Chapter Twenty-Four - Counting the Hours

Friday 24^th November

‘You can be a cyclist.  You can be a Goth.  You can't be both and live.’  Ashley got out her e-cig and turned towards the back door.  ‘So, don’t disrespect the jacket!’

The jacket, an eye-watering cerise creation, had been a charity shop find, like much of Ashley’s attire.  It clashed spectacularly with her black top, trousers and hair but, in doing so, should much to make her journey to work somewhat safer than it had been to date.  The new pink trainers with lights in the heels should help too.  The near-miss with the artic on Treborba Way the previous morning had been the final straw.

‘No disrespect intended, Ash,’ replied Toby.  ‘I was simply noticing your colourful new look.’

‘Whatever…’

Ashley wasn’t sure what to make of Toby.  He had evidently appointed himself office joker.  She was surprised that her older female colleague, Hilary, who had come across as assertive and committed to Women’s Rights and all things equality at the interview, put up with some horrendously sexist and ageist remarks from him, treating it all as flirtacious banter, but Ashley had no intention of letting him get away with that kind of crap.  To be fair, he acted professionally enough when they were working together, as they would be this morning during the Friday IT clinic.  He had almost impressed her with his tribunal routine, which worked remarkably well, considering how quiet and measured it was, at least compared to Jules’s usual combative approach. 

It was surprisingly difficult to get into a five half-day week.  Her weekends, which had never involved extravagant expenditure but had been carefree, fun and frequently hang-over inducing, now seemed over almost before they started and yet her working days seemed to stop before they became fulfilling.  She almost regretted agreeing to start on this odd basis, until this morning when she had checked her account and found herself comfortably in credit.  As a new advice worker, she wasn’t well-paid but she was much better paid, for fewer hours, than she had been doing her care-home shifts.  Used to getting by on a young person’s minimum wage - or often less, after sly deductions - a rate above the living wage was a luxury.  Ash started to think about what she could do in the longer term at this rate.  She could learn to drive, get home to see her mum more often, really pay her way on nights out with her friends.  She could never think of buying anywhere but a deposit to get her own flat again was in reach.  It had been okay sharing with Gavin while she had next to no money, but it was hardly an ideal set-up.

While she was smoking in the back yard, Hilary and her husband came in via the back gate.  They didn’t see her at first, despite the jacket, as she was half-hidden behind the waste bins.  She was amused, and slightly touched, to see them holding hands.  The only couple she knew who routinely did that were her grandparents on her mum’s side.  Tom, who looked dressed for outdoor work, kissed Hilary goodbye as if they were young lovers, then picked up a trowel from where he must have left it earlier in the week and started tidying one of the herb beds.

Ashley stepped out of her hiding place as Hilary approached.

‘Hello Ash!’  Hilary smiled as she spoke.  Ashley wasn’t sure how friendly the smile was.  It was difficult to figure out what new people were really thinking, especially women of Hilary’s age.  She had come across senior care assistants at the rest home who were all smiles to your face and doing you down behind your back.  Jules could be hard-going, rude even, but you knew where you stood with her, because she told you.

‘Hi.  I’ll be right in.’

Hilary glanced at her watch.  ‘You’re fine for a few minutes yet.  Would you like a drink?’

‘I’m good.’ 

She had fixed herself a coffee as soon as she arrived.  Martin had been in the kitchen.  He seemed okay.  There was a no-nonsense quality about him that she approved of, a steely commitment to welfare rights work and political activism.  It surprised her that he was a father of young children; she couldn’t picture him changing nappies or playing hide-and-seek.  Deepak was harder to assess.  She knew he had left the DWP and joined them but whether his ability to fit in here reflected well on him and his ethics, or badly on the Project, it was too early to say.  He was, like everyone else, being nice to her because she was new.

Every other Friday morning, she had been warned that there was a short team-meeting between nine and nine-thirty.  As many of the workers as could make it headed for their desks, or a chair handy to the one they shared.  According to Hilary, they took it in turns to chair.  Although Ashley had taken Hilary to be the manager, she had no official stripes.  She had simply been there longer than anyone else.  Deepak was in the hot seat today.

Ashley wasn’t the last in.  To her surprise, some of the café staff came in too, Tom Appleby and Paula Walker, volunteer Lyn’s daughter and Shane’s mum.  The deal with the Walkers struck her as bordering on nepotism, although only Paula had paid work there, so it probably didn’t matter.  Shane wasn’t there but another volunteer, Vaughan, the old guy who did reception a couple of times per week and the occasional tribunal, was sitting next to Hilary and Catherine, who had been volunteering here since missing out on Ash’s job, was in too.  Ashley wasn’t sure she felt comfortable with that arrangement either but again, she was volunteering.  It wasn’t like she was actual competition.

‘Good morning, brothers and sisters!’ Deepak began, with a wry smile.  ‘Here we all are so, without further ado, let’s make a start.  My first agenda item is the Budget update.  There is some good news, some small victories to cheer.  The seven waiting days for Universal Credit are being abolished.’

‘The bad news is, that’s not happening until next year,’ Martin interrupted.

‘Order!  Order!’ Vaughan called.

‘Indeed.  I was coming to that,’ Deepak replied good-humouredly.  ‘Less of your interference, Connolly!  You’re in the chair next time.’  He stopped laughing.  ‘Mart is right, however.  The change won’t happen until January and another reform – allowing existing HB claims to run on for two weeks into UC claims - doesn’t come in until February.  They're also increasing short-term advances from two week's UC to four, with a twelve-month repayments schedule.  Also, the roll-out of the full service to new areas has been slowed down – not that this helps us!  Nor do we have to worry that, after Christmas, the ‘live’ service is being scrapped and, where they aren’t fully digital with UC, new claims will be for legacy benefits instead.’

‘You mean people will claim tax credits and housing benefit again?’ asked Hilary.

‘And IbJSA, income-related ESA and Income Support,’ Deepak confirmed.  ‘Whether they meet the old Gateway conditions or not.  But not where we're already on full service.’

‘For fuck’s sake!  What was the point of Gateway?’

‘As you say, Martin.’  Deepak shrugged.  ‘Don’t look for logic; it’s Universal Credit!’

‘Any news on the uprating yet?’ asked Paula.

‘No.  We should get that next week.’  Deepak checked his notes.  'There's a PIP update too.  The DWP have put out a memo on interpreting the descriptors in the light of that Upper Tribunal decision on safety.'

'RJ?' said Hilary.

'I've been trying to work with that in mind for a while now,' Lyn added, to Ashley's surprise.  'I’m glad they’ve finally taken it on board.’

'I’m not sure they have, which is why I thought it might be worth a discussion,' said Deepak.  ‘I find it illogical, especially the examples concerning epilepsy.  Here we are...'

He shared out copies of the document in question.

During the discussion that followed, Ashley started to sense that she might be among kindred spirits after all.  The ruling in question had challenged the way the PIP activities assessed the risk from medical conditions involving loss of awareness or seizures, shifting the test from literally whether the event was likely - where they expected the crisis to actually happen on more than fifty per cent of days in order for it to count - to whether there was a real possibility that cannot be ignored of harm occurring.  The DWP guidance suggested that while a person who blacked out unpredictably should score points for needing supervision to bathe, other activities - such as eating and using the toilet - could be done safely with no special precautions.  The team begged to differ, at some length.

With debate still raging, Deepak eventually had to wrap up the discussion and remind them that it was almost time to start their appointments and Ash and Toby continued to discuss it while they set up for the IT clinic.

'The key to all of the PIP descriptors is giving examples from your client's everyday life,' Toby insisted.  'It doesn't matter what's in the DWP guidance; if you get to a tribunal and you can give them the date you blacked-out on the WC and bashed your head on the side of the bath as you fell, if they believe you, they'll give you the points.'

'I don't get the logic behind allowing supervision to avoid the risk of drowning in the bath but not the risk of choking while eating.  I enjoy a pampering bath as much anyone but, on a typical day, I've got food or drink in my mouth for more of the time than I'm immersed in water.'

'Fair point,' Toby agreed.  'And that's even truer if you're a typical bloke!'

'And you're a typical bloke, aren't you?'

Ashley hadn't meant that to sound quite so sarcastic.

Toby looked up from the screen.  'In what way?'

'The football shirts, the banter...'

'Superficially, I suppose I am,' he agreed.  'I don't mean anything offensive by it.  If anything I've said is inappropriate, like the comment about the pink coat and all that, I'm really sorry for saying it.'

Ashley was surprised he conceded so quickly.  Having wound herself up for an argument, she almost couldn't help ploughing on.

'It's all a bit last decade, isn't it?' she asked.  'For such a supposedly progressive place, I'm surprised how sexist language and gender stereotypes are tolerated.'

'I do try not to cross the line,' Toby answered evenly.  'Anyway, old H always puts me in my place if I do.'

'Do you mean Hilary?  She's a bad as you are, in her own way.'

'How's that?'

Ashley didn't get to explain, as Vaughan showed the morning's clinic customers in.  There were five to make new claims, three from the same bankrupt delivery company who agreed to sit together while Toby ran through the basics, and two claiming as long-term sick, bounced off JSA and Housing Benefit.  One of them was up to starting the claim on her own but didn’t have a PC at home.  The other, a young woman of about Ashley's age, was completely at a loss.  Ashley had to guide her carefully through each step of the process.  She was staggered at how little she knew.

'Don't you have a smart phone?' Ash asked.

'Yeah, of course I do!'

Ashley, who had taken access to decent IT for granted from childhood found it hard to believe that someone of her own generation could have modern kit but be so ignorant of its capabilities.  There was a world of difference between being comfortable using social media and making a benefit claim but, surely, she must have shopped online? 

'I get my boyfriend to do it.'

Toby obviously wasn't the only person in the room who was stuck in the past.

When the clinic closed at one o'clock, Ashley and Toby had to bring the session to a close.  They shut the machines down, gathered up and shredded any notes, then went for lunch.  A couple of the clinic clients, horrified to learn their UC wouldn't start regular payments until after Christmas and without funds to tide them over, were already seated and eating.

'That was hectic,' Toby said. 

'I know,' Ashley agreed.  'It's like teaching some people a whole new language.'

'Don't remind me!'

'What?'  Ashley wondered if that was a reference to her lecture about inappropriate speech that morning.

'I've got my BSL exam next week.'

'You're learning to sign?'

'I'm doing my Level Three.'

'Wow.  That's tough, isn't it?'

'Too right.  I wish I'd started learning years ago.  My nipper Marcus is brilliant at it.  They say it's easier for kids to learn new languages than adults and he proves it.  He runs rings round me; he can even take the piss out of how bad I am in BSL!'

'Is he deaf?'

'No, but his sister - my daughter Danika - is.  One of the reasons I went part-time was so I could get more involved in her education.'

'Sorry about the typical bloke thing,' Ashley said awkwardly.

'Don't be.  You're right.  I know the digs at Hilary about her age, her shoes and her sex life are jokes.  I know her snipes back at me aren't personal.  We both know we'd trade very similar insults, whether we were both blokes, or both women, or one of each, or anywhere on the gender spectrum for that matter, because that's just how our friendship is, but it must look like something out of the nineteen-seventies to anyone new.'

'It's weird being new somewhere,' Ashley said.  'Especially when everyone else seems to have been here ages, or is related to someone who has been.'

'The gene pool gets stirred now and again - otherwise, you wouldn't be here!'

Ashley laughed.  She relaxed a little.

When they reached the front of the queue, they found Tom serving hot lunches.

'We have two veggie choices today, Ash,' he advised her proudly.  'A lively butternut squash biryani, which is our vegan option, or there's cauliflower-cheese, which is more exciting than it sounds but nice and mild all the same.'

'I'll get the biryani, please.'

'Killer curry it is!'  He turned to Toby.  'What about you, kind sir?  There's our finest beef goulash or a hearty chicken stew and fresh crusty bread.'

'What's with this kind sir malarkey?' asked Toby.  'Has Paula re-designated your job customer service manager rather than chief gruel-ladler?'

'I'm only being civil, you miserable villain!'

‘Villain, is it?  How very dare you, ruffian!’

Toby had clearly been telling the truth about the trading of insults.  Ashley listened as Toby and Tom mocked each other.

'The regulars will miss your bluff northern charm when you're this side of the counter, mate,' Toby remarked, as Tom put a bowl of stew on his tray.

'I might not be, for a while yet.  My better half has suggested Catherine does Martin's spare hours this side of Christmas, since I'm likely to be tied up at home with the move.'

'I thought she kept you tied up at home anyway!'

'You're just jealous.  Here's your bread roll - now bugger off!'

'Shouldn't that be bugger off kind sir?'

Ash and Toby found an empty table.

'I didn't know Martin was planning to go part-time,' Ashley said.

'I'd like to claim he's been inspired by my example.'

'He's doing childcare?'

'He's sharing looking after his little girls with his partner, or that's the plan.  Parveen could have a bit long on maternity leave but she’s a solicitor, specialising in immigration and Human Rights law and, if you think the ground shifts fast under our feet, you should stand in her shoes!  She’s keen to get back so he's asked to drop a couple of days from next week, initially just to see how it works out for them all.  Tom was going to cover them up to Christmas.'

'Tom?  The kitchen guy?'

'Tom, the kitchen guy, who spent about ten years as a DWP presenting officer and then did a couple of paid days here, until we had to restructure a couple of years ago when a chunk of our funding ran out.  You know what it's like in the voluntary sector.'

Ashley was tempted to say something sharp about it usually being a bastion of strict equal opportunities appointment practice but bit that back.

'So he's getting his hours back?'

'That's the idea - or it was.  It looks like he's thinking of offering Catherine them instead.'

'And that would be okay?'

'It's only up to Christmas.  I suppose he can keep up the decorating until then – for the Co-op and for Hilary.’

Ashley wasn’t sure where decorating fitted in to the discussion.

‘I meant, is it okay that Martin can ask someone to cover his hours without getting some sort of authorisation?’

‘It’ll have to go to the Management Committee for formal approval, if it carries on into the New Year.  They'll have to decide what to do long term.'  He looked directly at her, almost as if he could sense her disapproval. 'Hilary's intending to drop down to three days too, after Christmas.'

'She can probably afford to, if her husband is going to be paid what she's giving up.  That's quite a cushy arrangement, isn't it?'  Ash decided she should speak her mind.  'Aren't you missing a chance to stir the gene pool again?  I mean, once someone's doing a part-time job, and someone else is lined up for the other half, it's not like your Management Committee are likely to argue, is it?  But you're denying someone else a full-time opportunity.'

'Like you, you mean?'  Toby asked frankly.

'Well...'

'Come on!  You've been very direct with me today, so don't start being coy now.  If you're keen to get full-time hours, tell me.  Tell all of us.  We can talk about it.  We can put a different set of proposals to the committee, another option.  We could suggest tagging two extra days onto your post and letting Tom do the other two, or we could create a four day post and advertise it properly, and you could apply for that.'  He sighed.  'The thing is, though, it's the old rearranging the deckchairs routine.  Whatever we do, it's only to next autumn.  After that, your guess is as good as mine.'

'But what if I want to move my deckchair now?'

Toby didn't answer.  He didn't have to.  Hilary and Catherine, who had just collected their lunches, had spotted them.  They came across to join them.

'Splendid news!' Hilary announced.  'Catherine's agreed to cover Thursday and Friday for Martin from the beginning of December!  We’re going to be really rather busy and she’s settling in so well as a volunteer, it seemed to make perfect sense!'

'That's great,' said Toby.  'Congratulations!'

'Yeah, well done,' said Ashley.  She suddenly realised she hadn't had a vape for hours.  'Catch you all later.'

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.’

Chapter Twenty-Two - Budget Debate

Wednesday 22nd November

Toby had always known that going part-time wouldn't work unless he cut back his commitments in line with his hours.  He wasn't good at this.  Much as he had enjoyed setting up the IT project, he couldn't stop picking up casework and, if that involved challenging decisions, he liked to see the case through to appeal.

As a result, the IT clinic that afternoon was off to a late start.  Toby had taken Ashley and Catherine along to his morning tribunal and, although it had been allowed, he couldn't help feeling that Mr Franklin had gone to town with an audience of new advisers to impress and made more of his role of tribunal judge than strictly necessary.

'He's always an arse,' Ashley said to Catherine, when she questioned the way he had cross-examined their client.  'He stepped it up a gear today, that's all.'

'He's a bully,' Catherine noted.

'He's certainly not one of my favourites,' Toby said.  'Mr Ellis was a top bloke, but he's retired now.  Mrs Morrison can be fierce, but she's mellowed a lot.  Mr Dinage is pretty sound.'

'Really?  I've only had him once.  I thought he was a complete fuckwit.'

By the end of lunch, together in the café, Toby and Ashley had agreed to disagree about tribunal judge Dinage.  Toby hoped they had also reassured Catherine about the basic fairness of the tribunal system, at least of its independence from the DWP.  There was no real doubt that, like everything else, it favoured the respectable and articulate over the under-educated and unsuccessful.

'How did it go with that agency?' Ashley asked Catherine. 

Toby remembered the conversation from Monday.  Catherine had been going for an interview with an agency specialising in care work,

'I need to go in again on my way home.  They need a fee for my DBS check.'

Ashley disagreed. 

'If you get a job, the place you go to work can do that.  You shouldn't have to pay up front.'

'They say it works better this way, as there's no delay.  The agency manager said it can take a couple of months to come through.'

'I can, but it doesn't have to.  Care homes can get a quick basic check in a couple of days and it's only a few quid extra.  Don't let them rip you off.'

'They seem very reputable.'

'If you don't mind me asking,' Toby said.  'How much are they asking for?'

Seventy-five pounds.'

'No way!' Ashley cried.  'They are ripping you off.  It's fifty quid, tops.'

'I suppose they have admin costs to take into account.'

'It's no big deal.  They're taking the piss.'

Catherine said nothing.

'You could ask your DWP work coach if they'll cough up for it,' Toby suggested.

'I'm waiting to hear back.  The trouble is, the agency won't put me on their books without it.'

'Tell them to go whistle,' Ashley advised.  'They wouldn't have a business if people didn't play their games.'

Toby could see where Ashley was coming from but the comment seemed insensitive.  Catherine couldn't simply walk away from employment options with her family to think about. 

'Don't forget you're owed some expenses,' he reminded her.  They wouldn't pay the fee but they would at least contribute something towards it.

'I'll see Vaughan on Friday,' she replied.

Toby reminded himself that, even if she was entitled to UC, it was possible that their volunteer had some capital behind her, saved up while in work or left by her late husband.  If she wasn’t worried about claiming her travelling expenses, it was hardly his place to twist her arm to take them.  Something about Catherine’s manner made him wonder if she really was so independent.  However, before Toby could think of a way to approach this, or even to decide if he was being a good colleague or a nosy git, Catherine finished her meal and set off to catch her bus.  Ashley was away shortly afterward, then Shane Walker came in and it was IT clinic time.

Shane's help was invaluable.  He couldn't advise on benefit issues but, in practice, most of the issues that came up in the IT clinic were about using computers.  Having the younger man available to help clients set up accounts and trouble-shoot technical issues gave him more time to check their client had to claim UC and shouldn't actually be on something else, offer advice and chase up payment problems.  It also gave him the opportunity to follow the Budget announcements online, in between customer enquiries.

'Anything good?' asked Martin, dropping in to see if they needed any help and to offer a round of hot drinks.

'They're extending the young person's railcard age to thirty,' said Toby.  'That's one for you.'

'For the next three months.  Fan-fucking-tastic!'

'It'll save you a few quid if you go to see her mum by train again.'

'We won't.  I've never had such a shit journey.  Cross-Country suck.  They would have to pay me to use their badly-designed, cramped, stinking trains ever again, especially with kids,' Martin complained.  'Anything on UC?'

'They're scrapping the waiting days; I'm trying to find the small print about when.'

'Not straight away?' asked Shane, who was helping a middle-aged woman making her first claim.

'It never is.  The helpline still isn't free and they announced that was changing weeks ago.'

'No change to the work allowances?' asked Martin.

'Nothing said.'

'Uprating for inflation?'

'Nothing.'

'Bastards!'

‘What are work allowances?’ asked Shane.

‘It’s the amount you can get in wages without it affecting your Universal Credit at all,’ said Martin.  ‘When UC started, everyone got a work allowance.  It was about a hundred quid a month for a single person – not wildly generous but better than the fiver you can keep on JSA, going up to about seven hundred for a family not claiming housing costs.  It went some way to delivering on the “making work pay” promise from the Tories.  Except they slashed them all a couple of years back.  Now there’s no work allowance at all if you aren’t sick or a parent, and the most you can get is under four hundred a month.  Anything over that, you lose sixty-three pence in the pound off your UC.’

‘So any money you get is sort-of taxed at sixty-three percent?’

‘No mate,’ said Toby.  ‘Your earnings are taxed at sixty-three percent.  Unearned income comes off pound for pound.’

‘Unearned income?’

‘Other benefits, pensions and all that,’ Toby explained.

‘Which is bollocks,’ said Martin, causing Shane’s client to look sharply at him.  ‘Because you earn most of those by paying National Insurance or having deductions from your wages for them.’

‘Harsh!’

‘It is,’ Toby agreed. ‘A lot of the losers from UC are people with so-called unearned income.’

There was no more good news in the Budget for the Project’s clients.  The IT clinic had a late surge of attendees, so finished later than normal.  Shane stayed on until they finished, provisionally negotiating a lift home from his grandmother Lyn, who was stranded at the café waiting for Terry to get back from the rural foodbank.  Vaughan took a call from Father Cornelius at five-thirty, just as he was seeing the last of the clinic customers out, confirming that they were on their way.

After Vaughan had set off home and they had closed down the computers, Toby and Shane came back into the main office.  Hilary had gone home, Deepak was fetching his coat but Martin was still working. Lyn was sitting in Toby’s seat and looked to be dozing.

‘Sorry luvvie,’ she said, moving to rise.’

‘You stay put, Lyn,’ Toby said.  ‘I’ll nick the hot seat.  I’ll be off in a minute - I only want to check my appointments for tomorrow.’

This was the desk used by Tom, on his odd days in, Vaughan if he was doing any case work and now Catherine.  Toby spun the chair around to use the screen, since he had gone digital by default for his diary.  As he did so, he noticed a sheet of paper on the floor.  Assuming it was something from a client’s record that had fallen from a file, he picked it up and turned it over.

‘Anyone got a case for a Mrs Catherine Colli…?’ he asked, reading the name of the addressee.  He stopped.

‘Isn’t that the new lady’s name?’ asked Lyn.

‘Yeah,’ said Martin.

‘She must have dropped it,’ said Toby.  He quickly folded it in half and put it inside a plain envelope and sealing it, before writing his colleague’s name on it.  He hadn’t meant to pry but had seen that it was from the Council and was a refusal of a discretionary housing payment.  There had been a reference to the Benefit Cap too.  That had to mean that Catherine’s income was below the minimum the Government supposedly believed a family in her circumstances needed to live on.

‘Does she need our help, luvvie?’

Toby guessed his face must have given away his concern.  ‘I can’t really say, Lyn.’

'Of course not,' she turned to her grandson.  'Why don't you pop out to the café, Shany love?  Your granddad and the Father will be back any minute and you can give them a hand bringing things in from the van.'

Shane did as instructed. 

Toby noticed that Martin was looking at him.  ‘I’ve offered Tom my days from December,’ he said.  ‘He might not mind if…’

‘Why are you changing your plans?’ Toby said defensively.  ‘I haven’t told you anything.’

‘You don’t have to, mate.  It’s obvious there’s a problem.’

‘How?’

‘From everything you’re doing.  If there wasn’t, you wouldn’t have gone all quiet and sealed that letter away, in case it fell into the wrong hands.’

‘Yes I would.  It's private.’

Martin had been a close colleague for too long to be fooled, of course.  However, Toby didn’t wish to discuss what he had seen with them.  Lyn was so kindly, she would probably give her concern away to Catherine as soon as she saw her.  He didn’t know his new colleague that well, but if there was one thing Toby had figured out about Catherine, it was that she was a private, rather proud person who would be mortified if she thought her troubles were widely known around the office.

'If she's in trouble, it would be silly not to let us help her, luvvie,' said Lyn.  'It's what we do for everyone else who comes here, isn't it?'

'They ask, Lyn.  Catherine hasn't.'

'Perhaps she was going to,' Martin suggested.  'What if she brought whatever that is in to show us and wanted our advice about it?'

'More likely she was looking up what to do about it,' Toby replied.  'Or taking it up to the coun...'  Toby stopped himself too late.

'If she's behind with her Council Tax, Deepak's your man,' Martin reminded him. 'His cousin...'

'I didn't say it was Council Tax, did I?'

'Whatever it is, if a couple of days a week here for the rest of this year would help, I don't reckon Tom would mind.  He and Hilary will have plenty to keep them busy.  I bet Tom would be just as happy not to have those days yet.  He can take on Hilary's spare ones.'

'That won't work, luvvie,' Lyn said.  'They'd never see each other if they shared the same job.  They'd be like the little people on one of those old-fashioned barometers.'

Martin had no idea what Lyn was talking about, so she had to explain it to him.

'Of course, they needn't share Hilary's actual days,' Martin concluded.  'If H and I work opposite ends of the week, they could do the same days.'

'Well then, I think that's settled,' said Lyn.  'You have a quiet word with Tom and tell him we've had a chat and we're worried about our new lady.  Then, when Catherine comes in on Friday, you offer her your hours.'

'If she comes in,' said Martin.  'She might have got a job through that agency.'

'I'm sure she'd be much happier here, luvvie.'

'You can't directly offer her the hours,' Toby argued.  'She'll see it as charity, especially if she thinks we all know what that bit of paper was about.  She might say no, to save face.'

'Then I'll just mention I'm after cover for a few months, when we're getting ready to start the day,' said Martin.

'What if someone else asks for the time?' said Toby. 

'Who?' 

'Deepak might want full-time.'

'I doubt it,' said Martin.

'Well, Ashley might ask for more hours, or someone else.'  Toby suddenly felt insensitive for not even considering that Lyn might have appreciated some paid hours as permitted work in the run-up to Christmas. 

'I'm alright, luvvie,' she said.

'So I'll ask when Ashley's not in.'

'That's hardly ethical either, though, is it mate?  We don't know that Ashley doesn't want the hours.  She might need the money as much as Catherine.'

'So what the fuck do you want me to do?'  Martin snapped.  'Don't ask her directly, because she'll be offended.  Don't ask everyone, in case the wrong person puts their hand up.  I wish I'd left it that Tom would cover it.'

'You could,' said Lyn.  'And then Hilary could ask Catherine if she would mind doing them this coming month, because they're moving and he'll be busy.'

'That's a great idea!' said Martin.

'I thought you'd say that,' Lyn laughed.

It was, Toby had to concede, a clever solution and, as neither Tom nor Hilary knew about the letter, he might even be able to plant the idea with them, without even hinting that Catherine needed the money.