Chapter Twenty-Three - The Loan

Thursday 23^rd November

Catherine had intended to spend the morning working on her work search tasks, including the application for a debt collection agency that Colin from the Jobcentre had emailed to her two days earlier.  She was unimpressed by both the nature of the job and the salary offered for it but wanted to make a decent effort at it, if only to stay out of trouble.  Volunteering with the Solent Welfare Rights Project had opened her eyes to how quickly and unexpectedly things could go wrong. 

However, as she cleared the breakfast things away, the low sunlight streaming through the kitchen window tempted her outdoors.  The garden was a typical suburban square of lawn with a plain paved patio immediately outside the house, enclosed on all sides by six-foot russet-stained wooden panels.  Her tenancy agreement required her to keep it that way, so her flowers were confined to tubs.  Little of their summer splendour remained, although a solitary fuchsia bloomed and there were pretty seed-heads and golden leaves on the astilbe.  Usually, she would have cleared them away and replanted with bulbs and winter bedding.  This year, there were no funds for such little luxuries, nor to put seed in the bird feeders.  The left-overs from Alexandra’s half-eaten toast were the best she could offer.

Alex’s reluctance to eat a proper breakfast was a worry, although it was far from being her only concern for her elder child.  After the revelations of the weekend, Catherine found herself in a quandary.  Kirsty’s tell-tale about the tablet had been true, at least in part.  Alex had swapped it for money from a classmate called Leo Finn, although it hadn’t been a simple exchange.  Nor was it the first.  She had already parted with the headphones she’d haggled her father for as last year’s birthday present, letting those go as security for the loan from Leo to pay the holiday deposit.  Despite her default, he – or whoever actually held the purse-strings - had generously accepted the tablet as security on the loan for the remainder of the trip’s cost, which he promised to arrange for the start of the next term, as soon as it was due.

Catherine had been horrified.

‘Even if you do pay, you can’t go, love,’ she tried to explain.  ‘You’ll need new winter clothes, for a start, plus boots, a case…  Lots of things we can’t afford.  And I’d have to spend the same on Kirsty, to be fair to her.’

‘I don’t see why.  She can have a school holiday when she’s my age.’  Alex’s tears were stemmed by the unhappy thought of her sister winning a bonus from her troubles.  ‘All my friends are going!’ she said sadly.

‘We’ll do something together in the summer.  A proper family holiday, like we always have.’

‘I wanted to do this.  I wanted to do something on my own, for myself.’

Catherine could understand that sentiment perfectly.  ‘I know.  I would love to let you, honestly…’  She cuddled her daughter as she started crying again.

Reluctantly, Alex had agreed that the best thing to do was to ask Leo for the tablet back and level with her friends that she couldn’t go.  They would know why, Catherine assured her.  They would realise that losing a parent, the working parent, was hard for a family and that it would take time before everything was back to normal.  When she got a job, which would be very soon, she would buy Alex some new headphones as a present for being brave and trying to work things out for herself, but she must never borrow money from people again, even friends trying to help. 

If you want Leo to come round for dinner one night, or to Sunday lunch…?’ Catherine suggested tentatively. 

‘That’s okay,’ she said.

Alex didn’t want to talk about school when she came home on Monday evening.  Catherine assumed she had found both conversations hard and would open up about them when she was ready.  She talked about other things cheerfully enough on Tuesday night.  On Wednesday, when Alex still didn’t seem to have her own tablet back and Kirsty was at her best friend’s for a sleepover, Catherine felt she had to ask.

‘He’s sold it already,’ said Alex gloomily.  ‘He said I could either have seventy-five quid now or all the holiday money in January, like we agreed.  He said it’s wrong to break a deal like we had.’

‘Not if the deal is wrong,’ Catherine replied.  ‘I’ll have to speak to his mother.  Where do they live?’

Alex said she didn’t know the address.

‘Then I’ll go to the school and ask for it.’

‘No, don’t…’

It seemed Alex did know Leo’s address after all.

‘Let me ask him again.’

‘Alright, but warn him that I know and that I’ll speak to his family and, if necessary, the police.  Do you understand?’

She said she did.   They had discussed it again, over breakfast.  That was probably the reason for the half-eaten toast.

‘I need some fresh air!’ Catherine said to herself.  She went back indoors, switched off the computer and turned the thermostat right down, changed into her warm gardening gear, picked up her phone, keys and purse and left for the allotment.

There wasn’t a lot to do but what remained was what she felt she needed – some proper exercise, clearing annual weeds to the compost heap and digging over the last empty beds.  Out of the wind, it was warm enough to discard her coat.  After half an hour’s toil, she was pleased with her efforts but could have cursed herself for not planning ahead and bringing a flask.

‘You look like you could use a cup of tea.’

Catherine jumped.  She hadn’t realised she wasn’t alone on the site.

‘Hello, Ralph,’ she said awkwardly.  ‘I thought you’d be at work today.’

‘I’ve taken a couple of odd days to use up my annual leave while it’s quiet,’ he explained.  ‘Anyway, I was going to get the kettle on over at the site hut when I spotted you.  Would you like a drink?’

She almost refused, but in the seconds that it took her to make up her mind to do so, Ralph reminded her that the provisions had been bought with her money.

‘I’m sure it wasn’t mine at all,’ she insisted.  ‘I could do with a cup of tea, though.’

The path to the hut was more exposed to the breeze, so she slipped her coat back on and followed Ralph.  She saw that they weren’t, in fact, alone on the site.  There was an older couple working together in the far corner.

‘I don’t think I know them,’ Catherine said.

‘No do I,’ said Ralph.  ‘They keep themselves to themselves most of the time, although they always wave.’

He waved, caught the couple’s attention and called out that he was doing tea; they waved back but stayed where they were, picking over some caterpillar-ravaged brassicas.

‘How are you?’ Ralph asked, when they were inside the site hut, out of the wind, and he was waiting for the kettle to boil.

‘Well, I can still come here whenever I like,’ she replied stoically.

‘Every cloud, eh?’

‘I suppose so, although I’ll have to make up for it with extra keen job-seeking over the weekend.  Looking for work, I’m constantly reminded, is currently my full-time job.’

‘Any luck following your carer’s course?’

‘Not unless I pay out for a criminal records check.’  Catherine realised that might sound needy.  ‘I thought I’d wait for an offer before doing that.’

‘Not a bad idea.’  Ralph got the powdered milk jar out of the recycled filing cabinet where it lived and unscrewed it.  ‘Oh dear.  It looks like some fool put a wet spoon in this!  Can you stand your tea black?’ he checked further into the drawer.  ‘Or there’s hot chocolate – but not much.’

‘Enough for two?’

‘Not really.’

‘I’ll have the black tea, then.’

‘Are you sure?  I don’t mind…’

‘It’s fine, honestly. I prefer tea.’

There were a selection of cast-off chairs in the hut.  Catherine sat down to drink her tea.  She really didn’t like it black but needed something and hadn’t the heart to deny Ralph the chocolate.  He seemed such a genuine person; not that you could always tell.

‘Any plans for Christmas?’ he asked.

‘A quiet one at home.  After last year…’

‘I’m sure.  I’m sorry, I should have remembered.’

‘That’s alright.’  Sometimes, this deference to the grieving widow made Catherine want to scream.  ‘Anyway, at least we’ll have our own sprouts and parsnips to go with the turkey.’

‘Well done you.  Will always said he liked to make sure there were all the traditional trimmings with Christmas dinner.’  Ralph laughed.  ‘I think the only time I saw him angry was when a panel from Lionel’s shed blew down and accidentally flattened half of his sprout bed.  He must have had a rotten day at work or something.’

Catherine made an effort to laugh too. 

‘What about you?’ she asked.

‘I’m not that attached to my sprouts!’ Ralph answered, with a little smile.

‘That’s not what I meant.  I was asking what plans you have for Christmas.  Will you see your daughter?’

‘Not until New Year.  Her mum and step-dad are taking her to Disneyland Paris.’

Catherine wondered if she should say that would be nice.  She decided against, in case Ralph was at the sharp end of some competitive parenting.

‘What are your plans, then?’

‘I’ve been invited to my sister’s, in Fareham.’

Catherine didn’t think he sounded very keen.  Again, she reserved comment.

‘I went there last year.  Lydia does Christmas rather well, actually,’ Ralph explained.  ‘The only trouble is, she’s inclined to try to matchmake.’

‘For you?’

‘Unlikely as you might think it…’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Catherine answered apologetically.  ‘It’s just I would have thought you were quite capable of arranging dates and meeting people for yourself.  If you wanted to, that is!’

‘Well, you might think that, but…’

However Ralph intended to justify his single status, Catherine wasn’t to know.  He stopped himself short as Bernie strolled into the hut with a Co-op bag in his hand.

‘Skimmed milk powder and some more hot chocolate,’ he announced.  ‘And if that silly old fart Lionel puts the spoon in the jar again, I’ll have his guts for garters!’

‘Was Lionel definitely the culprit?’ asked Ralph.

‘It’s the kind of absent-minded stupidity I’d expect from the daft old fart,’ Bernie insisted.  ‘Anyway, if it’s just boiled, I’ll have a brew myself.’

Catherine excused herself back to her plot, leaving Ralph and Bernie discussing plans to upgrade the paths, which tended to get muddy and slippery in the damp winter months.  She set to work on the last bare plot, methodically working her way across it, turning it over with her fork and breaking the surface into a robust tilth.

‘You could do with getting some muck on that,’ said Bernie.

‘I know.’

‘My mate Den’s dropping us off some horse muck at the weekend.  Do you want me to get a load for you?  It’s only a quid a bag and it’s all nicely rotted down.  You’d have enough to do it all for a tenner.  I don’t mind helping him unload it, if you’re not about.’

‘I could have five, I suppose.  I’m not sure it all needs doing.  You’re not supposed to put it down where you’re growing carrots, are you?’

‘You aren’t, but you won’t get decent carrots off this site.  Too many stones and too much carrot fly about.’

Catherine didn’t like to remind him that Lionel had grown some spectacular carrots in an old bath-tub full of sieved soil and sand.

‘If you’re sure, I’ll get you five, then.’

‘Do you want the money now?’  Catherine hoped not; she wasn’t carrying that much.

‘Of course not, love.  When he’s dropped it off and when it suits you.’

‘Thanks.’  She cleaned her fork and put it back in her shed.  Much as she was enjoying the sunshine, she really did have to get home and get on with her job applications.

‘Thinking of what to grow next year, don’t forget we’re ordering our seeds this week.  If there’s anything you want, pop the details on the list in the hut.  I was looking through yesterday and I have to say, there are some damned good deals on all the old stand-bys…’

Bernie would clearly have liked a chat, but she had to go.  Catherine wished him a good morning and turned for the gate.  She looked quickly in the direction of Ralph’s plot but couldn’t see him at work so guessed he had either left while she was busy or was still in the hut, probably picking out his seeds for the next season.

As she walked home, Catherine started to think about Christmas.  It was, frankly, a nuisance.  Recruitment for professional posts ground to a halt through December.  Even if she were offered something with an immediate start, there would be no pay this side of the New Year.  At least if she got an agency job, she might collect several weeks’ pay and be able to make more of a special occasion of it for the girls.

She noticed that she was almost at the street where Leo Finn’s family lived.  It looked much like her own, neat and respectable; for some reason, she had imagined it would be on a run-down estate with sofas and old cars in the front gardens.  She stopped for a few moments, torn between calling by on the off-chance of a chat with Leo’s mother and leaving Alex to deal with the situation as she thought best. 

‘I won’t interfere,’ she said.  ‘I’m sure they’re nice people and Alex will be able to sort something out.’