The Helpline

by Katherine Collette

  Francine managed a question. ‘What about the budget?’

  When the mayor said they’d find the money, Francine didn’t stop frowning. I felt a pang of sympathy for her. Here I was, hardly there any time at all and I was on the fast track. Francine might not even have realised before that she was on the slow one.

  ‘I don’t need to remind you both that this is a confidential project, ladies. We don’t want word getting out…Germaine, you’ll need to speak to Stacey about the office arrangements. She knows what’s happening.’

  Francine and I were getting up to leave when the mayor stopped us and asked to speak to me alone. Francine flipped her book shut and walked out.

  ‘Germaine, I’ve arranged for you to receive a pay rise. Just a small one, to recognise your increase in seniority.’

  I couldn’t have been happier if this had represented a career trajectory I was actually invested in.

  ‘It’s so good helping out those less fortunate, isn’t it?’ The mayor beamed.

  ‘Personally, I find it very satisfying,’ I agreed.

  It took Stacey a week to set up my new office and it took me less than ten minutes to pack everything up, ready to move in.

  ‘Can’t believe you’ve got an office,’ said Eva. ‘And I can’t believe they moved my couch to put you there.’

  ‘Eva’s couch’ was a thinning grey sofa kept in the upstairs storeroom that had been repurposed as my new office.

  ‘You could always take it home, Eva,’ said Jack, his voice muffled. He was bent down, under the desk, trying to disconnect the monitor.

  ‘That’s not really the point, is it?’ said Eva. ‘Where am I going to lie down when I’m tired? What am I meant to do when I need time out?’

  ‘You could always come visit.’ I was feeling charitable. It wasn’t only getting an office (and a computer) that had me in a good mood. It was the unmistakable feeling that things were changing and life was getting better. I was fulfilling my destiny.

  ‘Why?’ said Eva. ‘Are you keeping the couch in there?’

  ‘No. But I do have three chairs.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Eva kicked her footrest over. ‘I’m going to get Francine to give me an extra chair. We should all ask for extra chairs, Jack. They should give everyone two chairs. Two chairs or an office.’

  I put a packet of Post-its and a bottle of hand sanitiser in my moving box.

  ‘I don’t want my own office,’ said Jack, still under the desk.

  ‘Are you listening?’ said Eva. ‘Two chairs or an office. One or the other.’

  Jack stood up and brushed the dust off his shorts. ‘I’ve got a chair, Eva. And I don’t want an office.’

  Eva said, ‘Well, you can give me yours. I’ll have both.’

  Jack didn’t agree to her proposal. Instead, he changed the subject altogether. ‘How are the biscuits going? Any news?’

  Eva said she hadn’t heard.

  ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ I said, helpfully. ‘Budget’s pretty tight, you know. Can’t see biscuits being a priority.’

  ‘Oh, can’t see biscuits being a priority? Suppose not, now we’re spending all our money on new offices and surplus chairs.’

  I swallowed my indignation. While I expected it from Eva, I didn’t expect it from Jack. He should have said something supportive but instead he just stood there, winding the computer cord around his hand and his elbow so it made a series of loops.

  I put the last of my office supplies in the moving box and held it up. ‘I have to take this upstairs.’

  They didn’t even say goodbye.

  25

  I was excited to tell Gladys and Betsy about the safety audit, more excited than I’d been about anything in a long time. That Saturday at homework club was hell on earth, trying to keep it to myself. I was bursting; it was like having diarrhoea. Every time I stood up I thought something might slip out.

  Once Ralph and I had finalised the logistics I called Gladys on the sly from my new office. Feet on the desk, I said, ‘Gladys. I’ve some important news. Can’t say it over the phone, though. Have to tell you in person.’ I was being secretive, so as to maximise the surprise.

  ‘You’ve got me worried, Germaine. Is everything okay?’

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’

  ±

  My mysteriousness worked. The two of them were standing out the front of the building when I arrived. I parked the car and strolled over. I held my hand up like a stop sign when they started asking.

  ‘You might want to sit down,’ I said, and we went inside.

  It felt weird being back in their office. I’d been at the centre a number of times for homework club but I hadn’t been in the office since the day we got rid of Celia. That was two whole months ago now but being back there, it felt as if it had happened yesterday.

  It should have been a good memory, a thing I reflected back on in the aftermath of other triumphs as I catalogued all my achievements. But somewhere along the line the memory had morphed. The facts hadn’t changed, but the way I felt about them was more ambiguous. Sometimes, when I wasn’t even thinking about it, I’d remember the look on Celia’s face or how no one had clapped or cheered like I thought they might. I knew it didn’t matter: the mayor was happy and I had my promotion and those were the most important things. But occasionally—hardly ever really, but maybe once or twice—the thought manifested:

  Maybe it did matter. Maybe my promotion wasn’t the most important thing.

  Then I realised how stupid I was being.

  Gladys and Betsy were sitting stiffly, waiting for me to speak.

  ‘Are we going to have a cup of tea?’ I said. ‘Or a snack? I’m a bit hungry.’

  ‘Just tell us, Germaine,’ said Gladys.

  I confess I was enjoying stringing them along. It was funny how they really believed it was bad news.

  ‘This is harder for me to say than it is for you to hear,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s not meant to be publicly known yet.’

  Betsy made a motion with her hand—yes, yes, hurry up—and then put her arm around Gladys because Gladys was going to cry.

  ‘It pains me, it really does,’ I said, giggling on the inside, and when I couldn’t do it anymore I cried, ‘Surprise! Surprise!’

  They flinched.

  ‘The council’s going to fix this place up.’

  It took a minute for the news to sink in.

  ‘I just nearly had a heart attack,’ said Gladys.

  ‘Was that really necessary?’ said Betsy.

  Betsy walked me out. Gladys, who shed a few residual tears even after I said there was nothing to worry about, stayed in the office. As we made our way through the foyer, I commented to Betsy that the place was looking good. She said, ‘We did a clean-up. There was a lot of junk around. Celia didn’t like throwing things out.’

  ‘Didn’t she?’ I felt a twitch when I heard her name, almost like a guilty spasm.

  ‘Celia’s a real hoarder. I kept telling her we didn’t need the VCR, everyone uses DVDs now, but it didn’t make a difference. You know what she’s like.’ Betsy held the door and we went outside. We stood on the top step, looking out across the car park. There were more cars than there used to be.

  ‘How is Celia?’ I said.

  I hadn’t heard from her. Every time I picked up the phone and said, ‘Helpline,’ I’d wonder if she might be calling.

  But she never was.

  ‘Don’t know, haven’t seen her. She hasn’t been back since… Well, you know. Tom doesn’t think she’ll come back.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah…I don’t think she will either.’

  We started down the steps, towards the car. ‘Does she have family?’ I asked.

  ‘Not now Bernard’s gone.’

  Betsy mistook my silence for me feeling bad and patted me on the back. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Germaine. We’re responsible too. We should have done something sooner. People had complai
ned many times and we just brushed it under the carpet.’

  ‘I don’t feel bad,’ I said.

  ‘Celia rubbed people the wrong way all the time,’ said Betsy. ‘I remember the day she threw the Genealogical Society’s family trees out. I’m not sure who was madder, her or Norman. I thought he was going to have a hernia. And the parking. My God. You should have seen her when the Photographic Society wanted to use the loading bay.’ Betsy laughed to show amusement, but her laughter had a funny, empty sound.

  She glanced at me. ‘Look, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she will come back. And you know, she might not have family but she does have people. There’s Charlie and Vera. Celia looks after Charlie all the time.’

  ‘Charlie?’ The little boy?

  ‘Yes, Vera’s a single mother. You wouldn’t think it but Celia’s actually very good with children. In fact, she’s probably enjoying having a break from this place.’

  ‘Yeah, probably…She’s probably writing a letter right now to say thank you.’

  ‘Mmm…’ said Betsy. ‘No, probably not.’

  The following week Ralph and I went to the senior citizens centre together. He made me wear a fluorescent safety vest, even when we were in the car, and spent the fifteen-minute drive emphasising the importance of thoroughness. It was critical, he stressed, that we identify absolutely everything.

  Before commencing, we stopped by the office to let Gladys and Betsy know we were there. Unfortunately, the two of them insisted on walking around with us, even when I insisted they didn’t have to. I’d have pinched one of them if they’d been standing closer.

  We started outside. ‘I’m glad you’re all in covered footwear,’ said Ralph. ‘This paving is very uneven.’

  Betsy scoffed. ‘You think that’s bad? When the floor in the John Stanley room gets mopped it’s like a skating rink. Trish Bobbet slipped over last year during choir practice and the whole alto section went down like dominos.’

  Ralph made a note on his clipboard.

  ‘The kitchen’s not much better,’ added Gladys.

  We walked down the side of the building, around the vegetable garden and past the old outhouse to the shed down the back. Ralph looked at all the cracks and measured how big they were using a tape measure attached to his belt. He shook the fence palings and poked sticks in parts of the weatherboards where the paint had peeled.

  ‘See that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That. Could be termites. Might not be, but I’ll write it down. And have a look at that.’ He pointed at the guttering and sucked his teeth. He was very good at his job. He was a walking, talking, glass-half-empty-and-about-to-fall-on-you-and-shatter kind of guy.

  When we’d completed a loop, Ralph gave us a hint of his overall assessment. ‘I can’t believe they’ve let this place go for so long…I mean, look at it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gladys. ‘There’s quite a lot to do. If we were to repaint the outhouse, do you think we could change the colour?’

  Ralph gave her a funny look. ‘Biggest problem here is your roof.’ He pointed with his pen. ‘The rest needs work but it’s not going to fall down tomorrow. That roofing though, one big gust of wind and woof. Slice someone’s head off.’

  ‘That’d be top priority, then.’ Betsy gestured at me to write it down.

  Ralph checked the clock on his phone and said he had to get back. Betsy asked when he was planning to audit the inside of the building but Ralph said that wasn’t necessary. Then he ducked off to the bathroom, leaving the three of us standing under the entrance.

  ‘I still can’t believe this is happening,’ said Gladys. ‘Celia’s been trying to get the council to fix things up for years but… Well, they’ve never been very interested.’

  ‘It’s Germaine. She’s done it, hasn’t she?’ said Betsy, patting me on the back. ‘Don’t know where we’d be without you.’

  ‘Probably somewhere pretty crap,’ was my suggestion.

  That night I stayed back and worked into the evening. I couldn’t see much from where I sat but by the time I finished up, I was pretty sure everyone had gone home. When I came downstairs the side door was shut and I had to go out through reception.

  I expected it would be empty but it wasn’t. Someone was waiting for me.

  ‘How come you’re here?’ I said and he got all flustered, which was a glorious thing to witness.

  Don had come to see me. He denied this but I knew. It was a game we were playing, like cat and mouse. Peter used to play that too, only he was the cat and I was the mouse. They were fixed roles. If I tried to be the cat, Peter got annoyed. Like when I turned up at his brother’s birthday party that one time. Those two times.

  With Don I was bold. ‘Want to see my office?’ I said.

  Don rubbed across his mouth and cheeks, feeling his whiskers. His perfect whiskers. Each one was like the head of a very sharp greylead pencil.

  Don wasn’t supposed to come in without signing the visitor book, but it was late and though they’d been awarded Employee of the Year two years running, no representatives from customer service were around—I am only stating what is fact.

  All I did was use my pass to open the door. Could I help it if Don followed?

  Two people could walk side by side down the corridor but I walked in the middle so he would have to go behind and follow me.

  ‘It’s just up here,’ I said in a husky voice.

  ‘Is there a toilet I could use? I need to pee.’ Don’s voice was high and kind of squeaky. And pee? I would have said urinate, or not disclosed.

  The women’s toilets were right there but they’d had to move the men’s for the renovations. I told Don they were out of order.

  He went into the women’s bathroom; I went in after him.

  We were only a metre or two apart, just the toilet door between us, and that didn’t touch the floor or the ceiling. I was aware of Don standing on his side, holding himself or sitting down semi-naked, if that was his preference. His being so exposed and so close felt pretty intimate, and pretty incredible, if I thought about it, which, as the minutes dragged on, I had ample time to do.

  ‘Are you on your phone?’ I said.

  He didn’t answer but began to urinate. It didn’t last long but while he was going I thought perhaps I heard him get a text message. I didn’t ask about this; people get prickly if you are too questioning of their private lives, even if you think you’re part of their private lives. Because you might not be, you know. That can happen. Anyway, I was being laid-back, a desirable character trait, one that comes naturally to me.

  Don came out and put his hands under the tap.

  ‘You forgot to use the soap,’ I said.

  I was glad my office was so small. With the two of us in it, we had to stand quite close. Don was being mindful of my personal space and kept inching closer to the wall, but I inched with him, to let him know I wasn’t going anywhere. So that was how we moved, first his feet and then mine, all the way to the wall, where we had to stop.

  We weren’t so close as touching but we were breathing the same air—it seemed to come out of his mouth straight into mine—which probably altered the balance of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Maybe that was why I felt so giddy. Don seemed more giddy, though. His face was a funny colour.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I said.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  The way he said it, the way we were standing…

  I had a sudden flash of Peter and me, after we left the Wallace Insurance Christmas party two years ago. But where Don and I were vertical–parallel, Peter and I had been horizontal–parallel—we were in my bed, him on top and me lying on the mattress. The weight of his body pressed against me, pinning me down. He was like a human stapler.

  I took a step back from Don so he could decide what he wanted to do. If he wanted to continue along this path or if he’d made a mistake and no matter how much I tried to convince him, he wasn’t interested anymore.

  Don was feeling uncertain. He slipped out
from where he was standing but he didn’t leave; he just stood further away. A confusing distance. Especially as he said, ‘Germaine, you’re great.’

  ‘You’re great too, Alan,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘I meant to say Don.’

  But I’d ruined it by then. He stepped around the back of me, returning to the door, where he hovered. ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ he said.

  ‘It’s okay, Don,’ I stressed his name. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  We had plenty of time, anyway. It wasn’t like Susan Reynolds was going to swoop in and steal him off me. Sharon says people can’t steal things if you don’t have them to begin with, but she doesn’t know what we had. No one does, except for Peter and the fourteen staff members I heard him telling in the canteen a few days before The Incident, and that was very edited.

  26

  Homework club was on the weekend. I’d given up telling Jin-Jin she couldn’t get a ride with me; it was like talking to a brick wall. I had to accept how it was or change living situations.

  Charlie was arriving just as we were, in a beat-up old bomb, yellow with a dent in the side. There was a woman with him. His mother, I supposed. Jin-Jin and I walked to the front door and the two of them ran to catch us up.

  Charlie said, ‘Germaine, you look like a man from behind.’

  ‘Charlie,’ said his companion—it was his mother. Vera. She introduced herself, but even if she hadn’t I would have known. Her eyes were not only the same colour and shape as Charlie’s (i.e. blue and round), they were inset the same amount (i.e. very deep). Their noses were unusually thin to compensate.

  Jin-Jin already knew Vera, or knew her enough to know who normally rode in her car. ‘No Celia this week?’ said Jin-Jin. Celia must have been a bludger for rides too. No wonder she and Jin-Jin got on.

  ‘No Celia again,’ said Vera.

  ‘Have you seen her? How is she?’ For someone who had no interest in maths or anything else important, Jin-Jin could be very inquisitive.

  ‘The same.’ Vera put her hand in her pockets, her dress stretched down. ‘You know something’s up when she’s not even writing letters.’