High Potential

by Ber Carroll

‘Your father must be responsible for those particular personality traits!’ Liz’s infectious giggle sailed into the kitchen.

  ‘Mum says hello,’ said Katie as she carried the mugs of tea into the living room.

  ‘That’s nice,’ was her reply.

  ‘I feel like a medium,’ Katie sighed, ‘connecting the dead to the living.’

  ‘She’ll come around,’ Liz said with a gentle certainty. ‘As a child, Rose cried the most and scared the easiest – even though she was the eldest. It took her time to gather up courage to do the smallest of things. I’m not worried, Katie. I know she’ll call me when she’s ready.’

  Katie sipped her tea thoughtfully. ‘If she was such a scaredycat, how come she plucked up the courage to elope with Dad?’

  Liz shrugged as if the answer was simple. ‘She must have loved him an awful lot.’

  ‘How about you? Have you ever been in love?’ Katie clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. That was very forward of me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ chided Liz. ‘We’re family, there’s no such thing as forward. Yes, to answer your question, I have been in love. More than once, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘The first time I was very young, just eighteen years old.’ Liz stared into her mug as if the tea reflected the image of the man in question. ‘I was a trainee at the bank when Philip came in to make a deposit. He was a cadet in the army and, oh, Katie, he was so handsome that I blushed bright red as I filled in his bank book. When he leant across the counter to ask me out to dinner, I told him I couldn’t possibly go. I had to get that six o’clock bus home – I was sure that your grandfather would come into the city to look for me if I wasn’t on it. Philip suggested lunch instead. I fell for him straightaway, I was no match for his sophistication and chivalry. He was only twenty but I was so innocent for my age that it could have been ten years between us and not two. He was always off somewhere or other with the army, but I couldn’t allow him to write to me while he was away – your grandfather opened all the letters that came to our house, no matter who they were addressed to. Philip and I continued with our luncheon dates for about five months. Then a neighbour spotted me with him and asked your grandfather the name of the young man who was courting me.’ Liz’s mouth pursed together as she recalled the unpleasant confrontation that had followed. ‘Of course, that was the end of Philip and me.’

  Katie was sympathetic. ‘How very sad for you both!’

  Liz set her mug down on the coffee table. ‘Oh, I’m sure I remember it as much more romantic than it actually was. I was eighteen, very innocent, and ripe for falling in love. Had your grandfather allowed me to see Philip, I might have eventually realised that he wasn’t the man for me. Who knows how it would have turned out?’

  Katie took another mouthful of tea before she asked, ‘Who was the other love of your life?’

  ‘Conor.’ Her face contorted as she said the name. ‘I was more mature – thirty – so I should have known better. I did love him, but we fought like cat and dog right from the start. We moved in together –’

  ‘You lived with him?’ Katie interrupted with surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a certain degree of nonchalance. ‘I could do as I pleased down in Cork. As it turned out, Conor and I didn’t need your grandfather to break us up – we eventually saw how incompatible we were and parted ways. Thank goodness we weren’t stupid enough to get married.’

  Then Liz yawned and Katie asked if she wanted to call it a night.

  ‘I think that would be a good idea. All this talking has exhausted me.’

  ‘You’re so different to Mum,’ said Katie as she cleared the cups from the coffee table. ‘You’re so open – you just wouldn’t believe how secretive she is.’

  Liz chuckled. ‘I would believe it. I’ve told you how nosy Carmel is . . . well, I would simply answer her questions. But not Rose, she kept her cards close to her chest. It was just the way she was. It used to drive poor Carmel mad . . .’

  Rather suddenly, Liz’s blue eyes were full of tears.

  ‘Thank you for finding me . . .’ She kissed Katie’s cheek. ‘You’re a lovely girl and I’m so happy to have this – miraculous – opportunity to get to know you.’

  ‘Me too,’ Katie replied, her own tears spilling down her face.

  ‘Well, goodnight, Katie.’

  Over the next few days, Katie and Liz experienced Dublin at its best. The sun shone benevolently as, arms linked, they strolled in and out of shops, revisited the tourist attractions and posed for lots and lots of photos.

  In fact, it soon became evident that Liz was rather fanatical about capturing every precious moment on film.

  ‘We should take a snap here,’ she would say at regular intervals. Then she would look around to establish if there was anyone close by who was worthy to be entrusted with her ancient camera.

  ‘She doesn’t look as if she’d be much good . . . He’s eighty, if he’s a day . . . That young one would probably run off with it.’

  After much deliberation, she would eventually approach someone who met with her approval.

  ‘Just press the large button on the right,’ she would tell them, her face already smiling in anticipation of the shot.

  But half the time the shutter wouldn’t release and Liz would have to leave Katie’s side to try to resolve the problem. After much pressing and winding on, the shutter would eventually release, the outcome an out-of-focus photograph of the footpath or someone’s feet.

  It was on one of these occasions, outside Trinity College, that Katie’s mobile started to ring.

  ‘Hello,’ she answered as, with affectionate exasperation, she watched Liz fiddling with the camera.

  ‘This is Carmel here,’ said a breathy voice. ‘Liz gave me your number.’

  Katie smiled. ‘Oh, hello, Carmel. Liz said you might call.’

  ‘Are you having a nice time together?’

  ‘It’s been wonderful,’ Katie told her. ‘I only wish you could be here too.’

  It was obviously something that Carmel had already considered because she said, ‘I was thinking that maybe I could organise a trip over before you go back to Sydney. I’ll talk to my daughter, Lucy. She would need to come with me, you see. This blasted wheelchair makes it very hard to travel on my own.’

  ‘Oh,’ Katie’s smile froze on her face, ‘I didn’t realise . . .’

  Why on earth hadn’t Liz mentioned that Carmel had a wheelchair? What was she thinking?

  ‘Liz didn’t tell you, did she?’ Carmel asked but she didn’t wait for an answer. ‘She has this thing about me being stigmatised. I had the riding accident ten years ago – I’ve had plenty of time to get used to being a cripple, and I’m not worried at all about being stigmatised. But once Liz gets an idea into her head, you just can’t get it out.’

  So, thought Katie, Liz is headstrong, Carmel curious and Rose sensitive.

  ‘Maybe it would be a better idea if I came to London to see you instead?’ Katie suggested.

  ‘Let me talk to Lucy first,’ said Carmel. ‘She has two little ones – she would love the break – and I can’t think of anything more fun than the four of us having a weekend in Dublin together. Gosh, I wonder if there’s any chance that Rose could come too?’

  For the first time ever, Katie felt ashamed of her mother. Here was Carmel pulling out all the stops to get to Dublin, while Rose, who had a prepaid ticket and perfect health, had evidently no intention of making the journey.

  At that point Liz came bustling over. ‘Who’s that on the phone?’

  ‘Carmel.’

  Liz took the phone. ‘Carmel, we’re tied up here. Yes. That does sound good. Right, dear, I’ll call you when I get back to Cork.’

  She hung up briskly. Then she put a firm arm around Katie’s shoulders.

  ‘Smile for the camera, dear!’

  When the shot was taken and the camera returned, at least temporarily, to Liz’s bag, Katie asked, ‘
Why didn’t you tell me about Carmel’s wheelchair?’

  Liz’s lips tightened into a stubborn line. ‘Because she never sat still until she fell off that damned horse. She could run much faster than me and Rose, and she always won the long-jump contest down on the strand. That chair is at odds with the very essence of Carmel and I’ll never use it to describe what she’s like.’

  Liz caught the last train to Cork on the Sunday evening.

  ‘I’ll come again soon,’ she promised. ‘It was so nice to be back in Dublin – I shouldn’t have allowed my bad memories to cloud out all the good. And maybe next time there’ll be Carmel and Lucy too. It would be quite a crowd of us let loose on the city!’

  Then, with one of her infectious giggles, she was off down the platform.

  Katie smoked a cigarette on the walk back from the train station. She and Liz had got on like a house on fire and it had been a great weekend. The only niggle was in relation to Carmel and the wheelchair. Should she tell Rose? Would Liz be angry if she did? Did Rose deserve to know?

  Back at the apartment, she put on the kettle and opened one of the kitchen cupboards to get a mug. Right at the front of the cupboard, where she couldn’t miss it, was a beautiful ceramic teapot.

  For next time, Liz had written on the gift card.

  Katie smiled and, instead of making a cup of tea, she made a pot. She drank the tea and mulled over Carmel’s injuries. Liz had said her legs were wasted, but her upper body was fine. She could eat, write and knit. She needed help with dressing, bathing and any form of travel. How would Rose take the news? What was the best way to tell her?

  I’ll ask Jim what he thinks, Katie thought after a while.

  However, Jim’s phone was switched off and she was put straight through to his voicemail.

  ‘Hi, Jim, it’s me. I guess it’s still early over there and you’re in bed. Well, if you happen to get up in the next hour or two, give me a call. Talk to you soon . . . Bye.’

  She and Jim hadn’t talked for a few days. She supposed it was due more to her than him, as she had been so preoccupied with Liz. All of a sudden she really missed him and wished she could be zapped over to Auckland. All she needed was enough time to see him, touch him and remind herself that their relationship was real.

  Chapter 25

  The next morning Katie checked her phone and her email but Jim hadn’t sent a message.

  He must be busy, she told herself.

  She focused her thoughts on the conciliation conference that she was due to attend at 9 am. Her client, a young woman called Amy Harris, was an administration officer for a company that manufactured fitness equipment. Amy’s only colleague had resigned a few months ago but had not been replaced.

  ‘The work is still there,’ Amy had explained on her first visit to the clinic, ‘but now there’s only me to do it. I have to work sixty plus hours a week. The boss refuses to pay me overtime – he says it’s a salaried job, not a pay-by-the-hour.’

  Amy’s boss, Barry Dowling, was tight-fisted, self-important and impossible to reason with. Katie didn’t hold high hopes for a successful outcome to the conference. No matter how experienced the conciliation officer, Barry would not be convinced to give ground.

  She surveyed her wardrobe. She needed something with clout, something to show Barry Dowling she could be every bit as stubborn as he was. She chose a pinstripe trouser suit and, for the first time in months, she put on full make-up. As a last touch, she tamed her long black curls into a no-nonsense French knot. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she was inevitably reminded of the job she had left behind in Sydney, the one where she had to power-dress every single day. In less than four weeks she would be back in that job with all its pressures, impossible deadlines and long hours. She would eat lunch at her desk rather than try out new cafés with Mags and Sarah. She would have to work with Neil’s tense greediness rather than Ted’s affable generosity.

  But there’s one big positive to going back, she told her reflection. Jim.

  Katie had agreed to meet Amy in the reception area of the Labour Court. Half afraid that she would back out, Katie was relieved to see her waiting.

  ‘I must have been mad to go up against Barry,’ she said, her haggard face pale with nerves. ‘I have no chance of winning.’

  Amy was in her mid-twenties but looked much older. She’d confessed to Katie that she’d been addicted to drugs for most of her teens, and her face had all the signs. Barry didn’t know, though. He wouldn’t take a sympathetic view.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Katie told her. ‘The idea of this conference is to see if you can come to a mutual agreement. There are no winners or losers.’

  The receptionist gave them directions on where to go. Joe Green, the conciliation officer, and Christopher Murray, Barry Dowling’s lawyer, were already seated in the small room with its basic furnishings. Katie shook their hands firmly and Amy followed with a more timid handshake.

  ‘Where’s Barry?’ asked Katie.

  ‘Answering nature’s call,’ Christopher replied.

  Barry arrived a few minutes later. It was hard to believe that fitness was his area of business. His shirt strained against his overhanging belly, his jowls sagged and greasy black hair flopped over his eyes. He greeted Katie with the slightest of nods. He didn’t even look at Amy.

  Joe started the proceedings with a brief introduction. He then asked Amy to give a verbal statement.

  ‘I joined Sportsquip four years ago,’ she began in a soft voice. ‘There were two of us handling the administration for the company – the other girl’s name was Sandra. We had to answer the phones, type letters, do the banking and handle the mail. We were always kept busy. Sandra resigned last June. Barry put some ads in the paper for a replacement, but when nobody suitable applied he changed his mind about recruiting and decided that one person, me, was all that was needed. The only way for me to do Sandra’s job is to work late, and I’m here today because I want to get paid overtime for all those extra hours.’

  Katie gave her an encouraging smile when she finished. Amy was a gentle soul who shied from conflict and being centre stage. They had rehearsed her statement many times over to get it right.

  Barry Dowling was next to give his side of the story and he went straight on the attack.

  ‘Amy has never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’ve supported her and kept her in a job these last few years. I can guarantee you that other employers would not have been as patient as me. The problem is that Amy is too slow,’ he cast a derisive glance in his employee’s direction, ‘and I don’t see why I should have to pay extra because of her snail’s pace . . .’

  Katie let him go on insulting Amy until he was finished with his statement. When Joe asked if she had anything to add, she was more than ready to say her piece.

  ‘Amy is far from slow, as you have so unkindly put it,’ she said to Barry, her voice icy cold. ‘She’s doing the job of two people – something to be commended, not sneered at. Sandra was a full-time employee, and there has been no reduction in the productivity of your company to support the redundancy of her position. Therefore, not only is it unfair of you to expect Amy to do Sandra’s job, but it is utterly outrageous that you are not prepared to pay her overtime.’

  ‘Sandra was as slow as Amy,’ was Barry’s cutting response. ‘They were two of a kind.’

  Katie stared him in the eye. ‘My written submission to Joe includes statements from other employees who testify that Amy is prompt and efficient. Nobody describes her as slow.’

  ‘How dare you involve my staff in this!’ Barry thundered across the table.

  ‘I didn’t approach them,’ Katie delighted in telling him. ‘They came to me.’

  ‘Who is it? The people on the factory floor? Fat lot they would know about administration!’

  Katie played her trump card. ‘My written submission also includes an analysis of the incoming phone calls and outgoing correspondence of your company. The analysis supports a staff
of two point five people.’

  ‘Well, you know what I think of your analysis –’

  ‘Barry!’ Christopher Murray stepped in to caution his client.

  ‘Stuff it!’ Barry stood up, his face puce. ‘Sportsquip is my company and I’ll have as many people in administration as I see fit. If Amy doesn’t like her lot, then she is free to go. And good riddance, I say. Now, you can take your conciliation and stick it up your arse!’

  He stormed out of the room.

  Christopher was apologetic in his wake. ‘I’m sorry, Barry has a short fuse.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Joe wryly.

  ‘I guess I’ll see you in court.’ Christopher got to his feet. ‘My apologies to all for wasting your time today.’

  Amy wasn’t keen on going straight back to the office so Katie suggested a coffee. Rain drizzled down in the old army barracks where the Labour Court was situated.

  ‘Ready to run for it?’ Katie asked.

  Amy nodded and they scuttled through the grounds and out the arched gateway.

  ‘Part of me feels so guilty,’ Amy confessed, taking off her damp jacket in the café across the road. ‘You see, Barry gave me a job when I was at my lowest. I know he had selfish reasons – I was so desperate, he knew he could get away with paying me shit money – but the job helped me crawl my way back to a normal life.’

  ‘Four years of slave labour is more than enough to repay any debt you might have to Barry Dowling,’ Katie told her.

  ‘I suppose so.’ She didn’t sound convinced.

  The waitress came to take their orders. ‘Miserable day,’ she commented as she gazed woefully out the window. ‘Now, what would you like?’

  They ordered and the waitress returned to the counter. Soon the hiss of the coffee machine could be heard.

  ‘The overtime money is not for me,’ Amy said. ‘It’s for my dad. He’s on the streets, you see. If I could pay rent for him, he would at least have a bed to sleep in at night. No matter what state he was in, he could find his way home and safely sleep it off.’

  Amy left a lot unsaid. She didn’t say outright that her father was an alcoholic. Neither did she say that she had given up on him becoming rehabilitated. And she didn’t say that her own drug problems were born from a horribly rough childhood. Katie’s heart went out to her.