Chapter 8 – Mini-collision – how to handle difficult discussions at work

After dropping Phil off at his flat I headed back to the Agency, wanting to sort out Davey’s business before checking out the names I’d been given. But as I turned into the Agency car park, I felt a warning tug on my eyebrow piercing – ‘Shitting hell!’ – and hit the accelerator to fight the force that would try and drag Martina towards the entrance.

As I sped round to the back of the building, I saw some other car owner hadn’t been so lucky, a Mini pressed side on against one of the concrete barriers outside the Agency entrance. A cluster of caseworkers were standing around it surveying the damage, while two were crouched down, apparently ‘assisting’ a client. The two Knoxians were still there, hanging back like vultures and I felt a quick flare of fury. 

Once I’d parked I took my keys and loose change out of my jeans and jacket pockets, buried them deep in my rucksack. Turning the corner of the building I felt the pull on the zip of my jacket and I let myself go with it. It was like the reverse of that thing you used to do when you were wee, pulling your jacket up over your head, turning it into a sail, having the wind pull you where it wanted. 

‘Alright Willie? Need a hand there?’ I asked the SACS security guard who was now sitting on the struggling client. Willie was a big guy in his forties who looked at first glance the type a dodgy security firm would turn away because he didn’t pass their mental health checks. But he always seemed happy enough about the Agency, smiling like a mildly deranged butcher, willing to sort out any clients who had a tendency to be disruptive such as this one face down on the pavement, Angus Turner. He insisted on calling himself Mr Magnetic to big himself up, desperate to achieve Hero status and all the perks that went with it. The Agency preferred to a.k.a him as Anus Turnip. 

‘Naw, naw, I’m fine ta Cathy,’ Willie replied cheerily and he did look comfy sitting there with his arms folded, giving a wriggle that caused Angus to yelp. Linda from Team 4 wasn’t looking quite so pleased, kneeling down next to them trying to talk sense into Angus while he raved on about his rights. A few younger caseworkers I didn’t recognise, temps probably, were standing a couple feet away, flicking paper-clips and 5ps, laughing as they zipped through the air to attach themselves to the soles of Angus’s trainers while he havered. 

‘…because did you see them, Mrs Wilson, did you see them last night? The Flighting? I mean I’m sorry about your car, Linda, I mean I am, honestly, you can take it out of my Benefits, if I ever get any fucking Benefits, s’cuse my language – oof! Mr Harris, look I said I’m sorry – but I mean -’ Linda was nodding, doing her very best active listening although the mournful glances cast at her Mini told you where her sympathies really lay. Poor Linda. Try explaining that on your insurance claim form. ‘My car was wrecked by a human magnet suffering delusions of grandeur.’

‘…but none of them are ever told they should behave in a certain way or be wearing protective gear and they don’t have to worry about money do they, fucking middle-class wankers and – Jeeeesus fuck! Mr Harris, go’an promise you’ll go on a diet for the next time I’ve got an appointment cos -’ 

‘Hoi! You two! What d’you think you’re playing at!’ I shouted. One of the Knoxians was filming on their phone, holding it at about waist height, trying to keep it concealed against his black outfit. Even Angus stopped his chuntering, the temps their laughter, as I went up to the Knoxian, blocking the phone’s view. ‘Haven’t you heard of client confidentiality, eh? I could confiscate that off you right now, want me to list the rights you’re abusing!’

The one with the camera looked nervous, hiding it away into the folds of his daft black cape. The other one, some lanky spotty spod, stepped up to his shoulder, ‘We have a right too, we have a right to show the public the degradation the disease of Abilities causes its sufferers.’

‘Oh, you keep up with that nonsense and I’ll teach you all about degradation, son. While you’re on our property, you’ll play by our rules. And after the morning I’ve just had you’d better start hoping all your comrades have alibis as cast-iron as yours.’

Chuffed by the looks of confusion on one and anxiety on the other, I turned my back on them before I opted for violence. For once it was a relief to enter the contained, familiar madness of the Agency foyer, and I was almost looking forward to the comforting boredom of my desk. But I was daft to think I’d be able to get back into the swing of a normal day having forgotten about the police call to the Slorach and the Agency’s uncanny ability to transmit gossip. Walking into the office I felt the silence of every caseworker pretending they hadn’t just been whispering about Davey Robertson. 

‘Cathy.’ I told myself it was a good thing the Slorach calling me over as it meant I didn’t have to walk the length of the room with my shoulder blades tingling as the stares followed me. It would have been too much of an effort to resist the urge to tell them all to fuck off, bloody ambulance chasers. 

‘And the rest of you, don’t pretend you haven’t got any work to be getting on with,’ the Slorach called out, the room filling with the tippytappy sounds of keyboards being hit too hard.

‘Round here.’ I’d automatically put her desk between the two of us but Sheena Slorach nodded me to the side of her chair. It always seemed a good idea to have some kind of physical barrier between the Slorach and yourself. Although she’d never actually hit someone, she always managed to convey that it was a possibility. She saw me hesitate, tutted, ‘C’mon Cathy, I won’t bite.’ Not yet, I thought. Leaning over she murmured, ‘You know this lot, don’t want them earwigging stuff they shouldn’t.’ 

There was an odd tone to her voice, one I hadn’t heard before. Then I realised it was concern and was so shocked I shuffled round, biddable.

The Slorach, after years in an open plan environment, had perfected a technique of lowering her voice so that while I could make out what she was saying perfectly, I knew anyone sitting a few feet away wouldn’t make out a word. 

‘A policeman phoned, told me you were helping with their enquiries. He gave me some details.’ She paused, looked down at the favourite red felt tip she was clutching. ‘I’m sorry Cathy. It must have been…must have been awful for you,’ at which point I nearly burst out laughing in amazement but succeeded in turning it into a strangulated cough. It must have sounded as if I was about to collapse into tears because the Slorach looked at me sharply. ‘It can’t have been pleasant for you and I do…I do take care of my staff, Cathy. They, your welfare matters. If you feel the need to take the rest of the day off, a few days off, that’s fine by me. I’ll get another staff member to deal with the procedures relating to Mr Robertson’s file and -’

‘No,’ I interrupted. The Slorach tilted her head just enough for me to realise that rejecting her sympathy could have dangerous consequences. The silence of people straining to hear surrounded us again and I kept my voice low. ‘It’s fine, honestly, I’m fine. I mean, yeah, it was horrible but I owe it to Davey to finish his case off properly. I don’t want things getting, y’know…messy.’ 

Oh, but the Slorach didn’t like that, two patches of red flaring through her concealer. ‘I’m not sure if that’s entirely sensible, Cathy. You may find it difficult to concentrate after what you’ve been through. We do have procedures in place for caseworkers who have suffered such incidents. Perhaps you could spend time in the Quiet Zone -’

‘This wasn’t an ‘incident,’ Sheena, this was the death of a man I’d worked with, a man I let down, that the system let down. I owe it to him and his wife to make sure his case is tied up properly. And let’s face it, who else has the experience to do that?’ 

That was the way to do it, appeal to the Slorach’s sense of order, the law of correct procedure. She took a deep breath, stared off down the office, then pointed that pen at me. ‘Alright. If you insist. But if at any point you feel it’s too much then let me know. I won’t have any member of my staff get unduly upset.’

I managed a smile, hoping that at least some of it made it up to my eyes, squeezed out a ‘Thanks Sheena,’ and headed off to my desk, ignoring caseworker heads bobbing up around me like meerkats.

Jamie kept a lid on his curiosity for all of, ooh, a minute after I’d sat down and switched my computer on. ‘C’mon Cathy, don’t be sitting there all mysterious! Spill! We’re your subby-mates, if you have a breakdown or anything, we have to know as much as we can so we can help you.’

‘Sssh, Jamie,’ Becky said, looking at me concerned, but with a definite bit of eagerness there. ‘Cathy, are you sure you should be here? Is there not, like, counselling or -’

‘Look, I’m fine, alright?’ I snapped, ‘You two run out of cases to process?’ then felt bad, seeing the hurt in Becky’s eyes. ‘Listen, I am not going into all the gory details, I came back here to close off Davey’s file, get it done properly. Whatever you want to know will probably be on the news tonight anyway.’

Jamie countered, ‘Yeah, but that’s the thing, there’s nothing, nothing on the news. I mean, we picked up stuff from folk who’d overheard the Slorach having a talk with the police but, I mean, I was checking the local news and Twitter and -’

‘And weren’t you supposed to be working, Jamie?’ I asked. 

‘This was work, it was about a client, a client of ours.’

‘And there was nothing? Nothing at all on the news…?’ I had a flashback to that moment when Cruickshank reached towards his pocket… ‘But that’s weird, I mean, the number of police there…’ and I stopped but had already given away enough for Jamie to lean forward.

‘So…was he…was he all sort of spread out then, like some big old plasticine butter man?’ and as he said that I remembered the smell, the stink of flesh and plastic reeking through that flat and I got up out my chair and how I didn’t break into a run before making it to the toilets to throw up my guts is one of the remaining wonders of that day.