An Ordinary Working Man

by Gillian Ferry

  “The Tableau remained faithful,” Nigel said.

  “It did? Good for them,” Andrew replied.

  Nigel smiled and turned the front page around so Andrew could see it. “Not really, they’re critical of your tax breaks at the other end of the spectrum, as there are, and I quote, ‘far too many people seeking a free ride through life already.’”

  Andrew took a sip of his tea, it had long since gone cold but he’d decided to cut down on the scotch. He shook his head, he wasn’t ready to move on from the tax reduction debacle yet. “I should have fought harder, made Blackthorn see reason.”

  “It’s not just Blackthorn who wanted the taxation level reduced, he was supported by a majority of MPs, if that hadn’t been the case he would have had to let it go. Let me ask you this Andrew; is it the policy you oppose or the timing of it?”

  “Well, a bit of both really, I-”

  “We are a Republican Party after all,” Nigel interrupted. “And I happen to think we shouldn’t apologise for our more traditional legislation. What happened to rewarding the self-made man? There’s not much incentive to succeed if, once you’ve made it, you’re crucified by tax demands anyway.”

  “I agree, in principle, but we’ve all got to do our bit at the moment,” Andrew replied.

  “Bollocks,” Nigel retorted. “Where does it say, because you’ve worked hard, or have been born into a family of hard workers you have to bear the brunt of societies demands, as opposed to a family of perpetual benefit seekers who are allowed to leech upon the state or a low paid worker who does nothing to improve his or her families position, because the rest of us will look after them.”

  “Nigel, I really haven’t got the energy for this debate tonight,” Andrew sighed as he spoke. “Besides you’re preaching to the converted.”

  “Then maybe you should start saying that. Blackthorn’s policy may have misfired with the public, but there are a lot of back benches out there who thought, finally, at last, someone with the guts not to be blackmailed into socialist niceties because of the economic climate.”

  “Come on Nigel, we both know it’s more complicated than that,” Andrew answered, as he rose and put on his jacket.

  “No, in party politics, sometimes it’s not. Blackthorn pushed that legislation because he wanted to gather some back bench support. There have been a lot of mutterings lately, about whether he is fit for the job, and whether a younger PM would appeal more to the voters-”

  “That’s ridiculous,” it was Andrew’s turn to interrupt. “He was elected because as the elder statesman he was seen as more reliable.”

  “That was then, this is now. Believe me Andrew, this policy was motivated more by internal politics, and of course helping out those who may, in turn, help fund a future campaign.”

  “But, I’ve not heard anything, any whisperings of discontent,” Andrew almost whispered back.

  “You will, and of course the tax policy scored in three ways, Party popularity, helping out the right people financially and discrediting one of his major rivals with the public.”

  Andrew stopped, hand on the door knob. “What do you mean, one of his major rivals?” he asked.

  “I mean you dear boy, who else.”

  *****

  As he finally made it home, almost nineteen hours after setting out for the day, Andrew couldn’t help but think about what Nigel had said. Did he see himself as a leader? Six months earlier he would have said no, but now…well, now it seemed like an exciting, tempting possibility. He knew what he stood for, I mean he’d always had his core Republican values, but being in the cabinet, and conversing with Nigel, had clarified his thinking. He wanted to do right by middle England, wanted to champion the average man in the street that was often looked over because he just got on and did. It was like at school, the high flyers stood out and demanded the adoration of others, while the less advantaged drained all the teaching resources and those in the middle were left to get on. So, if a leadership challenge came…no, he shook his head, he’d heard no mutterings of discontent, and besides the Party was unlikely to get behind him. After all the leader of the People’s Party, Rhodes, was roundly dismissed as being too young for such high office and he was the same age. But still…when the time came would he like to give it a go? He surprised himself with the certainty with which he decided yes…yes he would.

  “I’m in here darling.”

  Molly had waited up again, for the second night in a row. “Hey,” Andrew called from the doorway, and then went over to cradle her warm body.

  “How are you?” she asked, eyes blinking with sleep.

  “I’m okay, come on let’s go to bed. I’ve got to be back up again in a few hours.”

  “A few hours, that’s ridiculous Andrew, you need some rest,” Molly replied.

  Andrew put his arm around her shoulders as they manoeuvred up the stairs. “Tomorrow night, I promise, I’ll come home early, well early-ish anyway, then we can have dinner together.”

  Molly placed her head on his shoulder. “I’m going to hold you to that, Mr Chancellor.”

  Andrew kissed her forehead, as they carried on walking. Maybe tomorrow he’d question Nigel further on just what exactly he’d heard about Blackthorn, after all there was no harm in checking the rumour out.

  Chapter thirty-two

  Sue

  Sue sipped her tea as she sat and watched the morning headlines. There were riots in Greece once more, in protest at the austerity measures imposed upon it, and tent shanty towns had sprung up outside the economic centres of London, Paris, Madrid, Rome and even New York. But, of course, the major news piece was the reaction to the previous day’s budget. As far as Sue was concerned the Chancellor had made his position pretty clear, it was a budget for those in work, and forty million pounds of cuts would be made to the layabout lifestyle those on benefits enjoyed. It was both a statement of belief and intention. She was now part of a group that was to be shunned by, ‘normal,’ civilians, because if it wasn’t for her, hospitals and schools would have received a greater share of the country’s very limited purse.

  Shaking her head she thought back to her first medical, she’d walked into that room and made a judgement; she’d wanted those who worked there to know she wasn’t one of ‘them.’ Until she’d been in the system she’d nodded along to those who thought people on benefits had it easy, feigned illness and generally played the system.

  And now? Now she knew, oh yes there would always be some, the defiant , small, minority who did just that, but most? Most just desperately needed a helping hand in a situation often beyond their control and yet they were maligned and attacked by the rest in society, made to feel ashamed, small, worthless.

  Anyway, just who were these people on benefits the Chancellor referred to? Forty million pounds was a hell of a lot of money, and as she herself only received £270 a month, someone was obviously getting her share. Christ if it hadn’t been for her parents, her and Lottie’s home would have been gone long ago. Her benefits didn’t even cover her basic bills. Shit, she should be supporting her parents, and instead she was draining their retirement reserves. Cowardice stopped her from doing the right thing, she should have sold her and Lottie’s home, and used the profits to buy elsewhere, but the truth was, she was too scared to start again and didn’t want the last link to her old life to be broken. She’d allowed sentimentality to cloud her judgement, sentimentality and a heavy dose of denial, because even though she accepted, and she really did accept, and practiced everything she’d learnt at the Pain Management course, there was always a tiny bit of her left that thought, if only. If only someone could find the root of her problems, be bothered to look even, then there might be a course of treatment that could…well, anyway, it remained, stubbornly, at the back of her mind, and told her, one day everything could be okay. She’d manage the bills, and re-enter society, do her part to restart the economy, instead of taking milk from the mouths of babies.

  But for now, now she was a s
ide line the state wished would just fade into the background. It was half past nine and Sue had already had enough of the day. Her stomach felt heavy and her throat weld with emotion. She took another sip of tea, she knew her eyes would be red, but she fought to stop the tears taking control. Christ, she cried at nothing, and was cheered by nothing, these days. Her own wretchedness tore at her conscious mind, which told her to stop, pull herself together, and get through if not the day, then at least the next half an hour. So, she stood, took her cup and bowl back to the kitchen and climbed the stairs to run a bath. Her legs were heavy, her back a cacophony of boring and stabbing pain, maybe she should just go back to bed? Her rational self said no, lying, staring at the walls was not an answer, even though it would at least be warm. It was a chill spring day, but heating was a luxury the jobless could not afford. No the bath would warm and sooth her body, she could dream of warm beaches and gentle breezes that caressed her skin, until the chill returned and she’d have to think of how to spend the next half hour. Sue wiped the tears from her face, she had enough self-awareness to know she was in trouble; she couldn’t shift the grey fog that enveloped her mood and seeped into her soul.

  She knew the drill, of course, she should talk to someone, there was no shame in admitting she was struggling to stay positive. But, she didn’t know who that someone should be, she didn’t yet feel ready to approach her GP, who would inevitably prescribe a medicinal solution. The psychologist attached to the Pain Management Unit was the more obvious choice, but then Sue felt she would be admitting defeat, letting everyone down because she was the one who was not supposed to be struggling with a low mood. Her friends, her family, had all marvelled at her cheerful outlook, commended her determination and commented upon their own lack of resourcefulness if a similar fate befell them. People had become used to her coping and getting on, so to not be able to felt like another burden to impose upon them. Those closest to her worried enough, it was her job to limit their concern. She would not crumble, she would not let the welfare system win, because at the end of the day, it was they who twisted the knife between the shoulder blades of every damn one of them, everyone who existed day to day, hand to mouth, tablet to tablet. She could have coped, indeed she had coped with the ending of a career she loved, she’d accepted her limited mobility and her lack of funds, but my god the Jobcentre Plus and the DWP weren’t happy until they’d taken every last bean of self-respect. Sue had enjoyed a six month space to breath, when she’d been declared temporarily unfit for work, having gained the fifteen points needed to get the DWP to leave her alone. However six months had passed, and she’d been duly called back for yet another medical. She’d been naive, stupid really, in thinking that because her condition had deteriorated she would still qualify for ESA. But no, it was never that easy, she’d been given twelve points, and so she’d appealed, phoned welfare rights and was now awaiting yet another appeal. Back on the merry-go-round once more. She was fit for work, a fraud and a liar in the eyes of the state. Oh, shit, she rubbed her face, her eyes, and sniffed loudly, Don’t let the bastards grind you down, don’t let…she repeated the mantra as she dressed and prepared for the day.

  The worst part of it was, the more she dwelled upon the ESA medical, the more she allowed her mind to attack her own emotional wellbeing. What if she was capable for work? What if she was simply not trying hard enough? Maybe they were right to condemn her as, yet another person, trying it on. Her annoyance at her situation, the stress of it all, often had her walking out of her house, determined to punish her own body. She would walk, until her back burned with pain and her legs shuffled with the effort. Then she would head home and cry, because she wanted to do it, but she couldn’t, and why wouldn’t the system believe her. As if she would give up a career she loved, and a decent wage, to live as she did now; a burden not only upon the state, but also upon her parents and ultimately, god forbid, upon Lottie. Her head was all over the place, and she couldn’t yet see how she could regain any sense of calm.

  As it was the day ahead promised to be a good one, she was going to see Lottie, she should be euphoric not wretched and sick of the world. Her dad was taking her over to Lottie’s flat, and then returning to pick her up that evening, because her body couldn’t cope with the forty-five minute bus journey to get there, and she couldn’t afford the fare anyway. She shook her head, she was getting adapt at turning every positive into a negative, she had to shake it off, block the black messages from flashing across her brain. She was going to see Lottie, there was no down side to that, except really, there was. Lottie had moved back home after obtaining her degree, Sue had been overjoyed and loved having her back, but she’d also been worried. She’d managed to get her weekly shopping bill down to five pounds or under, with a larger spend of around twenty once every six weeks or so, and she couldn’t for the life of her see how she would feed two on that budget. Increasingly it was out of the question, there simply were no funds available to do that. Maybe that was when the low mood started, the realisation that she couldn’t afford to feed her own daughter. Lottie had insisted upon giving part of her Job Seekers Allowance to Sue in the end, but she hated herself for taking it. She felt she’d already let her daughter down in not being able to alleviate part of her student loan, if she’d still been at work, then she would have at least been able to pay Lottie’s fees. As it was, she now had the maximum loan of around twenty-four thousand pounds, and an overdraft as well. Fortunately Lottie had managed to get a job fairly quickly, as a bar tender in Measures, a cocktail bar in the city. Not her life’s ambition, but it was a job. In fact all of the staff were either graduates or students, which made Sue wonder what sort of employment the kids who’d left school with few qualifications would find. Lottie’s boyfriend, Luke, had found work as a sales assistant in an outdoor clothing shop. And so between them they had taken the decision to rent a flat closer to the city. It was basic, and very dated, but it was all they could afford, and Sue worried that their speed at finding somewhere was partly due to Lottie knowing how much Sue had struggled financially, at having her at home. That thought, that Lottie may have moved out because Sue couldn’t afford to keep her, was like a dull, aching pain through her chest.

  She shook her head once more, she had to stop, she had to move on and try and recapture some of her earlier positivity. She was caught in a vicious circle of self-pity that only she herself could break. But what if she couldn’t, she should seek help…christ, round and round the train of thought went, she was sick of it, wanted it to stop, but how? Enough, enough for now, time to get ready and visit Lottie.

  Sue managed to maintain a conversation with her dad on the way to the flat, to her it sounded strained, but she couldn’t cope with silence because she knew the thoughts that would seep back into her mind. Thankfully the roads were reasonable and it only took twenty minutes to reach their destination.

  “Are you coming in for a cuppa before you head back home?” Sue asked.

  “No, I’ll just pop in and say hello, then I’ll head back to pick your mam up, we’re going to do a bit of shopping before I come back through for you later.”

  “Okay…you know I can get the bus.” That was lie, the service existed but she didn’t have the physical wellbeing to access it. However nor did she want to drag her dad back to pick her up.

  “No, no, that’s fine,” her father said, as they walked to the doorway, “besides your mam wants to come back through with me to see Lottie.

  Relief flooded through her system. “Okay, as long as you’re sure.” It tripped off the tongue but meant nothing.

  And then Lottie was opening the door, and a dark weight lifted from Sue’s chest.

  “Hi mam.”

  “Hi, Angel, wasn’t sure you’d actually remember to be up in time.” Sue grinned as she spoke.

  “Shesh, of course I did. Hi granddad.”

  “Hi.” Grandfather and granddaughter embraced, as Sue smiled at the pair.

  “I’ll be back later with your gr
andma,” her dad said, before adding, “just text if you need me any earlier.”

  “Will do, thanks dad,” Sue replied and then followed Lottie into the flat.

  Luke and Lottie had worked hard on the flat since they’d moved in, they had more personal knick-knacks around the place that were helping to make it look a little more homely. Her daughter had been beaming with pride the first time Sue and her parents had visited, she’d delighted in the role of hostess and had even been out and bought a packet of biscuits. Yet it had taken all of Sue’s control not to grab her and drag her back home because the flat had looked dingy, and truly filthy. Sue couldn’t believe any landlord would rent a property out in such condition, but Lottie insisted it had been the best she and Luke had viewed in their price range. The kitchen was dark, due to the addition of a lean-to, and everywhere was caked with multiple layers of thick black grease; no matter where you rested your hand or placed your feet, you stuck to the underlying surface. Kitchen doors hung off their hinges, the breakfast bar was damaged, and the oven didn’t work. The bathroom was a testament to never bothering to clean, and the sink and toilet stank. The bedroom was okay, but freezing cold, even with the heating on, and their wardrobe showed signs of damp. Outside, the yard space was monopolised by a huge pile of debris, and there was one bin between three flats. Lottie, Luke, and her mam had spent several days cleaning. Sue had tried to do her bit, to work through her pain but in the end had to concede defeat and then it had taken several weeks for her body to stop screaming at her.

  “You’ve got your clock up, it looks great,” Sue remarked, glancing up at Lottie’s latest purchase.

  “Yeah, well we realised we didn’t have a clock anywhere, and were constantly looking for our mobiles to tell the time. Would you like tea?”

  “Yes please,” Sue smiled as she spoke, yet her eyes felt as if they burned and her head was thick and pounding. She was listening to herself saying the right thing, as her brain guided her through the appropriate actions. She was on auto-pilot, today’s role? That of the strong, composed mother, delighting in her daughter’s company.