said I should call her, if I—”
“Hold, please.”
Thirty seconds of electronic tinkling followed. I glugged the last of my instant coffee. It had a sour tang—that milk was definitely on its way out. I’d have to go shopping. I hated shopping.
“Social Services.” A different voice, another woman—this one in her twenties, I guessed. It was only 9:20 in the morning but already she sounded harassed and tense.
“Hi, I wanted to speak to Elsa Kendrick?” I didn’t want to have to start explaining myself all over again.
“Elsa’s on leave at the moment, can I help?”
“Oh, right …” Bollocks, I thought. Here we go again on that bloody merry-go-round, a different face every day.
“Um … any idea when she’ll be back?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s away indefinitely.” What the hell happened to her? I thought.
“Sorry, when did she go on leave? I spoke to her yesterday. I thought—”
“Yesterday? Elsa was sus— I mean, she went on sick leave two months ago.”
“Wait, did you say she was suspended?”
“I’m sorry, was there something you wanted? Maybe I can help.”
“Red hair, mid-thirties, right?”
“Sorry, who am I talking to?”
“Where does she live, do you know?”
“I can’t give out that sort of information. Look, if there’s something you need, tell me what it is and I’ll see if I can help. Otherwise I’m sorry, we’re very busy.”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”
“Can I take a name and number? Someone will call you back.”
“No. Forget about it. Thanks.”
I hung up. They wouldn’t have called back anyway, they never did. I stared at my mobile as if it might flash up an icon telling me my call had got me nowhere. If Elsa Kendrick was on sick leave, why did she come round here with a bunch of Social Services leaflets? Asking questions about Dad, and about where my mother was? Maybe she was in the phone book …? Unlikely. A social worker wouldn’t let her home number be listed, or she’d be pestered all day and night by cranks and drunks and weirdoes and the plain desperate. If I wanted to find Elsa Kendrick I’d have to think of some other way.
When the phone rang in my hand I nearly dropped it. The word WORK flashed up on the screen as the handset vibrated. Shit—Andy.
“Andy, hey.”
“Finn, good morning, how are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks, all things considered.”
“That’s good, that’s good. We heard about what happened. That’s really terrible, we’re really sorry.”
I was impressed. He sounded almost human. Damn it, I thought, I should have called him about taking some time off, let him know …
“Andy, I’m sorry I haven’t been in to work, everything’s kind of screwed up, I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”
“That’s OK, that’s OK, that’s why we’re ringing up—we wanted you to know you shouldn’t worry about it.”
Why did he keep saying
we
, I wondered? Were there two of him or something?
“Thanks, Andy, I really appreciate it. I’ll try to be back as soon as I can. I don’t even know when the funeral’s going to be.”
“We don’t want you worrying about that sort of thing, Finn. That’s why it’s been decided we should really re-examine our options vis-à-vis your position.”
“What?”
“We’ve been reviewing the staffing levels and rotas anyhow, and we need to make some efficiency adjustments.”
“Hold on—say that again?”
“We really appreciate all your hard work and we wish you all the best in the future,” Andy recited.
“You mean you’re firing me?”
“We need to redeploy our resources externally,” said Andy. Was this bullshit intended for his benefit or mine? Or was the guy really incapable of human speech? Either way I wasn’t surprised he was doing this over the phone. If we’d been in the same room I’d have decked him.
“Which means you’re firing me.”
“The fact is, we have to be strict about the image ourstaff projects, on and
“Hold, please.”
Thirty seconds of electronic tinkling followed. I glugged the last of my instant coffee. It had a sour tang—that milk was definitely on its way out. I’d have to go shopping. I hated shopping.
“Social Services.” A different voice, another woman—this one in her twenties, I guessed. It was only 9:20 in the morning but already she sounded harassed and tense.
“Hi, I wanted to speak to Elsa Kendrick?” I didn’t want to have to start explaining myself all over again.
“Elsa’s on leave at the moment, can I help?”
“Oh, right …” Bollocks, I thought. Here we go again on that bloody merry-go-round, a different face every day.
“Um … any idea when she’ll be back?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s away indefinitely.” What the hell happened to her? I thought.
“Sorry, when did she go on leave? I spoke to her yesterday. I thought—”
“Yesterday? Elsa was sus— I mean, she went on sick leave two months ago.”
“Wait, did you say she was suspended?”
“I’m sorry, was there something you wanted? Maybe I can help.”
“Red hair, mid-thirties, right?”
“Sorry, who am I talking to?”
“Where does she live, do you know?”
“I can’t give out that sort of information. Look, if there’s something you need, tell me what it is and I’ll see if I can help. Otherwise I’m sorry, we’re very busy.”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”
“Can I take a name and number? Someone will call you back.”
“No. Forget about it. Thanks.”
I hung up. They wouldn’t have called back anyway, they never did. I stared at my mobile as if it might flash up an icon telling me my call had got me nowhere. If Elsa Kendrick was on sick leave, why did she come round here with a bunch of Social Services leaflets? Asking questions about Dad, and about where my mother was? Maybe she was in the phone book …? Unlikely. A social worker wouldn’t let her home number be listed, or she’d be pestered all day and night by cranks and drunks and weirdoes and the plain desperate. If I wanted to find Elsa Kendrick I’d have to think of some other way.
When the phone rang in my hand I nearly dropped it. The word WORK flashed up on the screen as the handset vibrated. Shit—Andy.
“Andy, hey.”
“Finn, good morning, how are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks, all things considered.”
“That’s good, that’s good. We heard about what happened. That’s really terrible, we’re really sorry.”
I was impressed. He sounded almost human. Damn it, I thought, I should have called him about taking some time off, let him know …
“Andy, I’m sorry I haven’t been in to work, everything’s kind of screwed up, I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”
“That’s OK, that’s OK, that’s why we’re ringing up—we wanted you to know you shouldn’t worry about it.”
Why did he keep saying
we
, I wondered? Were there two of him or something?
“Thanks, Andy, I really appreciate it. I’ll try to be back as soon as I can. I don’t even know when the funeral’s going to be.”
“We don’t want you worrying about that sort of thing, Finn. That’s why it’s been decided we should really re-examine our options vis-à-vis your position.”
“What?”
“We’ve been reviewing the staffing levels and rotas anyhow, and we need to make some efficiency adjustments.”
“Hold on—say that again?”
“We really appreciate all your hard work and we wish you all the best in the future,” Andy recited.
“You mean you’re firing me?”
“We need to redeploy our resources externally,” said Andy. Was this bullshit intended for his benefit or mine? Or was the guy really incapable of human speech? Either way I wasn’t surprised he was doing this over the phone. If we’d been in the same room I’d have decked him.
“Which means you’re firing me.”
“The fact is, we have to be strict about the image ourstaff projects, on and
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