Doledrums
by Andrew Velzian
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: A tale of winners and losers in the Great Benefits Game.
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: A tale of winners and losers in the Great Benefits Game.
Vanessa sprays a third and final coating of hairspray before dabbing her wrists with the perfume that reminds her of her mother. Baring her teeth, she frowns at the lipstick streak on the prominent incisor. Seven bleeping pounds for that she mutters. Her good feeling at seeing no new grey hairs has evaporated. She adjusts the towels on the rack back into their symmetrical default position, making a mental note to bring this up with Thomas later.
Two slices of wholegrain bread are in the toaster ready for sacrifice. She checks the marmalade jar for crumbs and swirls of butter, at least Thomas has done something right. Savouring the last mouthful of coffee, Vanessa begins to wipe crumbs into the pedal bin and rinse her plate. Then, remembering the towels in the bathroom, she leaves the plate on the breakfast counter, along with her coffee cup and serviette.
Driving to work, Vanessa again thinks of her upcoming Winter cruise and is counting down the hours. At work, alongside her ever-increasing managerial duties, the new area manager asked her to help on the front desks - the front line she had joked - due to Norovirus amongst the staff, The Dirty Disease she called it, poor hygiene. But what can one expect with the type of clients, or customers, that her staff have to deal with. Still, she wasn’t going to say no to an area manager; especially Alan who always seemed to let his eyes linger longer than required.
The impotence of the morning’s winter sun highlights the clouds’ grey pregnancy. With the BMW’s heater now warmed up, Vanessa increases the radio volume as the familiar melody of an Abba song begins on Radio 2. Cocooned in her own comfort, she hopes that the lazy lesbian in security will likewise have the building’s heating on.
On her way into Northwich she races a dog walker to a zebra crossing. She watches him mouth a warning to a little girl, who, with oversized schoolbag and balancing near the kerb on her tip toes, is trying to press the magic button that will make the green man appear.
Driving past the derelict biscuit factory on the edge of town, Vanessa doesn’t give it a glance. The beauty of the red bricked structure, capped with ornate sandstone cornices is missed by most people. Instead, they focus their attention on the plywood covered windows, or the steel shuttered windows of the lower floors. Vanessa notices neither. She certainly wouldn’t know about the people sharing tents on the fifth floor. A floor covered in pigeon excrement and the sound of shuffling rats in the night. Inside the tents, feet flex in damp sleeping bags attempting to coax the blood. Lethargic coughs vibrate between ribs and concrete floor. Neither does she look at the sprawling graveyard that the living share with the dead every night. All Vanessa can see is her lunch date with Alan, and almost certainly her overdue promotion.
Surely Alan couldn’t have known that he had booked lunch at her favourite, or rather the only passable, restaurant in town? An omen, Vanessa thinks. Singing the chorus to Dancing Queen she begins to warm to the morning.
After parking at Waitrose and getting her free cup of coffee, Vanessa walks through the town to work, grimacing at the take away containers and empty glasses that litter the street. Two vacant faces with grey stubbled chins sit at the front panes of McDonald’s, hunched over coffee cups as if the dying embers of a fire. She despises the thought of being under scrutiny, by anyone, let alone them. She quickens her step, tightens her scarf against the bite of the cold, and wishes she could return to the warmth of her car.
Tom Collins jogs forward and grabs his daughter’s gloved hand, glaring at the receding taillights of the BMW.
‘Don’t run at the side of the road Alice.’
‘Dad, I’m nearly twelve!’
‘And don’t I know it.’ Said Tom, squeezing his daughter to his side. Alice pushes away, making Tom smile. The green man appears and they cross the road. As they walk past the dog park and onto the canal path, Tom senses Alice building up to ask a question.
‘Daaad?’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘Why don’t I get the bus to school?’
Flicking her ponytail, Tom replies, ‘And miss these walks with your old man?’
‘Yeah but, since we’ve moved, can’t I get the bus like Courtney?’
‘The school bus for this area is full though,’ Tom replies after giving it some thought.
‘The normal bus, silly.’
Tom concentrates on the crunch of frosted grass beneath his feet as he walks in silence.
Tom tries to shake the cold from his hands as he takes a cup from the cupboard and clicks on the kettle. The upstairs toilet flushes, followed by measured footsteps descending the stairs.
‘Morning love,’ said Tom, hating the way his voice stretches an octave when forcing a cheery exterior.
‘Sure is,’ Lorna yawns, kissing his cheek. Tom smells the warmth of sleep and the citrusy aroma of day old perfume. The boiling kettle adds condensation to the window.
Squeezing the steaming teabag against the spoon, Tom tells his wife about Alice’s questions about the bus.
‘What did you tell her?’
With a shrug Tom drops the teabag into the second cup. ‘I told her the truth. Told her that I wanted to spend time with her now the restaurant has closed.’
‘Tom,’ Lorna sighs, wiping sleep from her eyes. ‘She’s not daft you know.’
‘I know but, what should I have said?’ Putting the cup of tea on the breakfast bar the liquid spills enough to pool around its base like a saucer, ‘It’s not bloody easy…’
‘I’m not saying it is!’
Tom knows where this is going, again. Changing tack, he mentions he must sign on for Jobseekers Allowance today. On top of this, he’ll be handing out more c.v.’s.
Lorna tenses. ‘What are they going to fuck up today then?’ she says, looking in the bread bin.
‘Have them,’ said, Tom referring to the last crusts of bread. ‘Alison had cereal.’
Lynn closes the lid. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Having located Alan’s table through the window, Vanessa checks her appearance; sprays some breath spray, then enters Guilio’s restaurant. Upon seeing her Alan puts down his Perrier and stands to greet her.
‘Vanessa, how are you?’
‘Very well, thanks.’ After a hug she removes her cravat, ‘And you?’
Alan takes a drink before replying, ‘I’m good ta.’
It strikes Vanessa that, despite twenty years her junior, Alan has the manners and maturity of someone her own age. Perhaps that is why they get on so well. Not at all like Thomas. Not for a long time.
‘There are a few things we need to discuss today. First and foremost, your record of meeting and exceeding targets. It has been noted, and remarked upon by Head Office.’
Vanessa cannot keep the smile from her jowls. Ordering a large Pinot Grigio, rather than the small one she had thought the occasion dictated, she looks around the restaurant to compose herself. There’s an overexcited group of young women in the corner, their shrieks and raised voices would usually have grated on her; but not today. The smells of grilling meat and fresh soup would have made an anorexic hungry. Vanessa feels too nervous to eat, so only orders the garlic mushrooms on toasted brioche. And a side salad. With dressing.
‘Although Head Office recognise the targets that they’ve set are high,’ Alan continues, ‘There is a little wiggle room left for our area. Unfortunately, there are one or two other centres in the area that have been underperforming. Perhaps down to poor management, or perhaps that’s just the way of things.’ Alan shrugs and takes a sip of his water. Vanessa follows suit and takes a mouthful of her wine.
‘Now, looking at your figures, and believe me, I have, it seems that out-with the more heavily populated towns, you have been pulling up the slack for this area in general. And that’s why I wanted to speak to you today.’
Although not adverse to flattery, Vanessa knows that her job depends not so much on the job market; but in how you deal with the clients. This is a statistics game, pure and simple.
‘Well, I don’t know what to say,’ Vanessa replies when asked her opinion. ‘I can’t take all the credit obviously, we have a very dedicated team. Of course, I also offer incentives to the staff to meet their targets.’
‘Excellent, Vanessa.’
Vanessa feels heat rising in her cheeks.
‘Now, what Head Office have decided, and I completely agree, is to keep you in your current position, at least until we come closer to achieving targets in other centres.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We need you to keep what you are doing. What we need, on-the-whole, is over 80% target success in this whole area. At present, if we were to locate you to a different centre; there would be a dip in the numbers here, and we just can’t afford this just now. You understand, I’m sure.’
Vanessa’s thoughts tumble over what she’s just heard. She watches as Alan signs the bill for the lasagne he’s barely touched. Swinging his attention back to her, his smile falters.
‘So, Alan. Just to recap…’
The heat of the Jobcentre makes Tom drowsy. It also aggravates the nausea he is feeling from hunger. At half past two he is called for his two o’clock appointment.
‘Mr Collins? Please take a seat. Do you have your Jobsearch sheet?’
Tom hands it to the woman, who smells of alcohol and garlic. ‘I’ve completed it to the best of my ability this week.’
Looking at the notes on the sheet the woman nods her head. ‘Moving house?’
‘No. Well, yes. That’s only part of it though. If you look up my…’
‘Mr Collins. I understand the upheaval…literally.’ As she tries to smile Tom notices a streak of lipstick on the woman’s tooth. ‘- in moving to a new house. But the fact is, you signed a Jobseekers agreement at the start of your claim, and the Department of Work and Pensions expects you to honour that agreement.’
‘If you could look at my file and see the mitigating circumstances as to why I had to move.’
The woman looks at his sheet. ‘It says here you had no internet access.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And were you not told about free internet access at libraries when you signed the agreement?’
‘Yes. Look, I don’t need to be told like I’m a fucking kid, ok? Maybe if you actually took a look at my original claim, you would see that the DWP’s incompetence cost me my house, let alone the bloody internet!’
The woman sits taller in her chair, like a snake readying itself.
‘Mr Collins. Your tone is not helpful. I must inform you that you could be sanctioned for failure to complete your Jobsearch as per your agreement.’
‘Sanctioned? You better be kidding me?’
‘A report will be sent off with a summary of your situation…’
‘Look, there are people in the waiting area filling in a week’s worth of…’
‘And they will arrive at a decision…’
‘…job searches. I could have just lied…’
‘In the meantime, if you could do your best to meet your agreed terms.’
‘…on the form!’
As the woman spoke, Tom senses pleasure in her voice. She smiles at him, and Tom takes a breath before his world blacks out.
Two slices of wholegrain bread are in the toaster ready for sacrifice. She checks the marmalade jar for crumbs and swirls of butter, at least Thomas has done something right. Savouring the last mouthful of coffee, Vanessa begins to wipe crumbs into the pedal bin and rinse her plate. Then, remembering the towels in the bathroom, she leaves the plate on the breakfast counter, along with her coffee cup and serviette.
Driving to work, Vanessa again thinks of her upcoming Winter cruise and is counting down the hours. At work, alongside her ever-increasing managerial duties, the new area manager asked her to help on the front desks - the front line she had joked - due to Norovirus amongst the staff, The Dirty Disease she called it, poor hygiene. But what can one expect with the type of clients, or customers, that her staff have to deal with. Still, she wasn’t going to say no to an area manager; especially Alan who always seemed to let his eyes linger longer than required.
The impotence of the morning’s winter sun highlights the clouds’ grey pregnancy. With the BMW’s heater now warmed up, Vanessa increases the radio volume as the familiar melody of an Abba song begins on Radio 2. Cocooned in her own comfort, she hopes that the lazy lesbian in security will likewise have the building’s heating on.
On her way into Northwich she races a dog walker to a zebra crossing. She watches him mouth a warning to a little girl, who, with oversized schoolbag and balancing near the kerb on her tip toes, is trying to press the magic button that will make the green man appear.
Driving past the derelict biscuit factory on the edge of town, Vanessa doesn’t give it a glance. The beauty of the red bricked structure, capped with ornate sandstone cornices is missed by most people. Instead, they focus their attention on the plywood covered windows, or the steel shuttered windows of the lower floors. Vanessa notices neither. She certainly wouldn’t know about the people sharing tents on the fifth floor. A floor covered in pigeon excrement and the sound of shuffling rats in the night. Inside the tents, feet flex in damp sleeping bags attempting to coax the blood. Lethargic coughs vibrate between ribs and concrete floor. Neither does she look at the sprawling graveyard that the living share with the dead every night. All Vanessa can see is her lunch date with Alan, and almost certainly her overdue promotion.
Surely Alan couldn’t have known that he had booked lunch at her favourite, or rather the only passable, restaurant in town? An omen, Vanessa thinks. Singing the chorus to Dancing Queen she begins to warm to the morning.
After parking at Waitrose and getting her free cup of coffee, Vanessa walks through the town to work, grimacing at the take away containers and empty glasses that litter the street. Two vacant faces with grey stubbled chins sit at the front panes of McDonald’s, hunched over coffee cups as if the dying embers of a fire. She despises the thought of being under scrutiny, by anyone, let alone them. She quickens her step, tightens her scarf against the bite of the cold, and wishes she could return to the warmth of her car.
Tom Collins jogs forward and grabs his daughter’s gloved hand, glaring at the receding taillights of the BMW.
‘Don’t run at the side of the road Alice.’
‘Dad, I’m nearly twelve!’
‘And don’t I know it.’ Said Tom, squeezing his daughter to his side. Alice pushes away, making Tom smile. The green man appears and they cross the road. As they walk past the dog park and onto the canal path, Tom senses Alice building up to ask a question.
‘Daaad?’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘Why don’t I get the bus to school?’
Flicking her ponytail, Tom replies, ‘And miss these walks with your old man?’
‘Yeah but, since we’ve moved, can’t I get the bus like Courtney?’
‘The school bus for this area is full though,’ Tom replies after giving it some thought.
‘The normal bus, silly.’
Tom concentrates on the crunch of frosted grass beneath his feet as he walks in silence.
Tom tries to shake the cold from his hands as he takes a cup from the cupboard and clicks on the kettle. The upstairs toilet flushes, followed by measured footsteps descending the stairs.
‘Morning love,’ said Tom, hating the way his voice stretches an octave when forcing a cheery exterior.
‘Sure is,’ Lorna yawns, kissing his cheek. Tom smells the warmth of sleep and the citrusy aroma of day old perfume. The boiling kettle adds condensation to the window.
Squeezing the steaming teabag against the spoon, Tom tells his wife about Alice’s questions about the bus.
‘What did you tell her?’
With a shrug Tom drops the teabag into the second cup. ‘I told her the truth. Told her that I wanted to spend time with her now the restaurant has closed.’
‘Tom,’ Lorna sighs, wiping sleep from her eyes. ‘She’s not daft you know.’
‘I know but, what should I have said?’ Putting the cup of tea on the breakfast bar the liquid spills enough to pool around its base like a saucer, ‘It’s not bloody easy…’
‘I’m not saying it is!’
Tom knows where this is going, again. Changing tack, he mentions he must sign on for Jobseekers Allowance today. On top of this, he’ll be handing out more c.v.’s.
Lorna tenses. ‘What are they going to fuck up today then?’ she says, looking in the bread bin.
‘Have them,’ said, Tom referring to the last crusts of bread. ‘Alison had cereal.’
Lynn closes the lid. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Having located Alan’s table through the window, Vanessa checks her appearance; sprays some breath spray, then enters Guilio’s restaurant. Upon seeing her Alan puts down his Perrier and stands to greet her.
‘Vanessa, how are you?’
‘Very well, thanks.’ After a hug she removes her cravat, ‘And you?’
Alan takes a drink before replying, ‘I’m good ta.’
It strikes Vanessa that, despite twenty years her junior, Alan has the manners and maturity of someone her own age. Perhaps that is why they get on so well. Not at all like Thomas. Not for a long time.
‘There are a few things we need to discuss today. First and foremost, your record of meeting and exceeding targets. It has been noted, and remarked upon by Head Office.’
Vanessa cannot keep the smile from her jowls. Ordering a large Pinot Grigio, rather than the small one she had thought the occasion dictated, she looks around the restaurant to compose herself. There’s an overexcited group of young women in the corner, their shrieks and raised voices would usually have grated on her; but not today. The smells of grilling meat and fresh soup would have made an anorexic hungry. Vanessa feels too nervous to eat, so only orders the garlic mushrooms on toasted brioche. And a side salad. With dressing.
‘Although Head Office recognise the targets that they’ve set are high,’ Alan continues, ‘There is a little wiggle room left for our area. Unfortunately, there are one or two other centres in the area that have been underperforming. Perhaps down to poor management, or perhaps that’s just the way of things.’ Alan shrugs and takes a sip of his water. Vanessa follows suit and takes a mouthful of her wine.
‘Now, looking at your figures, and believe me, I have, it seems that out-with the more heavily populated towns, you have been pulling up the slack for this area in general. And that’s why I wanted to speak to you today.’
Although not adverse to flattery, Vanessa knows that her job depends not so much on the job market; but in how you deal with the clients. This is a statistics game, pure and simple.
‘Well, I don’t know what to say,’ Vanessa replies when asked her opinion. ‘I can’t take all the credit obviously, we have a very dedicated team. Of course, I also offer incentives to the staff to meet their targets.’
‘Excellent, Vanessa.’
Vanessa feels heat rising in her cheeks.
‘Now, what Head Office have decided, and I completely agree, is to keep you in your current position, at least until we come closer to achieving targets in other centres.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We need you to keep what you are doing. What we need, on-the-whole, is over 80% target success in this whole area. At present, if we were to locate you to a different centre; there would be a dip in the numbers here, and we just can’t afford this just now. You understand, I’m sure.’
Vanessa’s thoughts tumble over what she’s just heard. She watches as Alan signs the bill for the lasagne he’s barely touched. Swinging his attention back to her, his smile falters.
‘So, Alan. Just to recap…’
The heat of the Jobcentre makes Tom drowsy. It also aggravates the nausea he is feeling from hunger. At half past two he is called for his two o’clock appointment.
‘Mr Collins? Please take a seat. Do you have your Jobsearch sheet?’
Tom hands it to the woman, who smells of alcohol and garlic. ‘I’ve completed it to the best of my ability this week.’
Looking at the notes on the sheet the woman nods her head. ‘Moving house?’
‘No. Well, yes. That’s only part of it though. If you look up my…’
‘Mr Collins. I understand the upheaval…literally.’ As she tries to smile Tom notices a streak of lipstick on the woman’s tooth. ‘- in moving to a new house. But the fact is, you signed a Jobseekers agreement at the start of your claim, and the Department of Work and Pensions expects you to honour that agreement.’
‘If you could look at my file and see the mitigating circumstances as to why I had to move.’
The woman looks at his sheet. ‘It says here you had no internet access.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And were you not told about free internet access at libraries when you signed the agreement?’
‘Yes. Look, I don’t need to be told like I’m a fucking kid, ok? Maybe if you actually took a look at my original claim, you would see that the DWP’s incompetence cost me my house, let alone the bloody internet!’
The woman sits taller in her chair, like a snake readying itself.
‘Mr Collins. Your tone is not helpful. I must inform you that you could be sanctioned for failure to complete your Jobsearch as per your agreement.’
‘Sanctioned? You better be kidding me?’
‘A report will be sent off with a summary of your situation…’
‘Look, there are people in the waiting area filling in a week’s worth of…’
‘And they will arrive at a decision…’
‘…job searches. I could have just lied…’
‘In the meantime, if you could do your best to meet your agreed terms.’
‘…on the form!’
As the woman spoke, Tom senses pleasure in her voice. She smiles at him, and Tom takes a breath before his world blacks out.
About the Author
A Fifer brought up in Orkney, Andrew Velzian currently resides in Vietnam. He teaches English to foreign students online, and also wings being a sub-prose editor at Under The Fable magazine.