The Helpline

by Katherine Collette

  Well, her and…one or two people here.

  I would like it on record that I said no. And I meant it too, in that specific moment.

  Then, unfortunately, something happened.

  34

  I didn’t offer Celia a lift home, same as I didn’t offer Jin-Jin a lift home. But at the end of the meeting, as the sun was setting and everyone began to leave, the two of them followed me to the car. When the doors unlocked they let themselves in, put on their seatbelts and sat with an air of expectation. I could have prodded them out and pointed them to the bus stop but it seemed easier and quicker to drive.

  None of us spoke as I went through the car park and down the long drive that led to the main road. We were too busy thinking. I was also wishing I hadn’t disclosed certain pieces of information, as they’d been misinterpreted. You never knew what people would find interesting. I said interesting things all the time and was very rarely asked to elaborate.

  That said, I was concentrating on the road. When we got to the end of the drive I stopped at the stop sign. I looked left and right and ensured it was clear in both directions before proceeding. But when we were only part way out, a black car came careening around the corner, hugging the wrong side of the road like it was in its own private grand prix. Even at a glance I could determine it was going faster than the speed limit and—more pertinent—too fast to correct its arc in the distance available.

  Its path, in short, was going to collide with ours.

  My foot stamped down on the brake. We were all thrown forward; I felt the seatbelt cut across my neck. Celia grunted, Jin-Jin cried out. Rubber screeched against asphalt. We braced, bodies tight, eyes shut. Waiting for the impact.

  Waiting, waiting…And…

  I opened my eyes.

  Celia was beside me. Her glasses had fallen off her nose and hung around her neck. In the back, Jin-Jin was bent forward in the brace position, her head buried under her hair. When she lifted it up, her face was pale.

  The three of us sat very still.

  Outside, the black car was still moving, only slowly.

  It stopped. The driver’s side door opened and a man got out. He had grey hair, dark sunglasses, a lean build.

  ‘Don Thomas,’ said Celia. ‘Now there’s a surprise.’

  I could see that it was Don, and Celia said that it was Don, but I couldn’t quite comprehend it. The world was electrons and neutrons and light and sound but none of them had come together yet. Slowly they stopped trembling randomly in space and began to coalesce.

  Don was in the car.

  It was Don’s car.

  Don was coming towards us. Should I be angry or excited? My neck hurt and so did my shoulder.

  ‘Sorry,’ he called. ‘Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—’ He flicked his glasses back and squinted at me. ‘Germaine?’

  The sound of my name, the sound of his voice saying my name. I rolled my head on my neck. The muscles in my back seemed to loosen.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Don was at the window. ‘Germaine, I think your nose is bleeding. Do you need a tissue?’ He went to open the door. Don wasn’t afraid of blood. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

  He opened the door.

  He was right there in front of me. I could smell him with my bleeding nose.

  ‘Celia?’ he said.

  And I had another wish: that she wasn’t there.

  Celia raised her hand in a sort of wave.

  ‘She’s okay,’ I said. ‘Her and Jin-Jin are fine. It’s me…I’ve got a blood nose.’

  ‘Right,’ said Don, a beat too late. ‘Good. Are you sure?’

  ‘We’re fine,’ said Celia. If only she hadn’t spoken. If only she’d been very quiet maybe he would have forgotten she was there.

  But he didn’t forget. He asked again were we all okay and apologised, again. And then, when he was satisfied we weren’t injured, when I had a tissue, he said goodbye and when he said goodbye he used our names, one by one, in turn:

  Goodbye, Jin-Jin.

  Goodbye, Celia.

  Goodbye, Germaine.

  I dropped Celia off. That left Jin-Jin and me alone in the car.

  She leaned forward in her seat. ‘Germaine, do you think Don would tell the mayor…’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘I didn’t finish.’

  But I knew what she was going to ask. ‘Don and I are friends,’ I said, and with each word felt more certain. ‘Very good friends. I’m better friends with him than I am with you.’

  ‘Okay.’ She sat back. ‘I was only asking.’

  35

  Privately, however, I had some concerns, the primary one being: what did Don think I’d been doing?

  He must have been shocked to see me with Celia. I hoped he didn’t think I was working against him. Because I wasn’t. I was only kind of…mucking in because I know it wouldn’t achieve anything. Nothing was going to change. Don must know that. But if he didn’t…

  I picked a trophy up off the mantel. A gold statue of a man, holding a notepad and pencil. I stroked its gold-plated hair, pretending it was Alan himself, hoping this might provide comfort. Then I tried pretending it was Don. Neither seemed to work.

  ±

  The next day, the mayor asked to see me.

  Her potential knowledge of the situation was another concern I had identified but placed a lower emphasis on relative to Don. Now it seemed more pressing.

  I put on a brave face, the face of a friend/employee awaiting further instruction. Not the face of someone who’d been caught doing the wrong thing.

  I didn’t even want to help those stupid old people.

  Everything in the mayor’s office was the same as always. She was as polite and courteous as ever. If anything she was more polite and more courteous, which should have made the interaction more enjoyable but somehow didn’t.

  It reminded me of Peter. How in front of other people he’d say things like: What an interesting insight, Germaine, or: Not at all, the level of detail is fascinating. The way he said it…Like he didn’t really like me, even though he said he did.

  When the mayor asked how I was, the emphasis was different. It was not ‘How are you, Germaine?’ It was ‘How are you, Germaine?’ And she used the voice she used with Francine, not the voice she used with me. She was formal and not candid or funny or cutting. I had to force myself to maintain eye contact and then started having difficulty gauging what was an appropriate amount.

  Normally, our conversations took a circuitous route before arriving at the point but on this occasion she got straight to it.

  ‘Did you hear the news?’

  She was deliberately ambiguous, another sign of her change in attitude. She wanted me to ask so she could explain. But when I did, she took her time to answer.

  Holding my gaze, she took a long, slow sip of water. ‘I’m bringing back the biscuits, Germaine.’

  It wasn’t what I thought she’d say. I knew Eva and Frank had presented their petition, but that was weeks ago. Nothing had happened since and nor should it. The biscuits were a waste of time and money; they didn’t really matter.

  ‘Yes. The people have spoken.’ She explained the petition had made her reassess. She’d realised the biscuits were more than just biscuits. They weren’t an expenditure so much as an investment. ‘In what, you might ask? Why, in staff morale—and that is something you can’t put a price on. Can you, Germaine?’

  I could have put a price on it. Staff morale linked to employee turnover, which had all sorts of implications for efficiency and wages and training budgets, but the tone of the conversation didn’t lend itself to disputing facts.

  ‘Staff morale is very important, Germaine,’ said the mayor. ‘Everyone likes to feel appreciated, don’t they? I mean, take yourself. You work hard, you’re dedicated and I’ve tried to show my appreciation. I’ve given you an office and a raise and I’ve considered you a friend.’ She stopped talking and her dark eyes fell on mine.

  I confess I
felt rather small. I liked the mayor. I really did. I felt sadness, an emptiness akin to losing, but like no loss I’d ever known.

  ‘One thing I’ve learnt is you should never underestimate the power of happy staff, Germaine. Unhappy staff might stab you in the back but happy ones? Why, they’re like nuggets of gold.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you happy, Germaine?’

  I didn’t know. I said, ‘Are any of us really happy?’ and understood at once this was the wrong answer.

  ‘I spoke to Don on the weekend. He sends you his regards.’ She was watching me carefully and I breathed in through my nose, not letting the nostrils move. Was she being disingenuous or had he really sent regards? It was unsettling.

  ‘Speaking of Don—speaking of the golf club,’ said the mayor, though we weren’t speaking of either, not really. ‘All set for the mayoral ball? Not long now, is it? I had thought you’d be on my table but now I’m not sure if that will work… We’ll see. But I did want to ask you a favour, Germaine. Can you do me a favour?’

  I would never normally agree to something without knowing what it was, and yet now I felt I should.

  Excellent; she knew she could count on me. She made much of my reliability. That was nice. But she still hadn’t said what I was supposed to do so reliably, and now it seemed petty to ask. I was becoming more and more certain that the favour was not work-related, though. It was a personal favour she was asking. How was I going to get out of it?

  ‘You remember I said we were going to make the announcement at the ball? About the seniors centre? Well, I can tell you it’s official now. We voted to sell at a confidential meeting last night, five ayes and four noes. Only one vote in it. Still, one vote’s all you need, isn’t it? I wanted to tell you the good news myself.’

  The silence that followed only lasted a second or two, probably. It seemed a lot longer.

  ‘I’d like your help to write my speech, Germaine. I could get the media team to do it but you know what they’re like. All fancy words and no technical accuracy. I want you to be the one.’

  ‘Is it definite?’ I said. My voice sounded thin.

  ‘Absolutely, positively definite. The decision’s been made; there’s no going back. Set in stone, you might say. Why’—she seemed inordinately happy when she said this—‘God herself couldn’t save that place now.’

  I was tired when I got back to my office. I hadn’t slept well the night before. I turned the light off and lay on the floor under my desk.

  I had a lot of thoughts swirling around inside and they weren’t nice. No. I wished I could delete them from my brain, or sweep them in a pile and put them in the bin.

  The mayor was mad at me. She didn’t say so, but I am extremely observant. I didn’t like people being mad at me, and I didn’t like the mayor being mad at me more. It made me question if she still liked me. Or if she’d ever liked me.

  It made me question—and this was the worst part—if Don did. It was good I was lying down flat. You can’t get lower than the floor.

  Don must have told the mayor he’d seen me with Celia. If he told her that, what else had he told her? And what did this say about our relationship? What did it say about theirs?

  It wasn’t a competition. But if it was a competition, I wasn’t winning.

  Later, Eva transferred a call to my office. ‘It’s for you,’ she said and pushed the button before disclosing who it was.

  I knew as soon as I heard the voice.

  ‘I’m calling for advice,’ she said. ‘About a friend of mine?’

  ‘Celia. This isn’t a counselling service.’

  ‘She’s a bit thick. Thinks she knows everything but she doesn’t know much at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry’—doesn’t know much at all—‘but I don’t have time to talk.’

  ‘Bad luck, running into Don. Still, I guess it helps you work out who your friends are.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well…Did he tell her?’

  I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t know for sure Don told the mayor anything and if he did it was probably an accident. It was easy to say something you didn’t mean to say. Didn’t mean you didn’t value the relationship, or weren’t secretly in love with the person whom you got in trouble.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. It’s a sign of his character, Germaine. He’s weak.’

  ‘You don’t know him like I do,’ I said.

  ‘You’re better than he is. You’re better than both of them.’

  Better? How?

  But Celia wasn’t divulging. She wanted to know if I was coming to see them. ‘Betsy and Gladys are planning their ridiculous cake stall but I thought you and I could talk some more about this newspaper article.’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Germaine, come on. Don’t you think it’s important?’

  ‘Yes, but so’s having a job and a place to live.’

  ‘Your career. Of course. I forgot.’ Celia’s tone was no longer jovial. ‘Can’t risk that to help a bunch of nobodies.’

  She’d misunderstood what I said in the car. She and Jin-Jin hadn’t paid enough attention. ‘I didn’t mean you didn’t matter or you weren’t important,’ I said. ‘I meant you’re not well connected; you don’t have any influence.’ If it was true when I first said it, it was even truer now.

  Celia sighed. ‘Germaine. What is wrong with you?’

  That again. ‘Nothing. This is just how I am.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ She stopped talking for a moment, then she changed the subject. ‘You sent me those letters.’

  ‘What letters?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid; no one likes sudoku. Thank you for the letters, Germaine.’

  If it was a trap she was setting, I wasn’t sure what would spring it. I slipped my hands under my legs to protect them.

  ‘It just goes to show you’re more than career oriented. You are also a person who sends letters.’

  Even though they weren’t letters, they were sudoku, this was still a frightening idea. Because Celia wasn’t the only one who sent a lot of items in the post: so did Sharon. Was I more like her than I thought?

  Celia hadn’t spoken for a bit. ‘Are you still there?’ I said.

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Thought you might have gone already.’

  ‘No, I’m not going anywhere.’

  Then we just breathed together. It was very weird but I didn’t hate it, actually. Knowing she was there.

  ±

  At lunchtime I went for a walk and somehow ended up at the café over the road, the one where Jack and I used to go, and where I hadn’t been for quite a while. And where he was, right now, the one time I wanted to be alone. And with him was Eva and, of all people, Marie Curie. How annoying.

  I tried not to let them see me but they did. Jack called out and came up to the register.

  ‘Germaine,’ he said. ‘Where have you been? Haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘Nowhere. Working.’

  It was my turn to order. I asked the woman at the counter for a hot chocolate and a donut. She said, ‘Eat in or takeaway?’

  Jack said, ‘Eat in. There’s room on our table.’

  I told the woman takeaway. ‘I have to get back to work, Jack.’

  I’d decided that I wasn’t going to socialise with colleagues anymore. I was going to maintain a professional distance. It was too hard otherwise.

  ‘What’s so important it can’t wait ten minutes?’ said Jack.

  ‘Everything. You wouldn’t know what that’s like because your job is just computers. Mine is much more complex.’

  ‘Has something happened?’ he said. ‘You look upset.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Were you okay the other day, about the article? Marie was just helping.’

  ‘Okay.’ The lady behind the counter was waiting for me to pay. I looked in my wallet and found I didn’t have any money. ‘Is card all right?’ I said.

  ‘Minimum purchase is ten dollars.’


  Jack got his wallet out and paid with a note. ‘She’ll eat in,’ he said to the lady. He was trying to be nice when I didn’t want him to be, and now I was trapped.

  I went and sat down with Eva and Marie. ‘Why are you here?’ I said to Marie. ‘Don’t you have a job?’

  ‘She’s your replacement,’ said Eva.

  ‘You’re the temp?’ I said.

  ‘Actually, they’re considering making the position permanent,’ she said.

  I couldn’t even. I didn’t want to know. I emptied my wallet on the table and started counting the coins, moving them one by one to make a pile.

  Marie put her hand on the table. ‘Did you get the article I sent?’ she said in a sweet voice. Sickly sweet, like fake sugar.

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  ‘So interesting, I thought,’ she said.

  I glanced at her, face like stone, then waved her hand off and started sliding the pile of coins to Jack. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘My shout.’

  My order took ages to come. Eva and Marie Curie were talking about the biscuits.

  ‘It’s a big investment the mayor’s making,’ said Eva. ‘Biscuits are not cheap, especially when you factor in how many we need.’

  ‘I know,’ said Marie Curie. ‘I found out a lot about catering when I researched it for Lucy’s wedding, remember, Jack? You’d be amazed how much they charge. Some of them even make you pay for delivery.’

  As the seconds ticked over I found myself getting even more annoyed with all of them. They cared about such stupid stuff. Nothing that really mattered. I had an urge to point this out.

  I interrupted Eva and Marie to say the senior citizens centre was going to be sold soon. ‘Not that you guys would be interested.’

  ‘I’m interested,’ said Jack.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be interested?’ said Eva. ‘Marie Curie probably isn’t, but I am.’

  ‘I’m interested,’ said Marie Curie, looking at Jack.

  They were just saying that. They didn’t know anything about the place or the people, not like I did.

  My hot chocolate and donut arrived. I asked if I could have them takeaway after all. The waitress picked them up in a swift but resentful movement and carried them back to the counter.