Chapter Forty-Two - A Never-Ending Story?

Tuesday 12^th December

Hilary flexed her shoulders, took off her glasses and stretched her fingers.  She had been typing almost continuously since lunchtime and it was now after three.  Her limbs felt cramped and her head ached a little too, where she had been concentrating hard on striking the right tone, keeping to the strict word-count while trying to compose a compelling narrative.  The work in progress was, once again, a funding bid, the first stage of an appeal to a philanthropic trust which might help to secure the future of the Project for another three to five years, or it might not.  She, her colleagues and Father Cornelius had tried to learn from earlier, failed attempts to other such bodies but there was only one lesson to learn: more voluntary sector organisations were being forced to seek Lottery or other charitable funding, as support from statutory agencies ran dry, meaning competition was greater and fiercer.  Success would be bitter-sweet too.  Victory for the Solent Welfare Rights Project meant defeat and closure for another venture; a carers’ group, a mental health charity, a foodbank, a scheme supporting vulnerable young people or isolated elders.  They couldn’t all continue, despite all being needed, and the pressure to innovate to impress triggered competition, secrecy and rivalry between organisations where there should have been co-operation.

'Hi, Hilary.'  Ashley came in from an afternoon appointment and vape break, took a seat at the desk she and Catherine had to share and switched on the computer.  'How's it going?'

'I wish I knew,' Hilary replied honestly.

'You must have some idea,' Ash argued.  ‘I bet you’ve been doing these bids for decades.'

Hilary gave an ironic little laugh. 

'On the contrary,' she explained.  'We didn't used to have to complete bids like this at all.  We had revenue funding from most of the local councils and, after that, we had Legal Aid for complex casework.  Bids were for little extras, like printing costs for take-up campaign leaflets.  Our jobs didn’t depend on the luck of the draw.  I was delighted when we appointed you, Ashley; I'm always pleased when we recruit a new generation of advice-workers, despite Toby’s teasing about it making me feel old.  I only wish I could have confidently offered you more of a future here.'

Ashley seemed unconcerned.  'It'll do.  I'm a person, not a job.  Like I said when you asked me about extra hours, my time is mine, to use as I choose.  I don't need a five-day week, nine-to-five and, if I don't need one, I don't want one.  Anyway, if I earn to much, I’ll only end up worse off because they’ll start recovering my student loan.  Roll on Universal Basic Income and an end to wage slavery!’

‘We put together a policy document on that, just as the Coalition started on their Welfare Reform programme,’ Hilary explained. 

‘I read it,’ said Ashley.  ‘When I was looking through the policies and procedures.  Citizens’ Allowance, wasn’t it?  A kind of Basic Income Plus.  It looked cool.’

‘Thank you.’  Hilary was flattered.  ‘It was quite far-out thinking at the time.  I never imagined there would actually be trials running within a decade.’

‘I’m not surprised it’s happening in Europe and Canada but I’m blown away that Scotland are going to try it.  I might emigrate!’

‘Not just yet, I hope.’

‘I don’t think so.  Not after being made so welcome by the Walkers.  They’re a nice old couple, aren’t they?’

‘They are.’  Hilary let it go that she and Lyn were the same age.

‘I think Lyn’s going to adopt me, if I don’t watch out.  She says it’s nice to have another woman in the house.  I was helping her with the laundry yesterday.  It was so funny, though.  Terry was all bashful about me seeing his pants going in the wash!  Then Lyn was onto him about how I knew how to sort everything out properly without being told, while she still has to watch him like a hawk.  It’s the same with the housework – he does that all wrong too, apparently.’

‘How long do you expect to be there?’

‘I could save a deposit in a couple of months but, if they aren’t fed up with me and we’re still getting along, I don’t mind staying with Lyn and Terry for a bit longer.’

‘And how has Gavin taken to you moving out?’

‘He calmed down, after a couple of hours.  He’s not a bad person, Hilary, but I can’t handle any more of his passive-aggressive attitude.  That’s one of the other pluses of lodging with the Walkers – he can’t snivel his way to living there with me.  If I get a flat, he’ll try.  That’s why I’d prefer a room.’

Hilary couldn’t imagine living in one room.  Down-sizing from her Victorian villa to the two-bedroom cottage had been challenging enough.

'Lucky for me, I don't have a dumb-ass work coach trying to make me progress,' she added.  'Did you see what that dick Colin put on Catherine's journal last week?  He's right out of order.  I know there's scope in the regulations for this in-work conditionality stuff but threatening a further sanction if she doesn't spend two days a week on work search is well over-the-top.  I hope it scares the shit out of him that she works here permanently now.'

‘'Universal Credit is a disaster all round for Catherine,' Hilary replied.  'Not only is she tied in to this conditionality regime, she's actually worse off than she would have been claiming a combination of Tax Credits and Housing Benefit, because of the way her Widowed Parent’s Allowance is treated.'

'She told me she was better off before she did that temporary housing job,’ said Ashley. ‘At least she's entitled to the old bereavement benefits rather than the new ones.  Her Widowed Parent's Allowance should be paid until the youngest finishes college - unless she's mad enough to take up with a bloke, that is.'

‘It’s not always mad to take up with a bloke, you know!’ Hilary laughed.  ‘I’m rather glad I did and looking forward to spending more time with him.’

‘Takes all sorts!’ laughed Ashley.  She glanced across at Hilary.  ‘You do get fairly atypical blokes working here, though, don’t you?  Do you put something in the drinking water to turn them so progressive?  I was surprised when I found out Toby does short time to care for his daughter but Martin quitting completely to look after his kids – I didn’t see that coming!’

‘Martin’s decision is more economic than ideological, I think you’ll find,’ Hilary advised her colleague.  ‘He’s a very good dad, according to Parveen and from what I’ve seen, but I’m quite sure he’ll be back here when the girls are older – if he gets the chance, that is.’  Hilary looked back at her screen.

‘I’d better let you get on,’ said Ashley.

‘Come over and have a read through,’ Hilary offered.  ‘It’s always useful to have a second opinion.’

Hilary was sure Ashley wouldn’t hold back if she felt something was wrong.  It would be a challenge, working with such a direct, outspoken young colleague and Hilary had a feeling that there would be fireworks, from time-to-time, between this forthright young woman and other members of the team.  As long as it never became personal, it would be healthy.  They needed to stay on their toes, to adapt, to retrench, if they were going to keep fighting for their clients’ rights.

‘This bit about new initiatives,’ said Ashley, after several minutes perusal.  ‘I’d big up your rent deposit scheme.’

‘I’m reluctant to do that.  It is quite small scale.’

‘It’s independent funding.  Toby was saying the other day how big charities like to see money coming in from other places.’

‘That’s true.  We mustn’t overplay our hand, however.’

Ashley shrugged and returned to her desk.  As Hilary refocussed on the bid, the office door opened again.

‘Deepak!’ cried Hilary.  ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’

He had been due to represent at a PIP appeal.

‘They adjourned for medical evidence.  The Tribunals Service are writing directly to the GP.’

‘Why?’ asked Ashley, who had followed this case with interest.  ‘It’s obvious that medical assessment isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.  It’s stuffed with contradictions and inaccuracies.’

‘I’m quite pleased,’ Deepak replied.  ‘It was Mr Garner, sitting with Dr Larcombe and Mrs Francis.  At least Gillian won’t be seeing any of those characters again.’

Inadvertently, Deepak and his client had escaped the worst possible tribunal configuration for a client with mental health.

‘Anyone for a brew?’ he asked.

‘Coffee please,’ said Hilary.  ‘I don’t usually in the afternoon, but I need to wake myself up.’

Deepak took Hilary’s mug and Ashley’s request for a glass of water and went out to the kitchen.  When the door opened shortly afterward, Hilary thought it was him returning.  She looked up to see Tom smiling at her.

‘Could you spare a minute or two for a chat with Wayne Reynolds, my love?’ he asked.

Hilary resented the break in her concentration, although she never wished to seem unfriendly to the mercurial Wayne.

‘I suppose I had better…’

Hilary followed Tom along the passage to the café.  She could hear raucous laughter from the dining area.  Wayne was leaning on the counter, recounting a story which he clearly found hilarious to Paula, who was being politely amused, and Father Cornelius, who looked faintly bewildered.

‘Hello Wayne,’ said Hilary benevolently.  ‘How can we help?’

‘Ask not what you can do for Wayne Reynolds, my dears, but what Wayne Reynolds can do for you!’ 

He thrust one massive hand into his jacket and pulled out a wad of direct debit forms. 

‘These are for you, Father.  I had a word with some of my associates about your current troubles and all the good work you do for needy people and, since I’m a persuasive old bastard, they’ve rallied to your flag.’

Father Cornelius perched his glasses on the end of his nose and started perusing the forms.

‘I have to say, Mr Reynolds, you do have some exceptionally generous acquaintances.  God bless you all!’

‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his need, as Our Lord once said,’ Wayne replied piously.

Nobody, not even Father Cornelius, saw the need to point out that the words were those of Karl Marx rather than Jesus Christ.  After all, the sentiment was right.

‘That’s very public-spirited of you, Wayne,’ Tom said.  ‘We’re in your debt, once again.’

‘Think nothing of it, mate,’ Wayne replied, slapping Tom heartily on the shoulder in the manner of a pantomime pirate.  ‘I haven’t finished yet.  I got a few one-off donations too.  I’ve kept a bit back to put Mrs Hamilton into a house, so she can have her nippers home with her for Christmas, but there’s loads left.  I thought your Hilary might like to stick it in with her rent deposit money to get more of these girls off the streets and out of harm’s way, and some of the young lads.  There’s a cheque here.’

Hilary almost passed out when she saw the amount.  She gripped Tom’s arm.

‘Are you sure, Wayne?’

‘It’s not my dosh, love.  It was all given generously, to help the poor.’

‘It’s for over twenty thousand pounds!’

‘I know a lot of rich bastards, don’t I?  Landlords and the like.  They’ve never had it so good, what with demand pushing up rents and property prices going up and up.  They’ll hardly miss it, the lucky sods.’  He gave Hilary a chivalrous kiss on the cheek.  ‘I know I can trust you lot to use it well, which is why it’s made out to the Solent Welfare Rights Project.  Merry Christmas, everyone!’

He strode towards the door, booming with laughter fit for the Ghost of Christmas Present.  As he was about to leave, he turned around.

‘If you see Catherine Collier, tell her the police busted Nigel Finn’s place this morning.  I can’t say any more for now, but I think Santa’s crossed him and young Leo off his list for this year.’

Still chuckling to himself, the big man let the door slam behind him.

‘Who’s Nigel Finn?’ asked Tom.

‘I have no idea,’ said Hilary.  ‘Nor have I any idea why his dealings with the police would be any concern of Catherine’s.  I’ll tell her what he said, when she comes in tomorrow.  Perhaps she’ll explain.  I had better call Vaughan about this cheque.  It’s an extraordinary gift but I can’t help feeling a trifle concerned about how Wayne might have come by it.’

‘Wayne wouldn’t be stupid enough to launder dirty money through this place,’ Paula replied, guessing Hilary’s concerns.  ‘Anyway, he’s a pillock of the community these days, as he says himself.’

‘Paula’s right, Hilary,’ said Father Cornelius.  ‘Wayne’s heart is in the right place, I’ve no doubt, and I don’t believe he would do anything to put us at risk.  As he says himself, he knows some rich people.  They probably have both good and not-so-good reasons for giving to charity.  If you’re at all concerned, perhaps the sensible thing is to put this in a separate account, so it can be handed back if there are any problems.’

‘I can see your point, Father, but it would be a crying shame to have it sat in a bank when it’s needed to house the homeless,’ Tom replied.

‘Actually, Tom darling, it can do both!’ Hilary assured him.  ‘Ashley and I were just discussing how well other funders seem to like it if you’ve raised private funding too.  Mr Reynold’s donation – from private landlords, of all people – might give us quite an edge.’

She found a strong cup of coffee on her desk and Deepak and Catherine discussing the PIP appeal.

‘Everything alright, Hilary?’ asked Ashley.

‘It certainly is,’ she replied, smiling.  ‘I think you were right about bigging up our rent deposit scheme.  It might be an important factor at least in getting us through to stage two.’

Hilary settled back to her bid.  She had a strange feeling that if they could keep the Project running like this, somewhat hand-to-mouth, for a couple more years, that would be enough.  There was a change in public mood, a growing challenge to the Government’s claim that austerity was both right and unavoidable.  The usual papers were still printing stories about scroungers, the usual TV companies still churned out Poverty Porn, but did people take it at face value anymore?  Certainly not, if they had friends found fit for work despite desperate ill-health, if their disabled daughter’s Motability car had been snatched away thanks to PIP, or if they had waited six or more weeks for their first grudging payment of Universal Credit.  Maybe a time was coming when projects like theirs would be properly funded again, when councils and even the Government itself believed citizens should know their rights and be supported in enjoying them.  These things tended to go in cycles.

Hilary looked at her young colleagues and smiled.  One day, hopefully, they would be old and experienced advisers, looking back on the grim decades at the start of the twenty-first century from wiser, gentler times.  She put her glasses back on and started typing again.

You have been reading the first draft of a new piece of Welfare Rights Lit, staring some of the original 'Severe Discomfort' cast and some new characters.  I hope you've enjoyed it! 

If you had made a claim for Universal Credit on the day this story started - 1st November 2017 - there is a chance you might have received your first payment today.  However, it's equally possible that you would not have done.  There is a very good chance that, when this collection of odds and ends is drawn together into a book, holding it together will be a new character (or characters) waiting for that first payment...