language problems.  The person Tom brought in to the interview room was definitely a woman and, contrary to Lyn's expectations, she was nicely dressed in western-style clothes and spoke perfect English.  The PIP papers she had brought with her were for her eldest son.

'He is in school all week, so cannot make an appointment here,' she explained, when Lyn asked whether the boy, who was almost sixteen, couldn’t attend himself.  ‘Anyway, because he’s deaf, it’s easier for me to do these things for him.  We’ve made a start, but I wanted to check what we’ve done because it looks like a lot of it doesn’t apply to him.’

Lyn was relieved to see that Mrs Hussain’s handwriting was neat and legible.  PIP forms could be hard work at the best of times and sometimes claimants didn’t help themselves; Lyn didn’t know what she found more frustrating – people who hadn’t even opened their claim pack or those who had scrawled all over theirs in an indecipherable code.

Mrs Hussain had completed the details of her son’s doctor, nurse and hospital specialist, then worked systematically through the pages that followed, answering questions about how he coped with the activities this benefit cared about.

‘It seems very different from DLA,’ she said, sounding slightly bewildered.  ‘I downloaded the details of how the points system works.  An awful lot of it doesn’t seem to be relevant, unless we should get two points for everything he does wearing his hearing aids.  I’ve put down that he has them on when he’s cooking.  Even with them, he won’t hear anything too much quieter than a whistling kettle.’

‘I think it’s reasonable to say he needs an aid or appliance to prepare food, as he wouldn’t hear that, or a timer going ping or a pot boiling over without them,’ Lyn advised.  That’s a couple of points.  Is he safe cooking on his own?’

‘No less so than any boy of his age.  He’s burnt pans because he’s got too involved in something on his phone and set fire to the toaster jamming a naan bread in it that he couldn’t get out, but none of that happened because he’s deaf.  It happened because he’s a teenager!’

‘He doesn’t have any other disabilities – learning disabilities, I mean?’

‘Oh no.  He’s doing very well at school.’

That meant the points that older deaf people sometimes got for reading, because they hadn’t been supported at school, were off the table for this claim.

Lyn worked through the form.  Apart from the two possible points for cooking, there was no need for Mohammed to wear his hearing aids while dressing, eating or using the toilet, and he took them off to bath or shower.  Wearing his hearing aids, it seemed he could cope with simple communication.  The best score Lyn could envisage from activity seven was four points.

‘Has his condition made him shy or withdrawn?’ Lyn asked.  It often did.

‘Hardly!  He has plenty of friends and they get up to all sorts – in a good way, luckily.  He’s a very determined boy.  He won’t let it hold him back any more than necessary.’

No points for social engagement.

‘Can he go places on his own – places he hasn’t been before?’

‘All the time these days.  He didn’t used to, because he couldn’t always explain things to strangers or get help if he got lost, but he uses an app on his phone to find things now.  I worry about him crossing roads while glued to the screen – but they all do that, don’t they?’

‘I think they should count that as an orientation aid, luvvie,’ said Lyn, relieved to have spotted some points at last.  ‘He might get the standard rate for mobility if so.’

‘Nothing for care?’

‘I don’t think so.’  Lyn thought Mrs Hussain looked more anxious.  ‘What does your lad get at the moment?’

‘Low rate mobility and middle rate care.’

That was what Lyn had expected.  All the extra interventions with his learning and communication throughout the day would have won him that, along with a more tenuous case for guidance in unfamiliar places.

‘What about you, luvvie?  Have you been getting Carer’s Allowance?’

‘No, but only because I get a Widow’s Allowance instead.  I think being a carer has helped with other things.’

‘If you get Housing Benefit or Council Tax Support it would,’ said Lyn.  ‘We can check it all, if you know what you get now, and I’ll let you know what might change if Mohammed only gets PIP for mobility.’

Lyn was getting quite proficient with the Quick Benefits programme on the laptop.  She started it up and carefully input her client’s details.  Mrs Hussain was a widow.  She had three other children in addition to Mohammed, two girls younger than the deaf boy and another boy only two years old; all were in good health.  Her husband had died suddenly in January, from a heart attack, leaving the family without its bread-winner.  Dealing with means-tested benefit claims in the aftermath had been trying.

‘I never felt shame, asking for help for Mohammed.  We have used that money to help him prepare for his future and to be independent and hard-working,’ she told Lyn.  ‘The bereavement benefit people were kind too.  The Tax Credit Office could not care less, however, and I was made to feel like a beggar when I approached the Council for help with our rent.  They say our house is too big, but he cannot share with either of his sisters, nor a two-year old!’

‘They’ll only reduce your rent money this much until Mohammed’s birthday,’ Lyn said, pleased to have some good news for her client.  ‘He’ll be allowed a room of his own then.  Your rent is still about twenty pounds higher than allowed for a four-bedroom house, so they wouldn’t pay it all, even if you weren’t a little bit over the Income Support level.  You’ll still get most of it.’

‘What if Mohammed’s DLA stops and he gets the PIP you said?’

‘That takes away your carer premium...’ Lyn made the adjustment.  ‘Because you lose your underlying entitlement to Carer’s Allowance – that’s what they call it when you’ve claimed it but you can’t be paid it because you get something else.  I’m afraid that does put your Housing Benefit back down again, luvvie.’

‘Despite us having less money coming in?’

‘I’m afraid so.  It’s a funny old business, working out benefits, I’m afraid.’

‘So it seems.  What happens if he doesn’t get PIP at all?’

‘That’s going to upset your Child Tax Credits, because they won’t class him as a disabled child.’

‘If we get less CTC, will our housing benefit go up again?’

‘I’m afraid not.  If Tax Credits treat Mohammed as a disabled child, the Council do too.  It sort of cancels itself out.  I can show you…’  Lyn tapped that change of circumstances into the computer.  ‘Oh dear, I must have done something wrong.  That doesn’t look right!’

Not only had the Tax Credit prediction taken a nosedive, the Housing Benefit had dwindled away to a mere fifty pence per week.  Lyn went through her data, page by page, making sure she had entered each of the children and all the family’s benefits in the right place and at the right amount.  She suddenly spotted the problem and it wasn’t down to her typing.

‘If your boy doesn’t get his PIP, come back to us straight away,’ she advised.  ‘It’ll be very important to appeal because, if he doesn’t get anything, you’ll be caught by the Benefit Cap.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a limit the Government put on the amount of benefit they’ll pay to families if there isn’t a working parent or if no-one is seriously disabled or a carer.  It’s about three-hundred and eighty-five pounds a week, including any money for housing costs.’

‘But my son is seriously disabled.  He’s classed as deaf.’

‘They only count him as disabled if he gets DLA or PIP, luvvie.’

‘Won’t we get any Housing Benefit?’

‘They pay fifty pence.’

‘That’s almost worse than nothing at all!’  Mrs Hussain scowled.  ‘I have a good mind to tell them where they can put their fifty pence!’

‘Don’t do that, luvvie.  It’s more use than you might think.  If you get any Housing Benefit, you can ask them for a Discretionary Housing Payment.’

‘How much is that?’

‘It could be your full rent, if they thought you needed that much.’

Mrs Hussain thought about her situation for a few moments.

‘Let me get this straight.  My son’s disability is going to be no different when he is sixteen than it is now but, because he has to claim a different benefit for adults, he is likely to receive less.  Because he gets less, I will be entitled to less too, so our Housing Benefit will go down.  If he gets nothing at all, my Child Tax Credit will also be cut and the Housing Benefit will be cut again.  Nothing has changed, but the money I have to raise my family could be almost cut in half!’

‘That’s how it works now, luvvie,’ said Lyn.  ‘It’s all wrong, if you ask me.’

If you had made a claim for Universal Credit on the first day of this story, this would be the last of the seven 'waiting days' during which you are not entitled to anything!