Chapter 20
She’d been sat on the cheap plastic sofa for so long, her buttocks had gone numb. At least she could no longer feel the sweat pooling beneath them. Her skin was ready to melt off her body like a satin kimono in an eighties’ porno. Even Steve, who was fidgeting next to her, had made some small concession to the heat by unzipping his shell suit jacket to the navel and not wearing a vest underneath it.
A voice rang out. ‘Number three hundred and seven!’
Everyone glanced down at the tickets they’d pulled from the dispenser on arrival. Clutching it reminded her of being a child, waiting at the supermarket deli counter whilst her mother flirted with the faux ‘butcher’ over slices of corned beef. Finally, it was their turn.
The person behind the counter – Denise according to her name badge – had the air of a woman for whom breathing was too much trouble.
‘How can I help you today?’ The words dawdled out of her mouth with little intonation.
‘I’m here to help this man claim benefits,’ said Simone.
‘Has he created an online account?’
‘Steve?’
Steve shook his head. ‘I wasn’t sure how to.’
The woman gave them the supercilious smile of the carnival tin can stall man, the kind who hands you the rifle knowing full well the sight is skew-whiff and the barrel is bent.
‘I’m going to need you to do that first.’ Denise made the slightest inclination of her head. ‘You’re welcome to use the PCs over there.’
There were three PCs, all looking like they belonged in a museum. Two were occupied by young people shouting at them. An old man sat at the third, looking confused.
‘Or there’s an internet café round the corner.’
‘I’ve not got any money, love,’ said Steve. ‘I’m homeless.’
‘I can’t do anything without an online account.’
‘I’ll do it on my mobile right now,’ said Simone. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’
‘I will have to ask you to do it elsewhere and then re-join the queue,’ said Denise.
‘The queue that we’ve already been in for several hours?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘If I go in that queue for any longer, someone’s going to file a missing person’s report on me.’
The woman’s eyes lazily rolled in their sockets. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Isn’t it? We met a baby when we joined that queue, and she’s just had her first period.’
The woman shrugged, glanced at the clock on the wall behind her, and sighed. ‘I’m due on a break now anyway.’
‘Then we’ll stay here until you get back.’
‘I can’t let you do that. Security issues.’
‘What do you imagine we might do? Steal this biro?’ Simone picked up the pen that was attached to the desk with a bit of string and some Sellotape.
‘I’m going to have to ask you to put the writing implement down.’
‘Why? Are you scared I might fill out some forms correctly?’
‘Leave it,’ said Steve. ‘It’s not worth it. We’ll do it another time.’
But she wasn’t going anywhere. Except back in the queue it seemed.
It was another forty minutes before they were recalled to the same counter. She’d attempted to persuade Steve to go and get some water, preferably from somewhere several miles away so she didn’t have to listen to his inane jabbering for a bit, but he’d politely declined on the basis that he couldn’t take a hint if one abducted him in broad daylight and told him to shut the fuck up or else it would remove his fingernails one by one.
‘How can I help you today?’
Denise spoke the words as if she didn’t remember them. What was this? Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Twat?
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ said Simone.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Denise. ‘Do you have the account details?’
She gave her the account details.
‘I’m going to need his home address.’
Steve shook his head in resignation. ‘I haven’t got one.’
‘We told you, he’s homeless.’
‘Is he in a hostel?’ asked Denise.
‘Cedar Lodge in Whitechapel. Run by this amazing woman called Gayle. She once?—’
‘Not now, Steve,’ said Simone.
He nodded.
‘We can use that as a care of address in exceptional circumstances,’ said Denise. ‘What are his bank account details?’
‘Steve?’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘Hmm. That’s a problem.’ Denise looked like problems were among her favourite things, along with dog bites, bee stings, and people feeling bad.
‘Why?’
‘Because it is.’
‘You’re saying he can’t get money unless he has a bank account, but presumably he won’t get a bank account unless he has money going in.’
‘I don’t make the rules,’ said Denise.
‘Is there a workaround?’
‘You could designate an account for the first payment, but he’ll need his own for them to continue.’
‘He can use my account.’
‘Ahh, thanks Sim,’ said Steve.
‘Don’t ever call me, Sim.’
‘And then do I get my money?’ asked Steve.
‘We need to confirm your identity. Do you have a passport, driver’s licence?’
Steve shook his head.
‘What about a utility bill?’ said Denise.
‘Are you taking the piss?’ said Simone. ‘For where exactly? HE. IS. HOMELESS!’
‘We’ll have to ask that he confirms his identity in person,’ said Denise.
Simone took a deep breath. She waited. Denise also waited. Simone broke first.
‘Perhaps we could do that then.’
‘Sorry, you can’t,’ said Denise.
‘Why not?’
‘You need to book an appointment with a Work Coach.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Me.’
‘We’re seeing you now,’ said Simone. ‘You’re just there.’
It would have been less frustrating talking to a malfunctioning Alexa.
‘I can’t do it now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Separate thing. And I have other people to see. They’ve been waiting a long time.’
‘I know. Several days ago, I was one of them.’
‘I told you it was impossible,’ said Steve. His chipper attitude had finally given way to that of Eeyore being told Christopher Robin had developed a taste for donkey flesh.
She tried to unclench her jaw. Her neck was cramping. ‘Can you book an appointment with Work Coach you for us?’
‘No. But you can do it at one of the PCs over there.’
The old man was now using the keyboard as a pillow. Or perhaps he’d died trying to work out how to make an appointment.
‘You’ll need his national insurance number.’
‘Steve?’
Steve could barely muster the energy to shake his head.
‘You can find it on a payslip,’ said Denise.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?!’
She had read once that the human body was capable of exploding with the ferocity of several Hiroshima bombs, if only scientists could harness its atomic energy. They’d clearly never met Denise.
‘If you’re going to get aggressive…’ Denise pointed to a sign that stated physical or verbal abuse would not be tolerated. Someone had put their fist through it.
Simone took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her mouth was claggy and dry. ‘Okay, so supposing we make our appointment and then we somehow magic up the documents, is that it? Job done? He gets his payment?’
‘It’ll be five weeks from completion of his application,’ said Denise, ‘but you should get confirmation sooner.’
Five weeks. There went her chances of clocking out of the shelter earlier.
‘You can apply for an advance at the Work Coach session,’ said Denise.
She allowed herself a brief moment of relief.
‘But the Work Coach appointment needs to have been booked within one week of the application being made, or else you need to start the whole thing again.’
‘We can do that,’ said Simone.
‘Yeah, only I’m on holiday next week.’
‘Where to. Miseryland Paris? Universal Credit Studios in Florida?’
‘Tenby,’ said Denise.
‘So we can’t actually make that appointment now.’
‘You could call and see if there are any cancellations.’
‘Who do we call?’
‘That would be me.’
‘And do you have a number?’
Denise began to write the number down on a scrap of paper.
‘It’s okay, I’ll put it straight into my phone.’
Denise dictated the number. Seconds later, her phone began to ring. She picked it up.
‘Fuck you very much,’ Simone shouted into the mobile she’d just called Denise on. ‘Come on, Steve. We’ll find another centre to go to.’
Emerging into the blinding sunshine, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. She totally accepted that there should be checks and measures ensuring only those in genuine need could avail themselves of government cash, but these had not been small hoops to be jumped through – they called for contortion-grade moves.
‘Looking for a new job? It’s probably for the best.’
It took a second to register that it was Ollie who had spoken. Brilliant. She’d managed to keep the truth of her situation secret for six full days. There had always been the chance she might see someone from the office – it was only a fifteen-minute walk away – but it was four in the afternoon, nowhere near home time, and of all the possibilities, it had to be Ollie she ran into.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘Taking a stroll to clear my head.’
‘It’s always seemed pretty empty to me.’
He stepped right in front of her. ‘You should be nice to me. When I’m made partner, I’ll have a lot more say in how things are run. Feel free to suck up whenever you like. That’s how you operate, isn’t it?’
‘You could come at me wearing a suit made of dildos and you still wouldn’t do it for me,’ she said. ‘Although you’d have a better chance of hitting the right spot.’
He grabbed her by the upper arm, his thumb digging into it. She had no idea where Steve had got to. Still, so long as he stayed out of the picture, she could pretend her flight had been delayed or something. Ollie didn’t need to know she’d been inside the building they were now stood outside of.
‘What are you staring at?’ he said to someone over her shoulder.
She pulled herself out of his grip and swivelled round in time to see a flash of neon heading straight at them with some speed. Next thing, Steve was running off and blood was streaming from Ollie’s nose. It took Ollie a few seconds to play catch up on the unfolding events, but when he did, he bent over and moaned like a ghost train.
‘He fucking headbutted me!’
He really had.
‘Who the fuck was that?’
‘Beats me,’ she said, acting ignorant. ‘Well, beats you.’
Blood dripped with metronomic regularity from Ollie’s nostrils.
‘Ow! That fucking hurts!’
What with the trodden-in chewing gum and the crimson streaks, the pavement was starting to resemble a Jackson Pollock.
‘Don’t just stand there, do something,’ he moaned.
She did nothing except enjoy the fact that no one else passing the scene seemed to want to do anything either. Ah, London.
‘Maybe he sensed that you were a dickhead. Like a pheromone that you give off. A twat signal. You just sent it up into the sky and now here we are.’
‘Have you got a tissue or something?’
‘Just give it a pinch.’
‘I think it’s fucking broken!’
‘Give it an extra hard pinch then,’ she said.
‘You are such a bitch.’
‘I have to go.’ She turned in the direction Steve had headed.
‘I am getting that job, Simone!’
Good job Jasper wasn’t there – there really was a lot of blood. But weren’t nosebleeds notorious for appearing worse than they were?
‘Sorry, I just heard I bag ebbing stat jom sibome.’
‘You’ll pay for this.’
‘It’ll make a change to Daddy paying for everything.’ She walked away with her middle finger held up over her shoulder.
A few hundred metres down the road, Steve beckoned her from an alleyway. Ensuring Ollie hadn’t followed her, she ducked into it. His forehead was miraculously injury-free.
‘Jesus, Steve. What did you do that for?’
‘You looked like you needed help. I tried to help you.’
‘Why?’
This seemed to be the stupidest question in the world to him. ‘Because you tried to help me.’
‘But I didn’t have a choice in the matter.’
‘Neither did I. I guess the urge just comes from a different place.’
Huh. She didn’t know what to say.
‘Who was that chief anyway?’ he asked.
‘A work colleague.’
Steve whistled. ‘If that’s what it takes to get the big bucks, I’m better off out of it.’
‘Shall we get some water?’ she suggested.
‘That’d be sound.’
‘And then shall we try and get you a bank account? You’re going to need one eventually.’
She checked to see if the coast was clear.
‘You won’t tell anyone to fuck off when we’re in there, will you?’ asked Steve.
‘Not if you don’t drop the nut on anyone.’
‘Okay, our kid. It’s a deal.’
* * *
Later on, she sat at her laptop, googling how to work the system. Steve had been right – it was a joke, engineered to obfuscate and befuddle. The whole thing was like that movie Inception: layers within layers of bullshit, masquerading as something good. But she was determined to nail it. This was precisely the kind of thorny problem she liked to resolve. Having done her research, she would be better prepared for next time.
It was only when she finally closed her computer and was vegging in front of the TV that it finally dawned on her that Oliver hadn’t been at all surprised to see her still in London. Had Tony buckled so soon?