by Jennie Finch
There was a hum of conversation before Eddie Stroud asked what they all wanted to know.
‘Any idea who it is, Gordon?’
Gordon laid the folder on the table in front of him, pursing his lips before replying.
‘She is from out of the area,’ he said.
That was the first surprise. Although there were a number of female SPOs, Highpoint had always had a male senior.
‘I believe she is from London,’ he continued. ‘Until recently she was working as a training consultant and has been instrumental in formulating some of the revised policy and protocols that are currently being instituted.’
Alex blinked at Gordon in surprise. Normally the most down-to-earth man she knew, he was suddenly talking fluent ‘management-speak’. There was a message hidden in amongst all that jargon, and she was not sure she liked the sound of it one little bit. She raised her hand to attract his attention.
‘Is she an experienced senior?’ she asked. ‘I mean – has she run an office before or is she mainly a training person?’
There were nods around the room as the staff considered the implications of a pure theorist trying to run the many and diverse operations of an office as complex as Highpoint.
‘I am sure she has all the skills and experience we need,’ said Gordon sternly. ‘Headquarters seem particularly pleased with her appointment and she will expect – and receive – our full support and assistance during the early days when she is finding her feet.’ He looked around the room, stopping to focus first on Alex and then Lauren. There was a moment’s silence, broken by the door flying open.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ said Ricky. ‘Have I missed anything?’
‘Saved our bacon, he did,’ said Lauren at lunch time. She had a box of home-made sandwiches in front of her and was munching her way through them with an air of grim determination. ‘Don’t know why Gordon was giving me the eye, though. I ’ent said nothing. Not like you, going on about experience and so on.’ She nodded towards Alex before taking another bite.
‘That is because you are a noted troublemaker,’ said Sue. ‘No – the noted troublemaker in this office.’ She cast an envious eye over Lauren’s sandwiches. It seems she had been unable to find anything for lunch in the kitchen either.
Taking pity on her, Alex divided her own sandwiches in half and offered Sue the box. ‘I was only wondering how much we might have to do if they’re new to it all,’ she said. ‘It can be a bit tricky, especially if they’re used to knowing everything and being the one to tell everyone else how it works. After all, training’s all right but you learn the job on placement – and then you find yourself in a real office with a real case load and you realise you know bugger all and have to learn it all over again properly.’
Lauren shrugged, glancing over at Ricky who was sitting with his back to them, pointedly going through his court files for the afternoon session.
‘Seems some don’t recognise that,’ she said. ‘I hear tell this new senior’s an old friend of his.’ She jerked her chin in Ricky’s direction. ‘If’n she’s been mixed up in his training, don’t look too promising, now does it?’
Alex waved her hand at Lauren to warn her Pauline was just behind them. The senior admin officer was a stickler for professional conduct and criticising the senior, especially before they’d even started, was not likely to go down too well with her.
‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we,’ said Sue with uncharacteristic tact. ‘After what’s happened here recently, all they really need to do is keep their clothes on and cover the court sessions if we’re short-handed. I mean, how hard can that be?’
Out on the boundary of the old airfield, Brian sat in the shade, resting from the effort of hauling a new battery all the way back from Highpoint. Resisting the siren call of a cider-drenched weekend, he had made the rounds of the hardware stores, Kevin’s largesse clutched tightly in his hand, until an old-fashioned ironmonger unearthed a replacement for him from the back of a dim, dusty cupboard. He’d even given Brian a discount, ‘On account of it being a bit out of date,’ he said. Closer examination showed the battery was marked ‘Best before Aug 1985’, but Brian reasoned it was still sealed up so how was the electricity going to get out anyway? Science, along with a depressing number of other things, was not his strong point.
There had been a bit of change left over from this purchase and so he’d caught the morning bus out to Westonzoyland, sitting under the suspicious eyes of the driver who counted the stops to make sure he didn’t try to ride past his ticket.
‘What’s with you lot?’ the driver asked as Brian got and rang the bell. ‘’Ent seen none of you for months and suddenly you’s all flitting around all over the place. Seen that Kevin, Saturday just gone. He out again, then?’
‘That’s all you know,’ said Brian scornfully. He’s off working. Proper job he got, with the Fair. Just back to see his mum for a few days, he said.’
The driver raised his eyebrows in disbelief at this. In his opinion, Kevin, in common with Brian and most of the other young men he saw hanging around in town, was unemployable. He’d pack the lot of them off to join the army if he could. What the country needed, he thought as he watched Brian lurching over the stile and off towards the airfield, what it really needed was another war like the Falklands. Short, successful and far away – something to restore a bit of pride in the nation. He didn’t continue this train of thought consciously but a part of him also considered it no bad thing if it thinned the ranks of the unemployed a bit too. He swung the heavy wheel to the right, pulled out into the middle of the narrow road and set off towards Middlezoy, dust rising behind him to hang in the warm, still air long after he was gone from sight.
Once he’d stopped panting, Brian scrambled to his feet and set off across the long patch of open concrete towards the place where he had hidden the metal detector. He was feeling relaxed, pleased and a little proud of himself so, in the midst of an introspective haze, did not take proper note of his surroundings. He barely registered the angry shouting off to his right before the growling of an engine made him leap up in fear. He looked around frantically. For a moment he froze in terror as a two-seater plane touched down behind him, rolling straight towards where he was standing. Mouth open and eyes popping, he was rooted to the spot as the aircraft hurtled down the runway, the propellers still spinning as the pilot tried to steer away from him. At the last moment something hit him, slamming his inert body out of the way of the aircraft as it roared by, close enough to feel the wind from its passing.
The man who had shoved him out of harm’s way stood up and brushed himself off.
‘Girt stupid fool!’ he said. ‘Now I missed the number.’ He shook his fist in the direction of the little plane which was now once again airborne and heading away over the trees towards Bristol.
Brian lay in the dust, winded and still in shock from his brush with death. The man looked down at him, shaking his head in disgust.
‘Get up will yer? There’s more coming and I can’t be charging nothing if you is in the way. Go on, bugger off. ’Tis private property, this.’ He turned on his heel and marched off towards a chair set up beside the concrete runway, stopping to retrieve a notebook from the ground on the way.
Brian struggled to his feet, his head buzzing from the force of the impact, and limped slowly into the safety of the surrounding trees. He knew the airfield was supposed to be private property – he passed the signs every time he came out here – but he’d never heard anyone actually lay claim to it before. Resting in the shadows, he watched as the man sprang to his feet at the approaching drone of another light aircraft. He had a wooden paddle painted bright yellow with black stripes and he waved it at the pilot as the tiny plane circled round, touched its wheels down and then, with a roar, took off back over the Levels.
Dropping the paddle, the man scribbled something in his notebook, glanced at his watch and added the time to his records before sitting back down to wait for the next ar
rival. Despite his recent scare, Brian was intrigued. Surely this man had said something about charging the planes. Sitting in the sun and getting up occasionally to wave a stick didn’t seem much like work to Brian. He thought maybe he could manage that, if he could find out how the money arrived and from where.
‘Thought I told you to bugger off,’ said the man as Brian approached his chair.
‘I was just interested,’ said Brian casually. Now he got a good look, the man wasn’t much older than he was, a bit overweight with a red face and thin yellow hair. Not so intimidating close up. Still, he’d packed quite a wallop when landing on top of him, so Brian kept a bit of a distance between them.
‘Always thought this belonged to them Ministry of Defence lot,’ Brian continued. ‘Signs say that, and was used in the war by the Yanks. Remember my Grandad saying about them all hanging around town with their cigs and sweets, chatting up anything in a skirt.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said the man, squinting up at him from his chair. ‘Was my family’s land, out here on the open moor and when they give up the base we wanted it back. Is my Aunt’s land by rights and all these planes, they come here, do a landing and take off for training. Costs ’em a lot more, doing that up Bristol or over Exeter so I reckon is a bargain, couple of quid a time. I takes the numbers and send a bill off to the flying schools every couple of weeks. Long as I got the paddle, they’s had warning this is a proper airfield. Informed consent, see. If’n they land, they’ve agreed to pay.’
In the distance another plane droned into view and the man leaped to his feet, shoving Brian out of the way as he waved the landing paddle at the pilot, who responded with a rude gesture through the cockpit window.
‘That’s goin’ to cost you a fiver,’ muttered the man, scribbling frantically in his notebook. ‘What you still here for?’ He glared at Brian, who finally took the hint and turned away, sauntering off across the runway with his hands in his pockets. ‘And get off my runway!’
Brian carried on walking across the cracked surface until he reached the tree line. There he spotted the remains of an overgrown path running parallel to the landing strip and he continued along this, dodging the occasional patches of nettles, until he reached the back of the mound where his precious metal detector was hidden. A quick glance around showed that the owner – if indeed he was the owner – was busy with his notebook and Brian slipped out of the shadows and dug around under the branches and leaves for a moment. His hands came away empty and he scrabbled in the dust, shoving the covering stones and twigs in all directions before finally slumping to the ground in despair. With a groan, he dropped his head in his hands as he accepted the metal detector was gone.
Another plane touched down and departed with a waggle of its wings before Brian found the energy to clamber to his feet. He hoisted the bag with the now-redundant battery onto his aching shoulder, resisting the urge to hurl the useless thing into the undergrowth. Slowly, each footstep dragging in the dust, he made his way back along the runway towards the road.
‘Hey – you looking for the old metal thing that was hid over there?’ called the plane man.
Brian stopped and turned slowly to face him.
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘You ’ent got it have you?’
The plane man laughed. ‘Not I,’ he said. ‘Got better things to do with my time than mucking around with one of them stupid things. Still, I seen the lad as took it. Was shaking it about a bit and I don’t reckon it worked but he took it anyway, maybe to sell for scrap. Was yours then?’
Brian nodded mutely. It really was gone, taken by some unknown passer-by out searching for scrap – or anything else they might be able to sell. Brian had subsisted on the deposit coins from returned bottles he’d salvaged from bins in the parks before now. He knew the detector would fetch a few quid even in its damaged state and with no battery. He dropped the bag on the ground, sick of lugging it around. For the first time he regretted the money he’d spent on it, counting it instead in pints of cider and cheap packets of crisps.
The plane man nodded to the bag lying in the dirt.
‘What’s in there?’ he asked.
Brian shrugged. ‘New battery,’ he said miserably. ‘Thought I might repair it. Give it a go, any road. Got no use for this stupid bloody thing now though. Don’t see the sense in hauling it all the way back.’ A feeling of utter misery engulfed him as he remembered he didn’t even have enough money left for the bus. Kicking the bag in fury he turned and began to walk off.
‘Why not go see the lad ‘as took it,’ suggested the plane man. ‘Could do a deal, perhaps?’
‘I didn’t see him,’ Brian pointed out. ‘You saw him but I don’t know who the hell he was or where he’s gone to.’
‘Well, I told him he were trespassing,’ said the plane man. ‘He laughed, said to go on an’ report him ’cos weren’t much more they could do seeing as he was already in the hostel at Highpoint anyway. Skinny lad, he was. Curly hair – bit younger’n you but not much. Had a red mark on one hand – looked like he’d had a burn or something there.’
A slow smile spread across Brian’s face as he recognised the description. Charlie, he thought. Little Charlie Dodds from the probation hostel. He knew him, of course, and he was sure Charlie could be persuaded to hand over his find, if he could get to the hostel before he had time to dispose of the booty. His face fell again as he contemplated the long walk – and the damn battery.
The plane man watched Brian closely, reading the emotions as they flickered across his face.
‘How’d you get out here anyway?’ he asked. ‘Long way out from anywhere – less you’s from Westonzoyland and I don’t recall seein’ you around there much.’
‘Come out from Highpoint,’ said Brian miserably. ‘Got the bus, far as I could but I don’t have no fare back now. Is a bitch, carrying that thing, but that detector ’ent no good without ‘un.’
The plane man nodded understandingly and thought for a moment. ‘Tell you what, I’m starving. Was out here almost afore sunrise and is a long time since breakfast. Last few planes is coming over the next half hour, then is a break ’til about two this afternoon. You can read, can’t you?’
Brian nodded.
‘Well then, you take this here paddle an’ get the numbers so as I can get summat to eat and I’ll have time to drive you back home. Deal?’
Brian took the wooden paddle and stepped over to the chair where the notebook resided.
‘Why you doing this for me?’ he asked suspiciously.
The plane man shrugged. ‘Like I said, I’m right hungry. ’Sides, you’s at least willing to put some effort into something, even if ’tis probably a waste of time. ’Ent no fun, being unemployed – been there myself for a time. Some stranger gave me a hand so I is just passing it on.’
There was a moment’s hesitation and then Brian grinned.
‘Deal,’ he said happily.
Gordon considered Alex’s request for a couple of hours out of the office and came up with what he thought was the perfect solution.
‘We’ll call it part of the life skills programme,’ he said. ‘You go to the auction with the group so they can see how this sort of buying works. Get them to think about how to bid properly and you can start them considering how they spend their money and the importance of researching a purchase, not just acting on impulse. You could try the weekly market too – let them see food in the raw, so to speak. They might even realise it’s a good thing to speak in turn rather than all at once.’ He sat back looking mightily pleased with himself.
Alex suppressed a groan. She had some rather tricky clients enrolled on the life skills option. Those with less than usual social graces, some who had difficulties with anger and several who were just plain perverse. The thought of dragging them around the market with her – let alone the sale room – made her contemplate resignation.
‘It would be a useful lesson for them,’ Gordon continued. He was well aware of Alex’s reluctance but he wa
s not going to back down on the issue. If she wanted a chance to set up the planned darkroom, she was going to have to earn it, and justify the time and money spent too. Gordon had been watching the changes in probation practice for some time and unlike the rest of the officers, he read the fortnightly bulletins from cover to cover. He had a bad feeling about what was coming, though his position as acting senior prevented him from sharing his concerns openly. Alex didn’t realise it but he was trying to protect her and the day centre.
‘There is no guarantee we will be able to continue with the centre,’ he said. ‘It is still experimental and the new management team may decide to change our provision – or even scrap it entirely.’
There was a ghastly silence as Alex stared at him, open mouthed.
‘That would be the worst-case scenario,’ Gordon continued smoothly. ‘I would hope the value of your excellent work and the level of success with a high tariff and notoriously difficult group will be recognised. I think, however, we should ensure everything is done … by the book, shall we say.’
The equipment allocation he offered was not exactly lavish but times were hard for many people and Alex hoped there would be a lack of interest in the photographic equipment. Deciding to make the best of a bad job, she scribbled down some notes for a preliminary session when the group met that evening. She had started running some groups later in the day when a couple of clients took places on the community programme, a government-sponsored work scheme ostensibly offering experience at ‘the going rate for the job’. The going rate for every job seemed to be around £15 a day, with many of the ‘trainees’ working only three days each week. They got a bit more than they had on the dole but not much, and they lost their entitlement to some of the fringe benefits that helped make life bearable. Still, Alex thought it was something that should be encouraged – any experience of work could only help her charges in the future and it offered some of them the chance to engage with the community in a more positive way than most had previously.