if I think it’s standing in the way of the right thing being done.
I sigh; Ellie is right. I will struggle not to dish out cash willy-nilly, even though logically I understand it’s not the proper way to go about things. Or even, I admit, the most effective.
I look around the office. I am reminded, not for the first time, how insistently Ellie is resisting the digital age. Her shelves heave with Lever Arch files that are overflowing. Many of the cases date back ten or even twelve years. She is always promising herself that she’ll catalogue them digitally one day. They could probably be binned but Ellie won’t do that because she’s too conscientious and also somehow respectful; the troubles those people had shouldn’t be entirely forgotten. Until she can preserve them digitally, the heaving files will remain. I read the posters that advertise the signs to look out for in a loved one if they have depression, others that advertise websites and phone numbers that people can call if they need help with certain legal or health matters. I don’t want to meet Ellie’s gaze. I think I know what she’s going to say, and consequently tears of frustration have welled up in my eyes. I don’t want them to spill. I have never cried at work. I’ve heard and seen many difficult things here, but it doesn’t help anyone if I cry. People come here looking for clear and confident guidance, not emotions. I can’t let the first tears be ones of self-pity.
‘Are you sacking me?’
‘No, no, of course not.’ She pauses. ‘But I do think it will be best if you take a period of absence. No one can get on with their work with this sort of disruption and they have to work, Lexi. What we do is vital.’
‘I don’t know how people found out where I am.’
‘Word gets around, I suppose. You have been in all the local press. Many of our clients no doubt simply recognised your face.’ I’m not certain but I think I hear disapproval in Ellie’s tone. She probably thinks we shouldn’t have taken the publicity. She’s most likely right. It was never my intention. I wasn’t left with a choice. ‘Yesterday afternoon was quite tricky. There were fewer people here than there are today but it was still disruptive. There was this one young guy, he can’t have been more than twenty, has Tourette’s syndrome. Apparently you are helping him find work.’ She looks at me, waiting for me to identify him. She trusts me enough to know I know the names of all my clients.
‘Dave MacDunn.’
‘Yes, that’s it. Well, he didn’t believe it was your half day. He just thought we were stopping him seeing you. He got agitated, lashed out, knocked some elderly chap clean over. The elderly chap hadn’t even come to see you. He just wanted to talk to someone about his heating bill. It was very tricky.’
‘Oh no. Was he OK?’
‘Banged his elbow and thigh as he went down. It really was quite a violent shove. His daughter has already made a complaint. We’re going to need to write it up.’
I shake my head. This is the last thing Ellie needs. We’re always thinly stretched; a complaint investigation will add significantly to the workload. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, it isn’t your fault exactly.’ She sounds grudging.
‘Was Dave OK? I know him. He won’t have meant any harm.’
‘Maybe not, but he caused some. And of course, the Tourette’s didn’t help. Once he started swearing, old Mr Ryan just thought he was a terrifying thug.’
‘It’s a very much misunderstood condition,’ I interject.
Ellie looks impatient. ‘I know, Lexi.’ We sit for a moment in silence. I feel chastised, she feels patronised. I don’t like the gap that’s widening between us. I fear I might fall through it. Ellie eventually lets out a long sigh. ‘After a few months, things will calm down and we can talk about you coming back.’
‘A few months?’ I gasp.
Ellie shrugs. She’s not committing. ‘It might be less. I don’t know how long these things take to blow over. You are going on holiday soon anyway, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘To New York, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve always wanted to go to New York.’ She says this with what I think is a note of envy in her voice. ‘Staying somewhere lovely, I expect?’ I nod. She studies me as though I’m an insect behind one of those glass domes the Victorians were so fond of. A curiosity. ‘You should just