Chapter Seventeen - Under Notice

Friday 17^th November 

The old adage that no news is good news is rarely the true of job interviews.  A day had passed since she had left the offices of the Clearwater Housing Group and, as a result, Catherine had dismissed her chances of clinching either the Housing Officer’s post or the Support Worker’s role she had been interviewed for by Wave the day before that.  She had sensed from the start that Clearwater were probably going through the motions, interviewing a couple of token external candidates before appointing internally.  There had been a group exercise for the five candidates, observed by the interviewing panel, during which the internal candidates acted as if they already knew what was coming and what was expected of them.

‘It was like a rigged version of The Apprentice!’ she had complained to Toby and Ash, as they set up the computers ready for a heavily-booked UC clinic.  

‘I hate it when it’s a stitch-up,’ said Ashley.  

‘It was a whole day too, by the time I got there and back.’  A day lost to job applications; a steep bus fare.  

More frustrating, as closer to home, had been the Tenancy Support Worker’s job.  That had felt genuinely open and the panel’s eyes had lit up when she mentioned volunteering at the Solent Welfare Rights Project.  She had felt a fraud when she admitted to having spent only a couple of days there so far.  It must have looked like the worst sort of window-dressing.

‘You shouldn’t give too much away,’ Ashley advised her, when she expressed these thoughts.  ‘As the saying goes, fake it ‘til you make it!’

Catherine looked away and said nothing, wondering if this young woman, who had been the successful candidate pitched against her, had faked anything to get this job.

There was no time to brood on that.  Friday’s clinic was often a hectic one as people desperately tried to iron out problems ahead of the weekend.  Catherine was surprised to find that, although most of them were jobseekers, like herself, there were also several workers on zero-hours or other flexible working arrangements.  

'It's all very well the Government telling people they have to learn to budget,' said Ashley, as she and Catherine took a break together in the café.  'That's easy enough, if you're a civil servant on the same money every month.  These guys get paid weekly, when they get paid at all, and they're used to budgeting weekly.'

'At least they have something to fall back on, without having to make a new claim every time they don't get enough hours,' Catherine answered.  'Switching between Tax Credits and JSA was a recipe for disaster when I was a Housing Officer.  People who did that were always more prone to arrears than those who were long-term unemployed.'

'So you think UC is a good thing?'  

Ashley's tone was quite confrontational.

'I think there are aspects of it that aren't all bad.  Cutting out the need to claim something new every time there's a change in  your circumstances - work to unemployment, sickness to health - seems like a good move.'

'Isn't that just so you don't have an excuse not to do dead end, short-term jobs?'

'Whatever the motivation behind it, the consequence isn't a bad one.  The original work allowances were better too; Hilary said the earnings disregards for the legacy benefits hadn't changed since nineteen eighty-eight!'

'I wasn't born then!'  Ashley got up.  'I'm going outside for a smoke.  See you later.'

Catherine watched her paid colleague cross the room and exit to the back yard.

'She'd better not get fag ash on Tom's garlic,' Paula said, looking over from the counter.  

'I expect she'll steer well clear of it,' laughed a guy in a tatty raincoat, one of two men with battered rucksacks waiting for lunch service to begin.  'She looks like she'd be allergic to it.'

'I doubt if she knows how she looks,' his mate replied.  'They don't show up in mirrors. do they?'

'Okay, you two.  Enough with the vampire jokes,' Paula warned them.  'How Ashley dresses is her choice.  Show respect; get respect.  Right?'

The men agreed.  

Catherine felt that she ought to have been the one to speak up for her colleague.  

'I didn't know there was a garden at the back,' she said, out of genuine interest but also to hide her embarrassment..

'It was set up when Spitfire Housing first launched this as a community café.  John, the bloke in charge of the project, was an old hippy.  He got it all laid out as raised beds and planted up with herbs.  Tom and Father Cornelius keep it going between them, and we have a community allotment as well, so there's usually something fresh for the kitchen and for food parcels.'

'That's lovely,' said Catherine.  'I have an allotment too.'

Paula admitted that she was no gardener.  Catherine finished her tea and went back to the IT room.  Toby was explaining the concept of security questions to a woman who Catherine thought looked as though she should have retired years before.

'Don't pick that one if you aren't going to get it right.  What about the first car you owned?'

'That was the Viva, I think.  Or it might have been a Cortina...'

'Hello, Miss?'  

Catherine's attention was drawn to a young man sitting at another PC nearby.

'Can I help?'

'I think I've done this bit wrong.  I don't understand.'

Catherine was afraid she might not either but, fortunately, it was a question related to his housing situation, so she was on home ground.  

Ashley reappeared shortly afterwards, just in time to help another customer needing to make a new claim.  

'It doesn't really take six weeks to come through, does it?' he asked.  'That's only if something goes wrong, right?  I mean, I've got my P45 here and everything...'

'It's six weeks if everything goes right,' Ashley explained.  'It can be longer.'

'That's the other side of Christmas, love!  I can't be arsed with all this shit.  I'll get another job before then.'

He got up, letting his chair clatter to the floor, and walked out, despite Ashley's entreaties about advance payments.

Catherine thought she looked shaken.

'Are you alright?'

'Yeah.  I don't blame him.  It is crap,' she said.  'What if he doesn't get another job quickly, or if he's got kids?'

'At least they might get some Tax Credits this side of Christmas, if there's a claim running now,' Toby said.  'And even some Housing Benefit.  If he hadn't run off so fast, we might have been able to get those revised up for him as an alternative to a UC claim.'

'I shouldn't have said that about the six weeks,' said Ashley.

'It's not your fault, kiddo,' Toby insisted.  'He started it.  It's the thing everyone knows about it, thanks to the news.'

'Six weeks with no money?' said the lad next to Catherine.

'Not necessarily,' she said gently, wary of provoking a second walk-out.  He lived locally; at least if he was without funds they could help him claim an advance and feed him.

The IT crowd lunched together when the clinic finished at one-thirty.  Toby and Ashley were done for the day.  Catherine too would need to go soon; she had over an hour's journey on the bus back home and wanted to be in when the girls got home.  Her phone rang, while she was telling her colleagues about them.

'Hello!'

It was Clearwater, confirming what she had already guessed.

'Thank you.'  

She put her phone back in her bag and picked up her knife and fork.

'No luck?' asked Toby.

'Not this time.'  She wanted to cry.

'Their loss,' said Ashley.

Catherine looked up.

'I mean it,' Ash continued.  'You were brilliant with that guy this morning.'

'Which one?'  It had been hectic.

'The one with a bit of a learning disability.  I saw him on Tuesday.  He didn't get what the Bedroom Tax was when I explained it but he understood it the way you put it.'

'Understanding it isn't going to make it any easier for him to pay it,' Catherine said.  'He needs more money.'

'Toby and I are doing a PIP appeal for him next week,' Ashley said.  'You could come along - if you'd like to.'

'I would, very much.'  It was all useful experience, whatever Colin might think.

'Don't forget to see Vaughan about your bus fares,' Toby reminded her, when Ashley had finished and gone.  'He's our petty cash guy.  And if you need anything else...'

'I'm okay.'

She had answered too quickly; Toby didn't look totally convinced.

'Did you say Vaughan was a solicitor?'

'During his misspent youth,' Toby replied.  'We rescued him, from the Dark Side.'  He laughed.  'Are you hoping to come in next week?'

'Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, if I can,' she replied.  'Unless I get a better offer.'

'Then, in the nicest possible way, I hope I don't see you!'

He picked up his bag, shouted a quick farewell to Paula and left the café.

Catherine sat a little longer, finishing her tea and watching the café crew clearing up.  The old priest seemed to have a couple of youths helping him today, carrying boxes in from the storeroom while a group of ladies were emptying them and laying things out along the tables used for the Friday foodbank.  Catherine had done her promised big shop this week, stopping off at the supermarket on her way home after the Clearwater debacle.  She had stocked up on tinned tomatoes, which had been on three for two, she had found some good multi-buy deals on fish and mince and, best of all, a good sized beef joint marked down for quick sale, so there would be a change from cheap chicken this Sunday.  

She had come home by taxi, feeling upbeat despite the disappointment of the interview, to find the girls in their rooms and an unopened letter on the mat.  It was from her landlord, explaining that, despite her efforts to catch up her rent arrears and her generally exemplary conduct, he was adopting a policy of not letting to benefit dependent tenants and proposed not to renew her shorthold when it expired at the end of March.  The tone of the letter suggested he felt he was doing her a great favour by giving her so much notice. 

She was sure the girls hadn't seen the letter or opened it this time.  She put it in her bag.  There would be a time and place to discuss this with her children and, perhaps, if she could change her situation, to talk to her landlord.  She would keep it to herself this side of Christmas, at least.

If she couldn't find work that paid well enough to take her off Universal Credit, Catherine was almost certain that she had no redress against her landlord's action, but she would have been glad of a second opinion from someone with more knowledge of private sector housing law.  She had brought the letter with her, on the off-chance of being able to speak with Vaughan.  Collecting her travel expenses gave her the perfect opportunity to broach the subject.

However, after she had taken her plate and cup back to the counter, Catherine found herself reluctant to waste his time.  She had her return ticket on her, so there was no urgent need for her expenses either.  She waved to Paula and set off to get her bus.

#PauseAndFix

This short post will only make sense if you've been following the Welfare Rights Lit serial unfolding on this blog, as a NaNoWriMo challenge and a commentary on the roll-out of Universal Credit.  The aim is to write it in 'real time', although I'm unlikely to ever catch right up, since I started a week late; like an authentic UC claim, there were seven 'waiting days' when you got nothing at all!

Just like the roll-out of UC, we can review things as we go along, so it's audience participation time.  Today's consultation concerns Ralph, Catherine's friend on the allotment.  Put simply, do we swipe left or swipe right with this guy?  Do we like him (in which case he doesn't get to 'rescue' her in any conventional romantic novel sense, but will have a positive role in her life), think he's a bit soppy (in which case she will have to let him down gently at some point), or is he actually quite creepy and a potential menace to her or her family, who's got comeuppance heading his way in an unlikely manner?

This being just like real welfare reform, although I'll read any responses, there is absolutely no guarantee I'll take any notice of even the best thought out and most expert opinions, especially if I've already decided on a course of action by the time I hear from you.  IDS would be proud of me!

Chapter Sixteen - New Blood

Thursday 16th November

The IT clinic Toby had set up, with the old computers from Wave Housing, was one of his proudest achievements.  Since Universal Credit had been unleashed on this unsuspecting town, it was also one of the Project's best-used services.  There were other places where people without access to their own computers could get online, make and manage their claims, but the combination of tech tutoring and benefits advice offered here made it unique and invaluable.

Taking on the clinic project forced Toby to become the team's Universal Credit specialist.  For a part-timer, as he now was, that was a tall order.  Considering that it had been pitched as something which simplified the benefits system, Universal Credit had some oddly complicated features.  This morning, Toby was sharing his thought on a few of these with Ashley, their new worker.  He had three people already settled at their screens, logged in and coping, so now seemed a quiet time to swap notes.

Ashley had come in for her first day at the beginning of the week.  She opted to work mornings every day for the time being, enabling her to make her cycle journeys in daylight.  Prior to her arrival, the team had planned a quiet induction week, allowing her plenty of time to settle before starting to meet clients or formal training in the areas where she lacked knowledge or confidence.  After a welcome 'second breakfast' with cakes from the café, she spent most of her first half day with Deepak, getting a tour of their offices and the foodbank projects, an introduction to how they kept records and monitoring information and a look at a few case files.  Allocating these tasks to a relative newcomer was Hilary's plan, both to make Deepak feel valued and more central to the team and to avoid giving Ashley the impression that she, Hilary, was in any way 'the boss'.

After Tuesday morning team meeting, which Toby had chaired, Ashley sat in on interviews with both Martin and Hilary.  On Wednesday, having spent the morning working solo through a training pack on Housing Benefit and equivalent restrictions on UC housing element, she was offered the opportunity to go on the road with Father Cornelius's outreach foodbank, and a lift home from Hilary and Tom when they had finished.  She had set off in the van with the priest and Terry Walker, expecting a quiet afternoon.

According to Terry's report on their return, it was 'a bloody good job' she had been there, as she had hung on the Universal Credit helpline for two guests, chasing up their delayed claims while Father Cornelius and his local helpers took care of the food parcels, tea and biscuits.

She might look as if she'd had an interview with a vampire since they'd first met her, without the black clothing and Goth make-up that was evidently her preferred apparel, and her style might turn heads in the café, but Toby thought she was a good catch for the Project and would fit right in.

'You've seen what a problem the six-week minimum run-in is,' he said to her, as he explained the workings of the clinic and how it tried to make the digital element of UC manageable.  'There's a chance we'll see that cut, even if they don't tackle all the rest of the glitches.'

'I thought there was a debate in Parliament about it a couple of weeks ago,' Ashley said, referencing the fact that Universal Credit had found its way onto the order papers again that afternoon.  'How come it's up again?'

'Because its been getting a lot of negative press and, at last, our elected representatives finally understand it's not all it's cracked up to be,' Toby explained.  'Much as I like Corbyn's gang, it's a pity a few more of them didn't look at the small print when the Coalition first proposed it.  They were afraid of being seen as soft on so-called benefit scroungers, weren't they?' 

'That's what I thought, until I read this.'  Ashley searched on the screen in front of her until she found the item she was looking for.  'What do you think of that?'

Toby, half expecting a piece of hard-left shock journalism, instead skimmed an academic article concluding that, rather than hardened public attitudes driving politicians to cut benefits, unsympathetic political discourse, from Thatcher's day, through New Labour and up to the present day, had set out to change opinion, and had succeeded.

'Maybe this is the start of the tide turning,' Ashley said.  'A lot of people seem to think the seven waiting days will go too.'

'That's where most of the budgeting problems start,' Toby agreed.  'It wasn't much fun missing out on a week's worth of JSA or ESA, but seven unpaid days at the start of UC means no money for the kids and no money for the rent either.  They have to live on something, so they borrow - either from a friend, a loan shark or the DWP themselves.'

'An SBA?'

'That's right.  Short-term benefit advances,' Toby said.  'Aren't they a headache?  A UC advance payment looks like a good plan, but it's a loan with a seriously steep payback rate.'

'I know people who borrow from payday lenders, even though they have to pay more back in total, because it's less per month,' Ashley told him.  'It's easy to tell someone that's stupid, just like it's easy to point out how much extra you pay at Brighthouse, but until you're the one trying to manage on it...'

Toby guessed Ashley herself was possibly in that position.  They had agreed with the Management Committee that she could have an advance on her wages.

'Then, at the end of six weeks, they only get a month's money,' he continued.  'And only then if they're lucky and aren't benefit capped or otherwise short-changed.  Of course, they've then got someone to pay back, another month to get through and a minimum of six week's rent arrears.  Two more, either in old arrears or through being short on that first payment, and it's mandatory possession.  So yeah, cutting the wait and scrapping the waiting days would be a start, but UC would still be a pretty poor Social Security system to leave to your generation.'

It was strange how, suddenly, Toby felt as if he was one of the old guys at the Project.  Maybe it was meeting Shane the day before that had done it; the lad had been less than half his age.

'You're not kidding,' said Ashley.  'I can't believe what's happening with the severe disability premium!'

Toby agreed.  He had an advice-worker's affection for the good old SDP, which he described to those of his clients who qualified for it as the 'off-side rule' of benefits.  Not that easy to spot and harder still to explain and, when it did apply, it could be a game-changer.  Not a benefit in its own right but an add-on - a premium - to the calculation of other means-tested benefits, if three qualifying conditions applied.  The claimant needed to receive a particular disability benefit; Attendance Allowance, PIP for daily living or DLA at the middle or higher rate for care,  In addition they had to be treated as living alone, which wasn't quite the same as actually living alone, since children under eighteen and others on those same rates of disability benefit weren't counted, nor people registered blind.  Disabled couples could, therefore, qualify for a 'double SDP', almost the Holy Grail of advice work. 

The final condition was that nobody must receive Carer's Allowance for looking after you. Worth about sixty-two pounds a week to a single claimant, twice that to a couple and, occasionally, even more where a qualifying pensioner triggered entitlement to Housing Benefit, he still got a kick out of tracking down SDPs..  There was even a clever dodge you could do with underlying entitlement to Carer's Allowance where a disabled couple, looking after each other, could both get carer premiums too.  Setting up that scenario was the nearest equivalent in advice work to scoring at hat-trick, away at Anfield, in a cup tie, in front of the Kop, that Toby could think of. 

But his SDP-scoring days were over, because there was no severe disability premium or equivalent in Universal Credit.  He was still pleased enough when his clients got their PIP awards - whether lucky first time or after an appeal - but it galled him that, in most cases, he couldn't go on to boost their income still more.

'We ran a take-up campaign all through the spring, rounding up as many unpaid SDPs as we could,' Toby told his new colleague.  'Most of them were on contributory ESA and PIP, as you'd expect, but it was surprising how many people on means-tested benefits were missing out, and through official error too.'

'I know.  We had a bloke in who was owed over four thousand quid.  We got it for him, too!'

Toby had found one double that, but he didn't want to turn this into a competition.  Ashley was new, she was still getting used to them all.  He was being professional and respectful, even to Hilary.

'Well done,' he said.

Janet, one of the regular clinic customers, called him over for help.  She was a cleaner, claiming UC to top up her intermittent wages for irregular hours.  Ashley, he noticed approvingly, waited to be invited before joining them.

'I can't see if that job application is showing up in my actions,' Janet said.  'I had this problem once before with something, and they sanctioned me.'

'How long ago was that?' asked Toby.

'Two months.'

'That's recent enough to ask for a reconsideration, if we can find good cause for you not asking before,' said Ashley.

'It doesn’t matter,’ Janet replied.  ‘They're paying me again - for now.'

‘It does matter!' urged the newcomer.  'It's about making sure they don't give you a worse one next time.'

'Ash is right, Jan.  If you want an appointment, just to be on the safe side...?'

Toby checked with his new colleague that she would be up for that. 

'I'll see what Vaughan's got in the room diary,' said Ashley.  She looked almost too keen as she rushed to the door.

Before Toby had finished tidying up Janet's Universal Jobsmatch account, Ashley was back with a choice of appointment times for her first client.

'There's another thing with the severe disability premium,' she said to Toby, once Janet was settled back into her job-seeking and two additional customers were logged on.  'Have you seen that catch with the carer element?'

Toby wasn't sure what she meant.  He had seen the rules around the carer element in UC as one of the few changes for the better, extending the right to be treated as a carer - and therefore assessed more generously - to large numbers of working carers overlooked by the so-called legacy benefits it replaced.

'You don't meet the SDP conditions if you've got a carer who gets UC with a carer element,' Ashley said.

'Since when?'  Toby didn't remember that change.

'Since all the time I've been doing this - a year and a half, anyway.'

'Are you sure?'

'Deffo.  I'll show you.'  She called up the Disability Rights UK website.  'It's not a big deal yet but when they start moving people across from Income Support...'

She was right.  The regulation had changed in April 2016.

‘All those carers in work or with an underlying entitlement who claim UC will get carer elements included in the calculation,’ she said.  ‘A legacy benefit carer premium doesn’t mess up the other person’s SDP but a UC carer’s element does.’

‘So when the carer changes over to UC, the person they’re looking after is going to lose their SDP,’ said Toby.  ‘That’s evil!’ 

‘It’s sixty-two pounds a week’s worth of evil,’ Ashley agreed.

‘It’ll be more for some.  I’ve done claims for pensioners who only get Housing Benefit because the SDP gives them Guarantee Pension Credit.’

‘How come?’

‘If they’re over the capital limit for Housing Benefit.’

‘God, yeah!’  Ashley thought about that for a few seconds.  ‘They could lose hundreds a week!’

‘And because UC is the benefit to rule them all now, the carer can’t decide to claim something else.’  Toby tried to think of a fix. 

‘I suppose one way out is to care less,’ suggested Ashley.

‘Do fewer hours?’

‘Under thirty-five a week.  No carer premium then.’

‘But, potentially, full conditionality.  And what if the carer needs thirty-five hours of looking after?’

‘Share it with someone.  Or under-estimate what you do.’

‘We can’t advise people to do that,’ Toby said, quite firmly.

‘I know.  It doesn’t mean they won’t.’ 

‘We’ll talk about this with the others in the morning,’ Toby said.  He looked at the door as another potential customer came in.  ‘What bothers me isn’t just how this will affect disabled people, it’s that they and their carers don’t know and probably won’t find out until they’ve been overpaid.  Can I help you, mate?’

The new arrival, a man in later middle age, looked towards them warily.

‘I’ve been told to come here for help with something called Universal Credit,’ he said.  ‘The bloke on the desk told me to come on through.  I’m crap with computers.’

‘Don’t worry, buddy.  We’ll get you sorted out,’ he said.  Toby settled him at a PC and switched it on.  He hoped his new customer wasn’t a full-time carer.

Chapter Fifteen - The Apprentice

Wednesday 15^th November

Shane Walker was used to visiting the Community Café.  He didn't eat there but he dropped in sometimes to meet his mother for a lift home, if he had stayed late at college for something or been practicing with the band at his mate Josh's house.  At first, he had been disgusted at the state of some of the old, homeless blokes who came in for their evening meal.  His mum didn't seem to notice; she chatted to them much as she chatted to everyone, she joked with them and, if there was a problem, she spoke firmly but with respect.  Gradually, Shane started to recognise some of them and know them by name.  He started to say 'hello' to them.  He might get an 'alright, nipper!' in return, he might not.  Last winter, the band had done a charity gig at the Nelson and raised a couple of hundred pounds for the night shelter.  They were booked to do another at the end of the month.

Calling in at lunchtime was a new experience.  The clientele was more mixed.  Some of them looked like business people, teachers or ordinary shoppers.  It wasn’t so easy to guess who were paying for their meals and who were eating on the house.

The grey-haired guy behind the counter offered Shane a choice of veggie lasagne, shepherd’s pie or chicken curry.  He sounded like a northerner.

‘I don’t have a voucher,’ Shane replied.

‘That’s alright, lad,’ the man replied.  ‘Your mother’s put one in the box for you.’

Shane didn’t think he knew the man, so was surprised he knew who he was.

‘Paula said to watch out for a young fellow with a ponytail, wearing an army surplus coat, who might be coming in to volunteer,’ the man replied.  ‘I’m a volunteer here myself.  My name’s Tom.’

‘I’m going to be working in the advice centre,’ Shane answered, worried that his mother had stitched him up with kitchen work instead. 

‘I know you are.  I’ll be joining you, after lunch, although I think the plan is for Toby to get you helping out in the IT clinic.  Martin and Hilary are going to have a chat with you first.’  He waved a ladle across the food in front of him.  ‘If you’ve time, you’d do well to enjoy a hearty meal before that!’

Shane wasn’t sure if the man was joking, or if he was in for a grilling.  He asked for lasagne and took his plate and a glass of juice to an empty table, where he could see the door through to the advice centre.  He had promised to be there at one o’clock.  That gave him fifteen minutes for his lunch.

A few people came in and out through the door while he was eating.  A couple went straight to the counter, grasping their vouchers, while others hurried out, almost as if they might catch poverty if they stayed too long.

‘Hello, nipper!  Paula said you might be in!’  Shane’s grandfather plonked himself down on a seat opposite, with an unusually small portion of shepherd’s pie.  ‘I can’t hang about.  Me and the Father are off out in a minute.’

Terry told Shane about the outreach foodbank.

‘Do you get anyone there?’  It seemed unlikely to Shane that there would be much demand away from the town centre and the estates.

‘There was one bloke last week – but I can’t really talk about that.’

In the event, he didn’t have to.  Just before Terry finished shovelling his lunch away and Shane was starting to worry about his interview, two men came out of the advice centre door.  One was a short, fair-haired man wearing last season’s SFC shirt.  The other was a younger man, taller but quite gaunt.  To Shane’s surprise, he came over to their table. 

‘If I keep you waiting, sorry,’ he said to Shane’s granddad, in a central European accent.

‘You’re alright, nipper,’ said Terry.  ‘We’re not ready to go just yet.  You could get some grub if you like.  Everything go to plan?’

The thin guy looked confused.

‘Have they sorted out your money?’ asked Terry, a little louder than Shane thought was necessary.

‘Yes.  Martin think is sorted now.’

‘Good!  I should bloody well hope so, after all the bother you’ve had.  Bunch of clowns!’  Terry pointed to the man in the football shirt.  ‘That’s Toby, by the way, not Martin.  Martin is a thin bloke with glasses.’

‘I see Martin; Toby help with language.’

‘Your English isn’t bad, mate.’  Terry got to his feet.  ‘If you’re not having a bite to eat, you can give us a hand loading the van.’

‘Do you need me to help, Granddad?’  Shane got up.

‘No, son.  Me and Mick can see to it, with the borstal boys, of course.’  He looked at the clock and tilted his head towards the advice centre door.  ‘Haven’t you got to be through there?’

‘Yeah, I have!’

Shane pushed on the door and stepped through into a quite corridor.  He almost missed the man sitting at a desk to the right of it.

‘Ah!  You must be Shane.’

Someone else he had never met seemed to know him, in this case an older man with a high forehead, tightly curled grey hair and a wise, inquisitive face.

‘My name is Vaughan James,’ the old man said.  ‘If you’ll give me just a moment or two, I’ll take you through to see Martin and Hilary.’

Shane took a seat at the end of a short row of chairs opposite the desk.  An Asian man, who Shane guessed was perhaps thirty, came out of a room just beyond them, accompanied by a middle-aged woman.  He guided her to the café door.

‘Make sure you have something while you’re waiting,’ he said, handing her a couple of laminated tickets.  ‘Tom will let Marjorie know, when you’re ready to choose your food.’ 

‘But after that…?’  She was clearly still in some distress.

‘The Council will let us know within a fortnight.  If you need to, please do come in again.  Vaughan can gave you more vouchers.’ 

‘I’d be more than happy to,’ the old man reassured her.

As she went out, Shane saw his grandmother come out of a different side door, with a lady of about her age.  She was using her crutches; so was her client.  They were laughing and trying not to trip each other over as they left the room.

‘Hello luvvie!’ she called, spotting him as she came towards them.  ‘Have you had your lunch?’

‘Yes Nan.  So’s Granddad.’

‘Then I’ll just have to join this nice young man, won’t I, Deepak?  

‘I would love to, Lyn, but I have an urgent letter I must do now, while all the details are fresh in my mind.  Maybe next week?’

‘He always has an excuse to stand me up!’ Lyn said to the other lady. 

Vaughan opened the door for them.

‘Good luck with your interview, luvvie.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m sure they won’t give you too much of a hard time!’

Shane sighed.

‘You really shouldn’t be so anxious,’ Vaughan advised him.  ‘They’re just as keen to make a good impression on you as you are to impress them.’

‘Really?’

‘Quite so.’  A phone on the desk rang.  The man picked it up. ‘Oh yes, he’s here.  Shall I bring him in?’

Shane had expected to be ushered into one of the interview rooms.  Instead, he found himself stepping into an office, cluttered and somewhat sort of space between and around the desks.  A dark-haired woman in her forties was sitting beside one of the desks and a man Shane thought might be thirty or so, with quite spiky brown hair and glasses, stood to her left.  There was a seat in front of them.

‘You must be Shane,’ the woman said, in a voice that reminded him of Joanna Lumley.  ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’

Shane sat down.  Then he decided it was warm enough that he ought to take his coat off, so he stood up again.  One sleeve swept across the nearest desk and scattered a pot of pens across the floor.’

‘Sorry, I…’ Shane started gathering them up.  The man came to his aid.

‘Thanks,’ said Shane.

‘I’m Martin,’ he said.  ‘And this is Hilary.’

‘Hello,’ said Shane, looking up at the dark-haired woman.  Closer to, she looked quite a bit older than he had first thought.

‘Welcome to Mission Control,’ she said.  ‘I’m afraid there’s not a lot of room.  We moved out of the bigger office when the computers arrived.  It’s really rather fortunate that we’re rarely all in here together!’

Shane wondered where he would go.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Hilary said.  ‘You’re likely to be in the computer room with Toby or perhaps helping with reception, if we don’t scare you off today!’ 

She laughed.  Shane laughed too.

 ‘Would you like a drink – water, tea, whatever?’ asked the man.  

‘I’m good,’ said Shane.

‘I’m sure we don’t have to tell you too much about what we do, with your Nan being part of our team,’ Hilary continued.  ‘When she said you had expressed an interest in helping, we were delighted.  I am right in thinking that you’re only free on Wednesday afternoons and you would like to help through here, rather than in the café or foodbank?’

‘Yeah,’ said Shane.  ‘I’d like to be an adviser.’

He noticed Hilary and Martin glance quickly at each other.

‘There’s a shedload of training you’d need to do to be an adviser,’ Martin said.  ‘I’m not saying you couldn’t do it – I expect you could – but it would eat up most of your Wednesday afternoons for the rest of the academic year.  We don’t think we could spare the staff time to do that, either.’

‘But don’t let that put you off,’ Hilary added. 

Shane guessed he had given his disappointment away on his face. 

‘We think we might be able let you loose without too much training, if we play to your strengths,’ she continued.  ‘Hence the idea of getting you involved in the IT clinic.  What do you know about Universal Credit?’

‘Not a lot,’ Shane admitted.  ‘Nan – Lyn, that is – says it’s bad news for disabled people, but I don’t really get why.  There was something on the news, too.’ 

Shane vaguely remembered something about waiting for payments – he wished he’d followed up the story online and found out more.

‘Isn’t there a problem with how long you go without money?’ he asked.

‘There is.’  Hilary smiled at him.  ‘It’s usually a minimum of six weeks, which means that, unless you’ve already made your claim, you probably won’t get your first payment until after Christmas.’

‘Fuck!’ said Shane.  He immediately wished he hadn’t.

‘You two should get along,’ Hilary said to Martin.

‘H prefers us not to swear,’ Martin explained.  ‘I think that’s expecting too much, with what’s going on right now, but don’t use bad language in front of our clients.’

‘Sorry.’

Hilary used that gaff as a springboard to fire a series of quite searching questions at him, which he could tell were to check out his attitudes.  He answered honestly, hoping he didn’t say anything wrong.  Martin and Hilary seemed happy with his replies.

‘Getting back to UC,’ said Hilary.  ‘In addition to the wait for your first payment – indeed, part of the reason for it – is that most people don’t qualify for benefit during their first week.  There is a great deal of pressure on the Government to change that.’

‘Do you think they will?’

‘Possibly, if they think it will put an end to other criticism,’ Hilary replied. 

‘It shouldn’t,’ Martin said.  ‘There is so much wrong…’

‘The issue that concerns you is this,’ Hilary said, continuing her explanation to Shane.  ‘Everyone is expected to claim UC online.  Not only must they claim it online, they must manage their claim online.  If they have to look for work, the Jobcentre will look for evidence they have been doing so in an online journal.  The jobcentre will send details of appointments, meetings, training and jobs to apply for via email.  It may come as a shock to someone of your generation, but there are still many people, of working age, who do not have a home computer or a smartphone or, if they do have these things, they lack the capacity or expertise to use them for such sophisticated tasks.’

‘You’ve met my granddad,’ said Shane.

Martin and Hilary exchanged glances again and smiled.

‘A perfect example, if I might say,’ Hilary chuckled.  ‘If you imagine Terry, your granddad, trying to fill in a benefit form on the computer…’

‘He goes mental enough doing it on paper!’

Hilary coughed and raised her eyebrows.

‘Sorry,’ said Shane.

Martin took over the briefing.  ‘Toby will explain more when you see him but what we need is someone who can help them with the practical stuff – answering security questions, making up safe passwords they can remember, logging in and out, making sure it’s all logged where their work coach can see it.  Toby – or another one of us, if he’s away – can concentrate on the advice side of things.’

‘Are you interested?’ asked Hilary.

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Shane.  ‘I’ll give it a go.’

‘Excellent,’ said Martin.

‘There are a few strict rules that you must follow,’ Hilary insisted.  ‘Quite often, people ask if we can write their passwords and security questions down for them, and save them here, on their file or on our computers.  I’m afraid we absolutely can’t.’

‘Obviously!’ said Shane.

‘It may seem so, to someone used to computers,’ said Hilary.  ‘But, when people have trusted you with their medical history, financial details and sometimes very disturbing personal information, they rather expect us to be a safe place to store their data too, especially if they have issues that make remembering some things quite difficult.  Our problem is that while they might share that data with us, we can’t know who else they would also share it with.  If there’s then an issue with someone accessing their account and tampering with it, for example to change bank account details, we run the risk of coming under suspicion and, while I’m sure we could clear ourselves in due course, the damage to our service from such an incident would be very serious.’

Shane hadn’t thought of it like that before.

‘It’s a nightmare really,’ said Martin.  ‘Without this kind of support, some of our clients aren’t going to cope with this system at all.  In fact, we know they already aren’t.’

‘Like Daniel Blake?’ said Shane.

‘Who…?’  Hilary smiled at him again.  ‘Of course, the film.  For a moment, I thought you meant a real client of ours!’

‘Was it realistic, what happened to him?’ Shane asked.  When Shane had mentioned seeing the film, one of his fellow students had insisted it was all Communist propaganda.

‘Sadly, it was mostly all too believable,’ said Hilary.

‘Apart from that adviser telling him he was definitely going to win,’ Martin added.  ‘We would never do that.  Even if we thought we were definitely going to win.’

‘Could I go to a tribunal one day?’  Shane asked.

‘Maybe,’ said Hilary.  ‘Firstly, however, I think we should introduce you properly to the rest of the team.’