One Moment

by Linda Green

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t speak to you about someone else’s case. You’ll need to ask Mr Allen to give us a call if he’s got a query.’

  ‘Yeah, well he’s got schizophrenia, see. That’s why he’s on Employment Support Allowance. And when he gets stressed it can lead to psychotic episodes, so last thing he needs to be doing is phoning you and having to press a dozen buttons to hear a posh bird say she can’t understand what he’s saying because he hasn’t got a southern accent.’

  There is a pause before she asks me for his National Insurance number and his date of birth and to confirm our address. She says she’s going to get his case up on her screen.

  ‘So, he’s been found fit for work,’ she says.

  ‘Aye, he has, but that’s why I’m calling because you’ve got it wrong, see. Last time he worked he ended up in a psychiatric unit. And twice before that, too. He can’t cope being with lots of other people. If you force him to work, he’ll get ill again. That’s why I need to talk to someone about this.’

  ‘He has the right to ask for a mandatory reconsideration,’ she says. ‘He’ll have to do that in writing by submitting a CRMR1 form.’

  ‘We’ll do that, then. Can you pop form in post, pet?’

  ‘You just print it out from our website.’

  I sigh. They never get this bit.

  ‘We haven’t got a computer, let alone a printer.’

  ‘OK. If you go along to the job centre, they’ll be able to print one out for you there. Just fill it in, explaining why you think the decision is wrong.’

  ‘Right. And once we’ve sent that off, how long until we hear?’

  ‘It will be a minimum of fourteen working days, but it could be considerably longer. If they confirm the original decision, you do have the right to appeal to a tribunal, but that will all take several months.’

  ‘You’re kidding me. What’s our Terry supposed to do for money until then?’

  ‘Mr Allen will have to apply for Universal Credit and go to the job centre for a meeting, as advised in the letter.’

  ‘But he can’t work, it’ll make him ill.’

  ‘He’s been found fit for work so I’m sure the job centre will be able to find something suitable for him. I can make him an appointment for an interview. You can pick up the form you need at the same time.’

  This is stupid. She’s not getting it. But at least if they meet him in person, they might understand what I’m talking about.

  ‘OK,’ I say.

  ‘Right. So it looks like you’re in luck. Halifax have had a cancellation and can fit him in on Monday at three forty-five. Is that any good to you?’

  If I get the bus home from work, we should just be able to make it in time.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply.

  ‘Great. He’s all booked in. He’ll need to take three items of ID with him, including proof of address. All the information can be found on our website. Is there anything else I can help you with today?’

  ‘No, pet,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Not unless you can do owt for tired, swollen feet.’

  I go back into the living room. I think there’s a different episode of Stars in Their Eyes on now because it looks like Matthew is wearing a different suit.

  ‘Were it a mistake?’ asks Terry.

  ‘We know it were,’ I say. ‘It’s getting them to see that. We’ve got to fill in a form asking them to reconsider decision, but that’ll take a few weeks. In meantime, they want you to go to job centre and sign on.’

  ‘When?’ Terry asks.

  ‘Monday afternoon,’ I say.

  ‘I won’t have to get a job, will I? Not before we hear back from them?’

  ‘Let’s hope not, eh?’

  He nods and says nothing. I can see his jaw tense. I hate it when he is like this because I know where it is heading. He goes back to watching Stars in Their Eyes. Elton John is on now. He is singing ‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word’.

  AFTER 1

  1

  Finn

  I lie on my bed, staring up at the bee lampshade that Dad got me. It is blue, which is a bit stupid because bees aren’t blue, but Dad said they only had it in blue or pink. Mum wouldn’t like it because she always gets cross when she sees blue things for boys and pink for girls because she says colours are for everyone and years ago boys used to be dressed in pink and it’s all marketing nonsense designed to get more money out of parents.

  I couldn’t say that when Dad got it for me though, because he was trying to be nice and Mum also says that we should be grateful for presents and it’s the thought that counts.

  Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t matter because Mum won’t see it, but I still think of how much she wouldn’t like it every time I look at it.

  My uniform is hanging up on the door of my wardrobe, ready for tomorrow. It is neatly ironed, and the trousers have creases in them that they never used to. It turns out Dad is better at ironing than Mum, but he just kept quiet about it.

  I have a bit of a tummy ache. I expect it will be worse by tomorrow morning. I don’t want to see any of them apart from Lottie but I saw her the week after and I went round to her house for tea in half-term, so I’ve only just seen her anyway.

  There is a knock on the door and Dad calls out, ‘Hi Finn, it’s me.’ I know it’s him anyway because no one else lives in our house now but maybe he sometimes forgets this like I do.

  ‘Hi,’ I say back. Dad opens the door. I’m sure his beard is getting greyer. It’s probably because of everything that has happened. He steps inside my room and shuts the door behind him. He looks like he’s worried I am still mad at him and he is right, I am. I am not going to shout and scream any more, but that doesn’t mean I am any less mad, just that the mad bit is stuck inside somewhere and won’t come out.

  It’s only as I sit up that I see he is carrying something.

  ‘I got this for you,’ he says, holding out a large carrier bag. I take it and look inside. It is a rucksack. It is black with a few blue flames and lines on it. There are no bees.

  ‘I hope it’s OK. It’s hard to get something without football on, to be honest.’

  I nod. I want to say thank you, but I am trying too hard not to cry to be able to open my mouth.

  ‘It should do for your new school in September too. I just thought you’d want something a bit more grown-up for big school.’

  My eyes give up the battle and start to let the tears out. I had been trying so hard not to think about what happened to the old rucksack. Mum was right. Dad never did know when to stop talking. He reaches out and rubs my shoulder.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  If he was paying attention, he would know that I haven’t stopped being upset for the past three weeks. That I miss Mum so much it’s like I’ve had my leg cut off or something. That I don’t want him to keep buying me stuff, as if that will make everything all right. I just want it to go back to how it was before. The three of us here together. And I would put up with the arguing. I really would.

  He keeps his hand on my shoulder until I stop crying a few minutes later and wipe my tears away with my fingers.

  ‘Are you worried about going back to school?’ he asks.

  I nod and sniff at the same time.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Mrs Ratcliffe and Mrs Kerrigan. I’ve asked them to do what you said and not mention it. And the other kids have been told you were on a special holiday before half-term.’

  ‘But they’ll all know,’ I say. ‘And they’ll be staring and whispering stuff about me.’

  Dad has got the frown on his face again. It’s pretty much there all the time now. If I had to draw a picture of Dad, it would be one of him frowning and with an expression like he didn’t know what to say. That’s if I could draw, but I can’t. So, my picture of Dad wouldn’t look like Dad
at all. Just a man, if I was lucky. I haven’t got any better at drawing since I was five. Mum said that wasn’t true when I said it once. She pointed to the self-portrait I did a couple of years ago, which was made out of food, which was still stuck to the fridge. I did my hair with macaroni painted orange and she said it was great. It wasn’t drawing, though. It was just a load of macaroni painted orange. And you can’t go on making pictures from macaroni forever.

  ‘Come on,’ says Dad. ‘It will be nice for you to see your friends again.’

  ‘I haven’t got any friends.’

  ‘Yes you have. What about Lottie?’

  ‘Yeah, Lottie but that’s it. And I saw Lottie last week. I don’t have to go back to school to see her. It’s the rest of them I hate.’

  Dad moves his hand down from my shoulder and rubs my arm instead.

  ‘Come on, you’re just upset.’

  ‘I am upset but I didn’t say it because I’m upset, I said it because it’s true.’

  Dad sighs and puts his head in his hands. He has been doing a lot of that lately.

  ‘Look, I know this has been so tough for you, but you have to trust me that going back to school is the best thing to do now. You’ll feel better once the first day is over.’

  This is another stupid thing grown-ups say. I won’t feel better after the first day, I’ll feel worse because I’ll have had a horrible day and I’ll know I’ll have to go through it all over again the next day and the one after that. I think of the school in the woods that Mum made me. It was the best school ever and she was the best teacher ever. She made it so special for me. What I really want is to go back to that school in the tent with Mum, but there’s no point saying that because it can’t happen now.

  ‘I’d feel better if I never had to go to school again,’ I say instead.

  ‘Come on, Finn, we’ve been through all this. There’s only one half-term left and then you’ll be done. And Mrs Kerrigan said she’s got lots of fun things planned for you all.’

  ‘They’re the reward things for doing well in your SATs. I won’t be allowed to do them.’

  ‘Of course you will. Mrs Kerrigan’s not going to leave you out, is she?’

  ‘Mrs Ratcliffe might make her. She’s still mad at me because of what Mum said and did.’

  Dad sighs and shakes his head. I know he is trying hard, but he is not good at this stuff. Not compared to Mum.

  ‘Finn, no one at school’s mad at you. They want to help you, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re only saying that to make me go. Mum wouldn’t make me go. Mum knew how much I hated it.’

  I watch Dad blink hard and turn his head away. I feel a bit mean, but I am only speaking the truth. He’s never done this. Mum always dealt with this sort of stuff. Dad is good at mending stuff and riding a bike and knowing about law. He is not good at making me feel better. Which is a shame really, because that’s exactly what I need right now.

  ‘I’m trying my best, Finn,’ he says, still not looking at me. ‘We’ve just got to try to get through it together the best we can.’

  He turns round to face me. His eyes are glistening. I think for a moment he is going to hug me, but he doesn’t, he just ruffles my hair and walks out of the room.

  *

  Dad drops me at Lottie’s house the next morning. This was arranged with Lottie’s mum Rachel last week. Rachel is still mad at Dad too, I know that from Lottie. But she is pretending not to be mad at him in front of me, for my sake. I think it was Lottie’s mum who arranged to take me into school tomorrow, not Dad, but Dad seems very happy with it, probably because it means he hasn’t got to take me himself and I suspect he thinks I’ll have a massive meltdown if he does that.

  Dad puts his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ he says.

  That is easy for him to say. He’s going to work after this with people he likes, not being forced to go to a school he hates with a bunch of people he doesn’t like and have everyone stare at him and say stuff behind his back.

  Lottie’s mum opens the door and waves. I think she is waving at me rather than Dad because she never really liked Dad very much, even before it happened. I know this because Mum used to talk about Dad to her in a quiet voice sometimes when she thought I wasn’t listening and she often nodded and looked sympathetic and said things in a quiet voice back that I couldn’t hear.

  Dad raises his hand at her from the car and I unfasten my belt.

  ‘Have a good day,’ he says. His voice is a bit wobbly and I know that’s because he doesn’t think I will but can’t say that to me. I pick up my book bag and my rucksack, which has my PE kit in, and get out.

  ‘Hello, Finn,’ Rachel says. ‘How are you doing?’ She gives me such a big hug that I can’t actually breathe for a moment, let alone reply, which is probably just as well as I haven’t worked out what to say to that question yet.

  ‘Come inside a sec,’ she says. ‘Lottie’s not quite ready yet, you know what she’s like. Can’t think where she gets it from.’

  She smiles as she says this like she knows it’s funny and leads me into the house. It’s what they call a two-up, two-down, which means there are four rooms if you don’t count the bathroom and it’s such a small bathroom that you really don’t need to count it.

  Lottie comes charging downstairs.

  ‘Hi Finn,’ she says. ‘Rachel, I’ve got toothpaste down my school trousers.’

  Lottie calls her mum by her first name. She started it when she was seven and wanted to be more grown-up. I don’t think it sounds grown-up, just weird. Like she’s forgotten who she is. But, for the first time ever, I am glad of it today because the word ‘Mum’ makes me feel sad.

  ‘Well, no time to change them now,’ Rachel replies. ‘We’re not going to make Finn late.’

  Lottie looks at me and it’s like she suddenly remembers why I am there, and she looks down again and picks up her book bag.

  ‘OK, let’s go,’ she says, wiping the still-wet toothpaste stain with her hand, which smears it and makes it look worse.

  I look down at her empty hands. ‘PE kit,’ I say.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ says Lottie and runs back upstairs.

  Rachel smiles at me. ‘What would she do without you?’ she says. And that makes me feel sad too because Lottie will be going to a different school to me in September and that will mean I will have no friends at all. Dad says I will make new ones but he doesn’t realise that I won’t because I am not the sort of boy other boys want to be friends with and Lottie is only my friend because she is not like the other girls and what are the chances of there being a girl who isn’t like the other girls at my new school? Probably zero.

  Lottie runs back down with her PE bag and we pile into the back seat of her mum’s car.

  ‘I like your new backpack,’ says Lottie.

  ‘I don’t,’ I reply. ‘Dad got it for me.’

  I see Rachel glance at me in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Oh well,’ says Lottie. ‘You hate PE so you may as well have a backpack you hate for your PE kit.’

  I give her a little smile. It is the first smile I can remember doing in a long time.

  *

  We get to the playground just before the bell rings. Mrs Kerrigan is standing by the gate and she smiles at me and says, ‘Morning, Finn, it’s lovely to see you,’ only her voice goes a bit funny at the end so I don’t actually hear the word ‘you’, but I think that is what she tried to say.

  All the other kids stare at me, just how I knew they would, but the weird thing is that no one says anything mean to me like they usually do. Ryan Dangerfield looks at me, then looks away again. Jayden McGreevy doesn’t have the usual smirk on his face. Even Tyler Johnson can’t seem to think of something horrible to say to me. That is the thing that gets to me. That is why everything in front of me starts to go blurry. Lotti
e is standing next to me at the back of the girls’ queue. She takes my arm and pulls me along in the right direction. Like I am blind but still waiting for a Blue Peter fundraising campaign to raise enough to get me a guide dog.

  It is like that all morning. No one saying anything mean to me or making faces at me when Miss isn’t looking. And I hate it because all it does is remind me all the time of why they are not being horrible to me.

  *

  Mrs Ratcliffe comes up to me in the playground at break time, all smiley and her bangles jangling like normal.

  ‘Hello, Finn, Mrs Kerrigan says you’ve done so well this morning. I think there might be a star of the week award coming your way.’

  I look at her and she is still smiling and jangling because she is so stupid, she doesn’t even realise that the worst thing that could happen to me this week would be to have my name called out in the celebration assembly.

  *

  After lunch we get changed ready for PE. No one even teases me about my skinny white legs or tells me I should be getting changed with the girls because I am one. All the times I wished the teasing would stop and now it has, and I hate it.

  We start playing invasion games in the hall. I hate invasion games because I am no good at running or jumping or kicking a ball or catching a ball or pretty much anything you have to do in invasion games. Usually the others all groan if I am on their team but nobody says anything today.

  But a few minutes after we start playing, I am on the floor in no-man’s-land and the others are on the benches and Lewis R forgets for a second and throws the ball straight at me deliberately. It hits me hard on the arm and really stings and a few people start laughing but then they remember and stop, without Mrs Kerrigan even saying anything. And I hate the sound of them not laughing even more than I used to hate the sound of them laughing.

  *

  I ask Dad pretty much as soon as we get home. I have been thinking about her a lot. About how nice she was to me. Sometimes I think I can still feel her arms round me.

  ‘I want to see the sheep apron lady,’ I say.