The Helpline

by Katherine Collette

  Out the window, it began to rain. Drops of water made their way down the glass.

  Francine was talking but I couldn’t listen. I shifted in the chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs, deeply uncomfortable. What was wrong with me? I’d known this was a possibility. I resolved not to care. No, I didn’t care. Caring wasn’t part of the Douglas genome.

  And yet.

  Francine suggested perhaps I write them another letter. ‘Or we could give them another warning?’

  ‘We’ve written letters,’ said the mayor. ‘And we’ve given warnings.’

  That was true. At some point, warnings had to have consequences otherwise they were suggestions. But the consequence seemed disproportionate. The ratio was wrong. One person was the problem but multiple people were being affected by the outcome.

  ‘Can’t you just get rid of Celia?’ I said, interrupting Francine, who was now talking about a warning system, in which one warning escalated to another different type of warning.

  ‘No.’ Francine tried to sound firm. ‘We couldn’t do that.’

  But the mayor did not dismiss the idea out of hand. ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘Kick Celia out. Get someone else to be president of the committee.’

  ‘But she’s been there for years,’ said Francine.

  I ignored her, imploring the mayor. ‘It’d be much quicker. Same outcome, less negative publicity.’ I could tell she was taking in what I had to say. It was as though a spotlight was shining on my person.

  The mayor drummed her fingers on the desk. I had her full attention. It might have been just her and me in the room. Francine had all but disappeared.

  ‘Gladys would be good. She’s the current vice-president,’ I said.

  [Francine, a tiny voice in the background: I really think this is a bad idea.]

  The mayor began to nod. ‘You know, there is some merit to that approach.’

  [Francine, not nodding: Maybe we should…]

  The mayor announced we would proceed as I had suggested. ‘Germaine, get rid of Celia,’ she said. She didn’t care how I did it, so long as it was done. She was—I quote—‘leaving it in your capable hands’.

  NOTE: she did not say anything about the capability of Francine’s hands.

  I called Gladys straight away. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘What about?’ As though she didn’t know.

  ‘About Celia. Is she there?’

  Gladys’s voice took on a theatrical quality. ‘Why don’t you come back at seven o’clock this evening, Norma? After the aerobics class? We could discuss the matter then.’

  ‘Aerobics? Is Betsy teaching?’

  ‘Yes, Norma. Betsy will be there.’

  When the work day concluded, instead of going home and having dinner, I went home and got changed. I put on running shoes and a pair of old leggings. I still wasn’t sure about aerobics but I was curious about Betsy. Winners have an aura, even if their category of endeavour isn’t a very useful one.

  Once again, the class was being held in the main room, where homework club was. The tables had all been cleared away but chairs were set out in a half circle. They all faced in the direction of, and were equal distance from, a single chair in the middle. That’s where Betsy was sitting.

  She was smiling as always. ‘Gladys said you were coming.’ I did not smile back. Betsy’s attitude was hard to interpret. To the outside observer she seemed ‘friendly’ and ‘affectionate’ but this could be part of a plan to disarm me. I had to be wary.

  Betsy didn’t say anything about Celia or the signs; rather, she gestured at the chairs. ‘Did Gladys tell you it’s chair aerobics? We do it sitting down.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ I assumed the position directly in front of her. Her face did not falter.

  ‘I heard you won a competition,’ I said.

  Betsy nodded. ‘CWA.’

  ‘You’re famous.’

  Unlike Don, who would have perked up visibly if someone said that, Betsy responded by changing the subject.

  ‘Do you have hobbies?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ I did not elaborate.

  The room began to fill, very slowly. One of the last to arrive was a man in a green tracksuit that said ‘La America’. Though a number of chairs were vacant, he had his sights on mine. He came and stood next to me, looking down. ‘You’re in my spot,’ he said.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes. I always sit there.’

  I’d been in situations like this before; if you acquiesce, the demands will only escalate. I stared at him and clutched the sides of the chair. ‘Not always,’ I said.

  Usually bystanders pretended not to notice what was going on, but Betsy came straight over. ‘James, sit somewhere else.’

  James? I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Did you ring the council helpline?’

  He was taken aback. ‘How do you know? Who are you?’

  ‘That’s Germaine.’ Betsy gestured for him to shuffle over. ‘Now, move.’

  After class Betsy, Gladys and I convened in the office. I had to lean forward to stretch my back, feeling the surprising effects of the workout. The difficulty of raising one leg and tapping it on the floor many times in quick succession would not have occurred to me. My heart rate was still elevated and I could feel muscles I knew existed intellectually but hadn’t ever learnt the precise location of.

  Betsy told Gladys I was great at chair aerobics. ‘Germaine’s a natural.’

  ‘I believe it,’ said Gladys.

  ‘You know, we do normal aerobics as well.’ Betsy got a timetable off the top of the filing cabinet near the window and handed it to me. ‘Maybe next time you’d like to do that instead?’

  I glanced at the sheet of paper. ‘Why? Because of James?’

  ‘Oh, James.’ Betsy told Gladys James was being a pain.

  ‘James is a pain,’ was Gladys’s response. She was quite insightful.

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Betsy to me.

  This was a clue. It showed she wasn’t friendly to everyone. Either I had been singled out as more deserving or, more likely, they were trying to get close to me for reasons undisclosed.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.’ Whichever it was, I wasn’t going to thank her for sticking up for me. Just because she told him to move, I wouldn’t let it cloud my judgment. I wasn’t dazzled by her fame.

  ‘I only said that because people who go to chair aerobics usually have mobility issues,’ said Betsy.

  ‘Maybe some people go because they have mobility issues and some people go because they like sitting down.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Betsy didn’t sound convinced.

  But I was there for a reason. ‘We need to talk about Celia,’ I said.

  They knew, of course. I didn’t have to explain.

  They tried to absolve themselves of responsibility, saying they’d told Celia not to do it and Celia hadn’t listened.

  ‘She never listens,’ said Betsy. ‘We said it would cause trouble but she did it anyway.’

  Gladys began to describe a bus trip in which people had arrived early but the car park was already full—it was irrelevant, whatever she said.

  ‘We weren’t there when she put the signs up,’ said Betsy. ‘If we had been, we’d have said something.’

  ‘We were on the bus,’ said Gladys.

  I recalled some training I’d done at Wallace Insurance:

  When advising someone their claim has been denied, you may find they react with emotion. It’s important to show you’re listening to what they have to say, even where it has no bearing on the situation in question. It gives them the feeling of ‘being heard’.

  ‘I understand,’ I said. And: ‘That’s difficult.’ And when the blow had been sufficiently cushioned I crushed a piece of paper into a ball and tossed it in the bin. ‘However, you will have to get rid of her.’

  ‘What?’ said Betsy. Gladys didn’t seem to catch what I said either. She squinted, as though her eyes—as well as her ears—were having
trouble listening.

  ‘You will have to get rid of her,’ I repeated, louder this time.

  ‘Oh, no. We can’t do that.’ Betsy was adamant.

  ‘Never,’ said Gladys with equal vigour.

  They seemed to think it was just an idea and they had the option of rejecting it. I really had to spell it out, in such specific terms it began to sound harsh. Less inevitable, more vindictive. I decided not to say it was my idea. Let them think it was a directive from…somewhere.

  Gladys’s eyes went watery.

  ‘But why?’ said Betsy, even after I patiently listed all the reasons, counting them off on my fingers: the current complaint, previous complaints; the current warning, previous warnings.

  ‘But it’s been going on for ages,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. And now it’s reached a tipping point.’

  Once they understood they both went quiet. Gladys said she didn’t know how to break the news to Celia.

  I offered to help but Betsy said no, they’d prefer to do it. ‘It’s the least we can do,’ she said. She was very serious, like she was a doctor telling a patient they were about to die.

  Betsy touched my shoulder as I went to leave. ‘We know you’re only doing your job.’

  ‘I’m doing more than my job,’ I said. ‘I’ve been picking up extra duties.’

  The three of us said a strained goodbye.

  19

  Francine’s office was small and tidy. It had a large window, though given it faced the photocopy room, this wasn’t quite the coup it might have been. Her desk was empty aside from three stress balls with cracked foam and a silver insulated cup.

  ‘I feel very uncomfortable about all of this,’ she said. ‘It’s giving me a stomach ulcer, I nearly didn’t come in today.’ Francine was worried after our conversation with the mayor but I wasn’t. For two reasons: 1) Francine worried about everything, and 2) she didn’t understand the underlying factors that were at work, whereas I did.

  This was the sort of problem that looked complicated on the surface but once you realised Celia and Don had an inverse relationship, it was very straightforward:

  Where:

  C = Celia

  D = Don

  Difficult, eh? But if you got rid of Celia by making C → 0, then the whole thing resolved itself. Also, if C → 0 then D for Don → infinity and that’s the biggest ‘number’ there is.

  And helping Don had its own rewards. They were hard to quantify at this point in time, but appreciation seemed like a good foundation for a relationship. Particularly where it was complemented by a strong sexual attraction.

  Thirdly, and this was the most important point, it’s opportunities like this that can change everything. You solve a problem for someone important and they’ll ask you to solve another one, and another. Before you know it, you’re their chief problem solver. That’s an indispensable role, one that requires an office, a personal assistant and a team of staff. Maybe even a dedicated page on the company website.

  ‘I think the best thing would be if we got everyone in a room and talked about it,’ said Francine. ‘We could put on a morning tea and get Donna from HR to facilitate. She’s very good with conflict.’

  ‘Francine.’ Sometimes I felt like I was her boss, not the other way around.

  ‘Germaine, we’re not meant to meddle in the appointment of committee positions. They’re supposed to be independent. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure there’s a policy that prevents us being involved.’

  But we were involved, regardless of the policy. I told her I’d already sorted it with Gladys and Betsy. It was done and dusted.

  ‘What do you mean, “sorted it”?’ said Francine.

  ‘Gladys and Betsy are going to speak to Celia,’ I said. ‘They completely understood our point of view and were happy to work it out for us. It’s not an issue.’ This was meant to make Francine calmer and less worried but it didn’t seem to work. If anything, she looked less calm and more worried.

  ‘But what if Celia won’t go? What if she calls the paper? What if they print a story saying we tried to get rid of her?’

  While Francine generated scenarios, I looked around her office. If it were mine, there were a number of improvements I would have made. I’d have put the desk on the other side so I could see people as they went past, maybe monitor their use of the photocopier. Nothing too onerous, just a tally, not times of day or duration or anything like that.

  I’d also take down those family photographs and not just because it would be weird having a cluster of strangers, someone else’s partner and kids, staring at me all the time. Too many personal items suggests competing interests. If it’s 5 pm on Friday and there’s something that needs to be done your superiors want to be able to rely on you. They want to know you’re not going to nick off because Suzie has a ballet concert or little Archibald’s got a birthday party.

  Francine picked up a stress ball and started squishing it. ‘What if someone sues? What if we end up in court? I couldn’t lie under oath.’

  I’d put up motivational quotes and a picture of Isaac Newton. No, Carl Gauss. Less obvious, and I could assume a knowledge base of zero when telling people about him.

  ‘What about Celia? She’s done a lot for that club. She’s its life force.’

  Celia, Celia, Celia. It was as though Francine, Gladys and Betsy all had Stockholm Syndrome. That’s where kidnapped people start to sympathise with their tormentors. ‘They’re really very nice,’ they say from their makeshift dungeon beneath the stairs. ‘If only you got to know them.’

  ‘She really is very nice,’ said Francine. ‘If only you got to know her.’

  Later in the week, when Jack mentioned going for lunch, I said instead of going to the café, we should eat on the bench outside. ‘I will provide food for both of us,’ I said. I had my pasta/noodle/tuna combination left over from the previous week and didn’t want to waste it. Jack was very pleased, though if I am honest, it was less an act of generosity and more a reflection of how much there was and how old it was. Three days is just a guideline.

  When Jack came to get me, Frank from Traffic Control was sitting with Eva at her desk. They were discussing the biscuit petition. The two of them, Frank and Eva, had begun to meet daily to bark motivational phrases at one another and set targets for their subordinates. Yes, subordinates. They’d managed to recruit six unfortunates from Planning and Building as collection officers. They were to be set up in ‘strategic locations’ at the town hall and elsewhere to coerce staff into signing the petition. Not that people needed much coercion, mind you.

  ‘Ed and Lucy will have to sit in the canteen from nine to five. I don’t care if they have work to do. If we want to get these signatures that’s where we’ll get them,’ said Eva.

  Frank, a short, round man with a lot of hair on his arms and not much on his head, agreed. ‘Means we can send Wendy and Fred back down to the aquatic centre. If we get that lot on board we’ll be almost there.’

  ‘Sounds like you two are working hard,’ said Jack.

  ‘We’ve got four hundred and thirty-two signatures so far,’ said Eva. ‘We’d be nearer five hundred but those arseholes at the pool have been holding out. Reckon they don’t want biscuits, they want protein bars.’

  Frank flicked his tie, correcting its position against his shirt. ‘It’s an ambit claim. We can talk ’em down.’

  ‘Well, we all appreciate your dedication,’ said Jack. ‘Don’t we, Germaine?’

  I was noncommittal. Eva’s dedication meant she was no longer answering the phone or responding to routine enquiries. I was doing her job and mine and still getting paid the same amount. I’d also begun to question if it had been wise of me to sign the petition. What if the mayor frowned upon it? What if my involvement had negative implications for my career?

  Eva’s eyes narrowed at Jack. ‘You’ve signed, haven’t you?’

  ‘Of course I’ve signed. I was one of the first, remember? Jesus, Eva. If there’s one thin
g I’m about it’s free biscuits.’

  ±

  Jack and I went up to the tearoom to get our lunches ready. He had his own bowl and I scooped a sizable serve of noodles in. It was quite a large serve, more than 300 cubic centimetres, but he wasn’t very grateful.

  ‘Are these okay?’ he said, scrunching up his nose and sniffing them, which I did not appreciate.

  ‘They’re fine, Jack.’

  ‘They look a bit hard.’

  I had half a mind to say, Well, don’t have any then, but I bit my tongue. I picked up the bowls and put them in the microwave. They both fitted if you didn’t mind that the platter couldn’t spin, which I didn’t.

  While my back was turned and I was preoccupied with determining the appropriate cooking time, Jack moved swiftly.

  There were two tomatoes. Two. Two × three-fifths of a tomato meant our total tomato requirement should have been one and one-fifth. That was all we needed. Perhaps a little more given the volume of pasta, but wasn’t that my decision to make? So far as I could see we did not need a whole tomato each.

  But Jack had cut them both up into a giant mound of tiny little pieces. When I saw what he’d done I looked at him.

  He lowered the knife and took a step back. ‘What? Was I not supposed to do that?’

  My eye twitched but otherwise I was very calm when I asked if he thought this would be too much tomato.

  ‘I think the question is,’ said Jack, ‘do you think it’s too much tomato?’

  ‘I don’t normally do that much.’ I didn’t immediately cite the usual allocation but he got it out of me.

  ‘You eat three-fifths of a tomato?’

  ‘Give or take.’ Exactly three-fifths or as close I could get without weighing.

  Jack seemed amused by this. ‘That’s very precise.’

  I didn’t rise to his baiting of me but when the microwave went off, I took out his bowl and stabbed his pasta with a fork several times.

  ‘Germaine,’ said Jack. ‘There were two tomatoes, and they were both quite squishy.’

  ‘I don’t mind. Honestly, I don’t care.’

  ‘They were very squishy, Germaine.’