by Clare Allan
On the end wall Roberta had hung her bag from this pipe stuck out where the cistern used to be and it swung side to side like the pendulum of a clock and it kept it up all the time they was talking, and there's me stood by the notice-board and I got to keep dodging my head to the side case it give me a clout would of knocked me out for a fortnight.
It weren't so much that Roberta was slow, 'cause that's just the way she was. And it weren't her fault her scarves kept trailing down on the pad as she wrote, and she'd have to keep stopping to drape them back round and Poppy sat there revving away like a car in a Sniff Street gridlock. It weren't her fault she needed all Poppy's details, or she had to get her to spell out each word, repeating it back to make sure she'd got all the letters. But Poppy, I might of known her two days but long enough, do you know what I'm saying, 'Saffra,' she goes.
'Could you spell that for me?'
'S-A-double F-R-A,' she goes.
' S . . . A . . . F . . . F . . . R . . . A . . . That's two Fs, is it?' said Roberta. 'Not one?'
'Two Fs,' says Poppy.
'Two Fs,' said Roberta. 'Pretty name. I've never heard it before. And what's Saffra's date of birth?'
'6.12.98,' goes Poppy. 'Do you need all this?'
'6.12.98,' said Roberta, draping a scarf back round. 'Let's just get everything down, then we know where we are.'
Roberta was one of them dribblers I told you about, fucked up her annual assessment. The best she could do was a voluntary job down Abaddon Patients' Rights, which though it weren't the same thing at all, at least it give her a foot in the door and she got to see the doctors sometimes coming in in the morning.
When she'd finished getting all of her details and checked them through and checked them through and checked them through, Roberta turned to Poppy. 'So you've just arrived at the Dorothy Fish,' she said, and she sighed like if only. 'Well first things first, let's find you a form,' and she bent right forward in her chair so her scarves trailed down to the floor, and started yanking out papers from under the table. 'That's Housing Benefit,' she said. 'That's a travel pass form . . .That's Social Fund. . . This looks more like it. . .Ah, but it's half-filled in.' Each time she rejected one she chucked it over her shoulder and they opened out and flapped round the room like birds. 'Now this is one,' said Roberta at last. 'Yes, just hold on! Can you lift up that corner there?' But Poppy's just sat there staring ahead like she's give up all hope of anything ever so it's me steps forward and lifts up the table and Roberta tugging with all her might. 'We're almost there . . .if I could just get a grip . . .' till finally it come away and she crashed back into her chair with the form. 'I always say there is method in the madness.'
The table now slanted like forty degrees, she'd pulled out that much from under it and as she spoke you seen her mug, two pens and ajar full of paper clips start edging their way to the front. 'Now,' said Roberta. 'MAD money. Have you applied before?'
'I'm not applying for MAD money,' said Poppy - quite arsey as well, least that's how it come over.
Well that thrown Roberta totally and it taken her half an hour at least to get a hold of the fact how Poppy didn't want to apply and it weren't that she was scared of applying or worried what rate she'd end up with, she just didn't want to and that was that. 'Well it's not for me to try and persuade you,' Roberta said. 'Far from it. But you are in a highly advantageous position being at the Dorothy Fish. Just think of all the people out there who haven't a hope . . . I'm not saying you should . . . But think about it won't you at least . . .' Smash! gone the mug, splashed my Nikes with coffee. 'The fact that you're here proves you're mentally ill. There are people who would give their right arm; there are people who have . . .' and she started to cry at the thought of the one-armed dribblers I s'pose which I've met one or two but you know what I'm saying ain't common. 'I'm sorry,' she said, and she blown her nose and all through Poppy never said nothing, just stared straight ahead like a coma.
'So how can I help?' Roberta said and still Poppy sat there staring ahead like come in planet Poppy, but then very slowly she started to talk like finding her way through a room in the dark, and then as her eyes begun to adjust the words started coming quicker and quicker till soon they was tumbling out so fast you couldn't hardly keep up with the story.
'Two weeks ago,' she said, 'I lost my job. Two weeks ago tomorrow, it was. Where are we? Wednesday. Yeah two weeks tomorrow. I can hardly believe it,' she said and she frowned; I'm like uh-oh she's off again. 'Two weeks ago tomorrow it was. I wasn't all that bothered, to be perfectly honest; I'd only been with them four or five months and I thought I'd just ring up MediaSavvy and get myself something else. They've got me loads of work in the past; it was them who got me Sniffsucker Sansome in fact and HKH where I met Saffra's dad, or maybe that was. . .'
'HKH?' Roberta said. You could see she was panicking, all of these names and her supposed to know everything; it cracked me up a bit.
'HKH?' said Poppy, frowning. 'Oh, sorry, HKH,' she said. 'Yes Harbinger Krapwort Harbinger. The ad agency!' she said. 'You know! They're huge! They do loads of stuff. You know that one for Femikalm, the one where the devil turns into an angel and starts playing the harp? Dud worked on that. And Shhhocolate! and Smugglers Nappies . . .' And she started listing all of these ads and all how Dud had worked on them and HKH this and HKH that and perked herself up no end she did, first time she'd smiled all morning.
'I've heard of them,' Roberta said, like bollocks you have, but it brought Poppy back like instant.
'So,' she said. 'I was going to try MediaSavvy, but I went for a drink with some of the girls and one of them's going travelling and one's off to college and I thought, I don't know, I suppose I just thought why not try something else? I mean I'm thirty-four now, Saffra's in school, do I want to spend the rest of my life sat out on reception? I'd been reading this thing in Marie Claire, this woman who'd been for life-coaching, and the life coach had asked her what she wanted and she suddenly realised she'd never thought about it before. So I started to ask myself what I wanted. I mean I know what I want, like a good life for Saffra, nice holidays, but beyond that. And I thought I could maybe try journalism, I've always fancied journalism, and half the stuff you read, to be perfectly honest, you can't believe someone's getting paid to write it!
'Anyway, I rang round all these helplines to try and find out about courses and stuff and funding too, 'cause I'm twelve grand in debt on my credit cards with a loan as well, I mean let's not even go there.
'So, in the end I got through to this helpline; I can't remember what it was called, just some sort of government training thing and they told me about this "initiative" that's what they kept on calling it - and they said it was aimed at people like me who were looking at a change in career. "New Directions", that's what it was called. Have you heard of it?'
Roberta nodded. Like bollocks you have, I'm thinking.
'Well I went to this information day at the Kensington Holiday Inn. At least that's what they billed it as but it wasn't. I thought you'd just go round, pick up some leaflets, have a quick chat, maybe ask a few questions, but it wasn't like that at all. From the moment you walked in through the door, it was like you were being assessed. I mean, even the woman who gave me my ticket, I could see she was looking me up and down and ticking these boxes next to my name; I'm like what's that about, but anyway in I go. It was a really smart conference meeting room, all logos and banners saying "NEW DIRECTIONS: investing in a NEW BRITAIN!" There were maybe twenty little booths and a whole load of people sat waiting. I got chatting a bit to this girl next to me. She'd brought all these copies of her CV along, with all her qualifications and stuff and she's really focused and nervous about it, like all she's ever wanted is to get on New Directions - and there's me with my 2.5 GCSEs, and this bloke with huge ears next to her, kept eavesdropping, really smug.
'When your number got called you went up to a booth and sat down at a computer and you had to answer all these questions, like the usual sort of stuff it st
arted with, like name, age, gender, education. I could see old Big Ears two seats down typing in his fifty-five degrees in astrophysics, but by this point I'm like what the hell. Then when you'd put all your details in, it asked you to wait while it processed them and I don't know how long it took, seemed like forever. Big Ears is drumming his desk like "Come on!" I couldn't see the girl, maybe she was behind, but suddenly it's "Congratulations! You are through to Level Two!"
'I didn't notice at first 'cause we were all sort of staggered, with everyone starting at different times but after a bit I realised the person sitting next to me had changed twice while I was sat there. Then Big Ears got up and tripped over his chair, and I know he sat down after me and I started to think, "Hang on, maybe I'm doing something right! So I carried on working through level two. It was just more questions but slightly different. I mean, some of it was about interests and stuff and even what kind of music you're into, but then they had those complete the sequence, you know, with letters and numbers, and I've always been hopeless at stuff like that, and then situations and what would you do and all of these shapes, just like random shapes and you had to say what they all were. I was just putting anything down to be honest, you had to put something or it came up as "Error", but I didn't have a clue. I was feeling in my bag for my travel pass when the screen started flashing, "Congratulations! You are through to Level Three!" '
To be honest Poppy gone on a bit. I'm not being funny but you know what I'm saying, like all of the levels and how well she done and how surprised she was and shit, bit Verna the Vomit to tell you the truth; I'm like yeah and the point of the story? There was seven levels, that was the gist, and Poppy got through all of them and that's really all needed saying. And it weren't till she got to the end of the seventh, she had a look round and the room was practically empty.
'I hadn't noticed everyone going, I must have been really into it, the fact that I kept on getting through; I suppose it was kind of addictive. And the other thing I hadn't noticed or not at the time I mean, not until later, was how weird it was what they were asking. Just the questions I mean, they keep coming back, and I'm thinking I must of imagined it, but I'm certain I didn't, I'm certain I didn't. I mean they had a question on masturbation, like if I did and how often and stuff, I mean, I don't have a problem but do you know what I'm saying, what's that got to do with a course in Media Studies?'
Roberta nodded but she gone so red I practically pissed myself, I did, and forgot to dodge out the way of her bag so it clouted the side of my head.
'I wish I could remember them all,' said Poppy, ' 'cause it must be that; that's what I'm thinking. It must be one of the answers I gave, I mean, one of the ones I guessed at or something, or maybe I read the question wrong. I mean, if it had been a person, you know, but it was all just a,b,c or d, and none of them fitted. Jesus, it was a nightmare!'
'So what happened next?' said Roberta.
'Well by this point there were only five of us left. Me, that girl I'd met earlier, another girl a bit younger than us who wanted to be a beauty technician and these two blokes, just sort of normal blokes, one of them wanted to go to college, do IT I think, I'm not sure. So everyone finished and we all sort of sat there, staring at each other. Then Jess, the girl I'd met earlier, she went and asked them what was going on but they just said to wait, we'd get called. I suppose we just sat and chatted a bit. Everyone said they'd found it hard and how relieved they were to get through. It was kind of like Pop Idol, you know the auditions? I was half-expecting Ant and Dec to sneak in through the doors and ask how we were getting on. The only thing I kept thinking was, "Why us?" I mean, there wasn't any reason why not us, it's just I couldn't see why we stood out. I mean, I'm not being false modest, but five of us left out of maybe two hundred to start with? I even wondered if it was the other way round, and they'd kept us there because we hadn't got through, but that didn't make sense either.
'I hadn't noticed it before but over the far side of the room, they'd kind of screened a corner off behind these blue display boards. Well after a bit this man came out in a white coat, holding a clipboard and he called the IT bloke to come round and everyone's like, "What's happening?" Then eventually they came back out, shook hands, and the bloke went off. And then it was my turn. "Miss Shakespeare," he goes and the others all started wishing me luck. I was kind of half-laughing to be perfectly honest 'cause it just felt a bit unreal. Behind the boards they had this bed, covered in paper, like at the beauticians, and basically I had to sit on it while he checked my blood pressure and listened to my heart and shone a torch in my ears. "I just need a sample of blood," he said. "Nothing to be alarmed about. "I'm like, "Go ahead, help yourself." Then I had to get up and stand on the scales, and he measured how tall I was as well and he even got these callipers out, started pinching me all over the place for my Body Fat Percentage. Then that was it; he said they'd be in touch. And the last thing he did was to hand me this bottle. "If you wouldn't mind leaving a sample," he said. "There's a ladies' through in the foyer."
'I went home really excited about it. I know it sounds weird, I mean looking back, but at the time, I suppose I just sort of thought well they're not going to go to all that trouble just to turn me down. My friend Natalie was like, "You lucky cow!" 'cause she's desperate to go to college. I said, "Why don't you ring them up and ask. I mean if I can get on, do you know what I'm saying . . . " But she's already doing this foundation course in aromatherapy two nights a week, so she reckoned she'd leave it, see what happens with that. Well then two days later, I mean no time at all, I got this letter, here.' Poppy taken an envelope out. Royal Mail Special delivery; I seen the sticker on it. She got out the letter, bit tatty it was, smudged and begun to go through at the folds like she'd read it about a million times though you couldn't see why to be honest.
NEW DIRECTIONS: it said at the top. investing in a
NEW BRITAIN!
'So this is Monday,' Poppy said. 'Two days ago, OK. I dropped Saffra off then I just walked down. I know Ridley Road, it's five minutes away. You know where the railway bridge crosses Sniff Street, you turn left after that and it's there. I was going through all this stuff in my head, trying to remember about the tests and what I'd put, and why Media Studies and all that sort of thing and I suppose I was nervous, I know I was nervous but at the same time I thought well it's only a course, and there's always MediaSavvy.
'It was when I got in there . . .' Poppy said.
I never even realised she was crying at first, most probably on account of how I was stood up and her being sat down and her head down as well; it was just when Roberta passed her the tissues - toilet paper it was actually, which I don't know where she got it from 'cause there weren't never none in the toilets.
'Take your time,' Roberta said.
'I'm sorry,' said Poppy and she wiped her eyes, like upwards with the balls of her hands, run a finger under each one. 'It was when I got in there, everything changed. I knew immediately. Just a feeling; I wanted to turn and run but I told myself not to be stupid. There were two of them in there, a man and a woman, sat behind this table, then a second man, Simon, stood by the door; it was him called me in, really smirky and thin; I hated him from the start.'
'Take your time,' said Roberta again and Poppy wiped her eyes again; I'm not being funny but I'm starting to look at the door.
'I can't remember exactly,' said Poppy. 'I'm not sure how it began, but basically they said they'd looked at my tests and they had concerns about some of the answers I'd given. "I've got a few concerns myself," I said, just joking, to lighten the mood, but the woman nodded, really sympathetic. "I thought so," she goes. "That's very interesting." Then they said they'd got this psychologist in to assess everybody's answers and he'd singled out mine as showing evidence of a "severely disordered personality". They had the report right there on the table and the man — he had these huge bushy eyebrows - he kept looking down and reading bits, then glancing at me and nodding. Then the woman said they'd got a psy
chiatrist in and she'd diagnosed "a major psychotic disorder". I couldn't believe what I was hearing, I'm like staring at them: "You're saying I'm a psychol" And she said that for someone in my state of mind doing Media Studies was out of the question, she said it could be really dangerous, and I needed treatment, the sooner the better, and they'd found me a place and . . .'
Poppy started crying. It weren't just a snivel this time, neither, tears the size of footballs easy come SPLASH out her eyes and CRASH off the table, soaking Roberta and me to the skin with showers of hot salty spray. The toilet paper was turned to a pulp inside of a half a second so Roberta starts handing her fistfuls of forms and Poppy's like mopping away at her face and wringing them out and blowing her nose and it looks like somebody beaten her up, her face is so smudged with black ink.
'Then they tried to make out I was being defensive,' said Poppy. She taken a long deep breath, but it come out all jolty; she was shooking as well, like blasts of ECT. 'I said to them "You've made a mistake. You've got me mixed up with somebody else." But they'd got all my details, employment and stuff and they knew about Dud and me having split up. The woman, she's trying to be all sympathetic, you know, like "It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's just an illness like any other. No one's accusing you, Poppy; you're ill. Would you be reacting like this if we told you you had cancer?" And I'm just sort of staring back at her. I mean, I didn't know what to say. 'Cause whatever I said, I knew I'd sound like a bigot, and I'm not bigoted; it just isn't an issue. I mean, I don't have a problem with mental illness; it's just I'm not mentally ill!