An Ordinary Working Man

by Gillian Ferry

*****

  Judge Philips was mid-forties, slightly chunky, with blue eyes and greying hair. Sue looked him directly in the eyes while he did his, ‘everything is just nice and informal,’ splurge that she now knew to be total rubbish. Legal niceties dealt with he handed over to Dr Vetch, she seemed younger, with a strong jawline and rather unkempt blonde hair. Sue directed her gaze to the other woman, she felt defiant and ready for the fight. She would not lose.

  “Let’s start on a more general note. Could you describe your symptoms to us Miss Bailey.”

  “I have chronic back problems, which also affect my legs, I can neither walk for very long, nor sit for any length of time, nor stand for very long,” Sue stated, and then thought shit I should add more detail. “Some days the pressure and pain in my back is so severe it seems to explode in my head and even my face aches. On days like that I can only get relief by lying on the sofa-”

  “And how many days a week would you say you have like that Miss Bailey?” Dr Vetch enquired, while Judge Philips wrote furiously upon a piece of paper. That distracted Sue, as she wondered what on earth he was writing down.

  “Err, several times a week my back is so bad that I don’t leave the house. If I’m in the midst of a really bad flair up I mightn’t get out for a couple of weeks,” Sue replied, and your legs, say about your legs. “My legs are often so weak I find it difficult to walk, it’s like an elastic band is tied around them and I can only move them a certain distance.”

  “And how far would you say you can walk, on a good day Miss Bailey?” Here it comes the obsession with distance and time.

  Sue found herself sighing before she spoke, “Well, I walk around the village where I live, but it’s not very big”

  “And how long can you walk for?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe ten or fifteen minutes.” I’m losing, Christ I’m losing already. Tell them how you feel, explain. “But I can’t walk any distance without pain and discomfort in my legs and back. Plus, I often stop for a rest.”

  “But you could walk, say two-hundred metres.”

  “Well, yes on a good day, but still not without pain, and on a bad day, not at all.”

  “I see,” Dr Vetch frowned, as Judge Philips carried on writing. “But if you had to, could you do it?”

  “Well, yes, if I had to force myself. But why would I-”

  Dr Vetch interrupted, “So, do you manage to do your shopping?”

  Sue could feel it slipping away, she tried to clear her head and re-group. “My parents do most of my shopping for me. I usually go maybe once every few months, if I’m feeling okay.”

  “I see,” Dr Vetch smiled, went for friendly and failed. “And do you manage on those occasions you do go? I see you are challenging on the lifting and carrying criteria.”

  “Well I can lift and carry a litre carton of juice, if that’s what you are trying to find out,” Sue snapped, and then took a steadying breath as the judge snorted at her attempt at humour. “I’m only in the shop around fifteen minutes, my mam pushes the trolley while I put the shopping into it. She unloads it onto the conveyor belt, as that’s the part I find difficult.”

  Judge Philips raised his head. “But you can lift the things off the shelves okay?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “So, why do you have a problem lifting them from the trolley onto the checkout?”

  A noodle of panic began in Sue’s stomach. “I don’t know, I just find it difficult, bending to pick up the things and then stretching over to put them on the belt, it hurts.”

  “But not putting them in?”

  “Well, yes, but not as much as getting them out.” Shit, shit, shit.

  “And how did you get here today, Miss Bailey?” Dr Vetch resumed the interrogation.

  “My dad drove me.”

  “You don’t drive yourself?”

  “No, I found it too painful on my back and legs and had to give my care up. Plus I could no longer afford to run it.” I must get them to listen, I only need three more points.

  “I see. You’ve said you would find it very difficult to stand for, say twenty minutes, can you explain why that is so?”

  “Because of the pain in my back and the weakness in my legs.”

  “If you had to stand for a while, but then could sit back down again for a few minutes and then had to stand again, would you be able to manage that?”

  Much like I am doing now, Sue thought, as she’d just stood up to stretch her back, nice move. “If I stand for a while it hurts, if it hurts a lot then sitting back down would make no difference because that would still hurt my back. If my back is really painful I can only get relief by lying down.”

  “And not by sitting down again for a few moments?”

  “No, not really.” The noodle of panic was now wrapped around Sue’s stomach.

  “And why is that?” Dr Vetch carried on.

  “I don’t know, that’s just the way it is.” Resignation was starting to set in.

  “Do you have any hobbies?” Dr Vetch asked.

  “Yes, I write, in fact I have now had five e-books published, I also do crafts and read.” Go on, Sue thought, ask me what I write, just so I can say women’s porn and wipe that sanctimonious grin off your face.

  “Congratulations on your publications, does it take you long to write them?”

  The alarm bell sounded in Sue’s head. “It does, I can only write a little bit each day.”

  “I see, and how long is a little bit?”

  “On a good day maybe an hour, on a bad day I don’t write at all. But even on a good day that hour will be spread across an entire day.” Shit, I wish this was over.

  “And what crafts do you do?”

  “Card making, and crochet.”

  “How nice, do you do that at home, or…” Dr Vetch let her voice trail off as she gestured with her hand.

  “No, I go to a craft class in the village, it’s just around the corner from me.”

  “I see, I think that’s it for me. Do you have anything further to add Judge Philips?”

  “Yes, if I…” he held up his hand as his pen caught up with the proceedings, “…can just return to your shopping. You can pack a trolley but not unload it, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Sue snapped the word out, irritation laced her voice. How hard was it to understand her position?

  “Then yes, that’s it. If you’d like to wait in the room opposite, we’ll call you back in as soon as we’re done.”

  Sue stretched to her feet once more. “Thank you,” she said, manners too inbred not to offer gratitude, although for what exactly, she couldn’t say.

  They left the room, Sue waited until they were back inside the drab holding pen before she turned to Neil. She didn’t need to formulate the question; he knew what she wanted to know. But instead of a reassuring nod, he gave a shrug, before sitting down beside her.

  They sat in silence, Sue stared at the carpet and replayed the hearing in her mind. Had she done enough, that was the question. She only needed three more points and then she could manage her own bills for a while, as long as she was really careful and she was, all of the time. But he’d seemed fixated upon the whole shopping thing, Christ who knows…and she hadn’t mentioned the gut wrenching, all-consuming tiredness she often felt now, where moving from lounge to kitchen was just too much…nor the times when she’d pushed herself a little, and ended up going back to bed for the next few days because she felt sick to her stomach…nor had she mentioned the pain in her legs, she’d mentioned their weakness, but had she mentioned the pain – she couldn’t remember…but she should have mentioned it because it was what woke her up, often three times in the same hour, forcing her to change position again and again…and then there was the night when she’d woken up crying in her sleep because of the agony in her legs, she hadn’t mentioned that…hadn’t been given the chance really, she’d allowed them to dictate the course of the dialogue…but surely, she only needed three more points…Christ if s
he could work, she’d be there…doing…anything…anything was better than trying to exist on benefits…she must have done enough…surely…but if…well…if she hadn’t, she would not cry, even though her head felt about to burst with emotion, she would not cry…she’d…

  “Would you like to come back in, they’re ready for you.”

  “Yes, Sue?”

  She gave a terse nod, she would not cry.

  Sue tried to read their faces when she re-entered the room, Dr Vetch would not meet her gaze. What did that mean?

  “We have decided the original verdict was the correct one and your appeal is not upheld. We scored you at twelve points.”

  SHE WOULD NOT CRY

  “Thank you,” Sue rose as she spoke and left the room.

  “Go home and reapply Sue, you have to,” Neil delivered his verdict in a desperate whisper.

  “Yes, thank you,” Sue repeated.

  She turned, walked slowly along the corridor, through the double doors and down three steps toward the exit, and then she sobbed, her body and spirit too broken not to. She sobbed and sobbed, whilst on the other side of the wall Dr Vetch and Judge Philips enjoyed their lunch break.

  Chapter thirty-five

  Nigel

  Nigel sipped the coffee, his face twisted in disgust, cheap instant. It had arrived in one of those grubby white mugs cafés were so fond of, a saucer had not followed, so his plain uninviting biscuit lay directly on the desk top. It was Formica with a brown splodgy pattern that made it simply look dirty. He pocketed the biscuit, no point in deliberately upsetting people. The meagre offerings did nothing to improve his mood, Andrew had insisted he kept up his monthly MP surgeries, yet invariably couldn’t make it and some poor lackey had to fill in. The poor lackey had in turn cried off, some story about a family crisis, ridiculous excuse really. Nigel was not sympathetic, especially as he’d received a desperate call from Andrew to run the surgery. What could he say but yes, of course he would, it would give him chance to reconnect with the electorate, or some such nonsense. So, he was stuck, in a run-down community centre, in a cold room, with horrendous coffee and even worse hygiene standards.

  The volunteer who’d shown him in knocked at the door. Nigel was seated in a small side room, in which there was a desk and a chair for him, and four other chairs opposite, and that was it. The floor was covered in a beige lino and the walls were a tired homage to green.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The man entered, Nigel had already forgotten his name, he made no effort to remember information he deemed irrelevant.

  “Are you almost ready Mr Purser? There’s quite a queue.”

  Nigel resisted the urge to groan and instead rose and joined the man in the doorway. A long corridor ran off from the room, with various offshoots leading away to the left. The right hand side was lined with chairs, most of which were taken by people who talked in hushed voices. They all stopped when Nigel appeared and looked at him expectantly, it was going to be a long morning.

  Nigel forced a smile to his lips, even if it failed to make it to his eyes and inclined his head toward the person at the front of the line. “Would you like to come in?”

  His first client was a young woman in her twenties, Nigel logged her details, address and telephone number onto his iPad. Andrew liked to look over the surgery’s business, even if the action taken was no longer led by him.

  She’d heard that a housing association was planning on acquiring some properties in her street, and feared they would attract the, ‘wrong sort,’ leading her house to lose value. Nigel nodded, sympathised, and made a note for someone to follow it up.

  He had several people complaining about the bin situation, again. A dispute over a right of way, a plea for more speed humps, a request to remove all of the speed calming devices, and concerns over the possibility that a large wind farm was to be created on the edge of Meadow East. He was tired, irritable, too full of bad coffee, and frankly completely uninterested in the entire affair. So he was extremely relieved to admit the last constituent, a middle aged woman who walked with a stick.

  “Hello, my name is Nigel Purser and I’m standing in for the Chancellor today.” He delivered the standard spiel as he opened another file on his iPad. “If I can just take some details first, your name is…”

  “Sue Bailey.”

  “And could you tell me your address Miss Bailey?”

  “13 Poplar Street, Taunton.”

  “And what matter are you wishing to raise today?”

  “The process for claiming ESA.”

  Nigel allowed his eyes to close briefly as he typed; just what he needed to finish off the morning, someone complaining about welfare.

  “Right, Miss…err Bailey, how can I help?”

  She paused before answering. “I was recently turned down at my ESA appeal, and I just wanted to show you some of the reasons given in support of that decision.”

  She slid some photocopied documents toward him, Nigel could see she’d been busy with a highlighter.

  “Before I look at them, and if you’re happy to talk about it, perhaps you could give me an idea of your problems,” he said.

  “I don’t mind at all. I’ve not worked for a while now because of back problems…”

  Ah, she was one of those, part of the many millions who cited undiagnosed back problems as their reason not to work. It was a convenient old chestnut trotted out by the work shy.

  “…I can’t walk far because my legs…”

  Nigel tuned back in and then out once more, she had it all figured out, limited mobility, couldn’t stand or sit for very long.

  “…and so I have been declared fit for work despite my own doctor, who knows me a lot better stating to the contrary. I find it frustrating and insulting.”

  She’d stopped talking, so Nigel nodded.

  “In the report, some of the reasons given for denying me ESA, are actually contradicted by the notes Judge Philips made on the day. For example, the part highlighted in pink…” She paused to stretch over the table and point out the section to him.

  “It says…

  The appellant is able to walk around a supermarket on a regular basis…the appellant is able to walk, and indeed does walk from her home on a regular basis, she is also able to visit a supermarket and attend to her shopping. Yet if you turn to the judge’s notes at the back, you’ll see a section also highlighted in pink that clearly records that I said,

  I go shopping once every 5-6 weeks… I go with my parents, I can put the shopping in my trolley, I have problems putting things on the conveyor belt.

  Their report makes it sound like I’m out wandering around shopping centres every day, which would be nice, if I could do it, which I can’t.”

  Nigel nodded.

  “Furthermore, in turns of my walking, the statement of reasons for the decision to disallow my appeal says…

  The appellant actively engages in walking…the appellant confirmed that she took short walks each day around her village without any significant difficulties…whilst the appellant may have some discomfort the Tribunal do not consider that this is severe in its nature…she engages in walks from her home up to three times a day…it is highly unlikely that the appellant would walk only a distance on 100 metres in seven minutes and the Tribunal find this improbable.

  …If you turn to the notes at the back, you’ll see what I actually said on the day...

  I try to take short walks around the village 2-3 times a day…back and legs are always in discomfort…some days I have problems just moving around indoors…if I go out (?you said you did 3x)only short walks…get a lot of pain in my legs the further I walk…I get weakened…more pressure in back…I have to stop and rest…if it feels too bad I go back home….even if I stop the pain does not go away…I walk very slowly…on a bad day I don’t go out at all…I have to walk to keep moving…keep legs moving, I am worse now, walking is more limited, I suffer more fatigue.

  …And then, if you look at
the statement in the report highlighted in yellow, it says:

  The appellant drives a manual car.

  …Yet, if you turn to the Judge’s notes, he’s clearly recorded…

  I stopped driving because of pain in legs.”

  Nigel read the relevant section, whilst he wondered what on earth she expected him to do, and how much longer she was planning on droning on for.

  “And then, if you look at the area marked in blue, well I think that’s the worst part of all…”

  Nigel looked up as Miss Bailey stopped talking, Christ, was she going to cry?

  “…because the report is clearly implying that I’m a liar, it states,

  The tribunal notes inconsistencies in the appellant’s assertion regarding her walking ability…whist the appellant asserts that she cannot stand for long as a result of leg and back pain. The Tribunal note the findings in relation to the lumbar spine but also the lack of any significant finding in relation to the lower limbs. Whilst the Tribunal accept that there is some reduction in the appellant’s ability to stand they are of the opinion that the appellant’s assessment is unlikely bearing in mind the physical findings and the appellant’s activity…the medical member advises the Tribunal that the act of extending the arms to pick up and move a light but bulky object would not produce the symptoms the appellant complains of.”

  She stopped once more; Nigel had to admit she was playing the part well.

  “Well, I’d like to know how they can come to that conclusion the consultants I have seen have failed to make any diagnose. And how, after a fifteen minute interview, they knew enough of my circumstance to decide I was clearly a liar and a cheat, and thus my word was not worth taking.”

  She stopped, Nigel noticed a faint tremor in her hand as she gripped the handle of her walking stick. “And if you look at the section highlighted in orange-”

  Christ, enough, Nigel groaned inwardly and decided it was time to intervene.

  “If I can interrupt Miss Bailey, I will happily look at the paperwork you’ve provided and if you feel you have been unfairly treated then I suggest you appeal against the decision.”