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Extended Work
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| Drifting - chapter sixteen | |
| By Jamie | ||
| 07 August 2008 | ||
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This is the sixteenth chapter in a long form story. My plan is publish all the chapters on here as I go along. I will present them as I choose, a few days interspersing the entries. All feedback, negative or positive gratefully received. I am proud of certain aspects, and ruefully aware of other areas of shortcomings and inadequacy. Rather like myself in fact. So constructive criticism or showers of stars - both interestedly received. Blunt, bored, disinterested views will be received likewise. As most of us are, who seemingly ' can't ' write with brevity, I am equally indisposed to attempt a synopsis. But... Girl has self, girl meets boy, girl loses self, girl loses boy, girl tries to find self. Girl finds a different kind of self. This would be fair, but woefully inadequate. More it is an outpouring of thoughts and words, many words along a collection of themes that had been going round and around in my head for a long time. And ultimately a traumatic time in my own life brought these feelings and thoughts rudely, and unbiddenly to the surface. So I wrote them down - a catharsis of sorts, and an interested exploration of the routine, process and 'expected' or 'required' structure of writing in long-form. Thanks for reading and your interest. I repay your time spent with gratitude and humilty. Jamie.
chapter sixteen
As Lyndsey tipped herself down the stairs, she slowed and paused near the bottom, near the landing to check for noises and movement in the flat. It was mid-morning and she wanted to check to see if she was in alone. She had been about to go out, but if she were the sole occupier she would linger awhile to skulk about enjoying the solitude and sanctuary of the locked door privacy.Except… She gingerly pushed open the lounge door and slowly walked in to find her mother sat quietly and alone on a chair near the window. The usual and constant audible background noise of the TV or radio was jarringly absent; instead there was just the sound of the ticking clock and the distant noise of the traffic outside. "Hello Lyndsey." Her mother addressed her flatly; evidently she had been sitting here waiting for her. "Oh hi Mum…" Lyndsey was unnerved by the quietness and unconventionality of the moment; nonetheless she was not anxious to discover exactly why her mother was waiting for her. "I'm just off out." She had already hastily left the room and was pulling the door closed behind her when she heard her mother inevitably call out her name again. "Lyndsey." Still her mother’s voice was flat and featureless, but Lyndsey could feel the omnity of the atmosphere as she reluctantly turned and walked wearily and warily back into the lounge. "Yeah?" She tried to sound casual and conversational as if this was a routine exchange, but she wasn’t and didn’t feel casual, and also she only expected that which she didn’t know. "I want to talk to you please. I've already tried to, but I've felt myself only getting nowhere." Her mother spoke and then took a deep breath, Lyndsey stood quietly by. "I need to help myself - I'm coming to the end of my tether with worry, but the first person I want to help is you. But I feel like I can’t; I can’t because you won’t let me – you’re closed and unresponsive. You won’t speak or communicate properly with either your father or me. And this is hurting me so much – so deeply. It’s cutting right through me…" Her mother was sat still and looking up at the wide-eyed pale face of Lyndsey. It was clear that these sudden words were part of some mental and pre-revised speech. And still there was more… "I know I lost touch with you long ago, and for whatever reason we never got it back. But now I'm not only frightened about losing touch with you mentally, but… well, physically too. I can see that you haven’t wanted to answer our questions or explain yourself at all since you came back, and I've tried to ask you as few questions as I thought you or I could live with. But now this unknowing is draining me Lyndsey; I can’t eat, sleep or function properly. And what is really eating away at me is not knowing how long you are going to be here… Some mornings I don’t know if even you are still here – whether or not you’ve disappeared again." "What do you want me to do?" Lyndsey spoke quietly as she steered herself across the carpet to sit in a chair. The chair nearest the slightly ajar door. Her mother quickly opened her mouth reflexively, then she closed it again to steady herself and more carefully choose her words. "I want you to start talking to me. Like you used to, like you…" "Mum, we haven’t spoken or communicated properly for years." Lyndsey indignantly cut off her mother. " We have never had any real common ground between us, and you and my Dad have never really tried to broach that before." Lyndsey could feel herself coming back to life and rapidly her thoughts and words were accumulating as she recognized the moment to tell her mother the things she really wanted to say. "You and my Dad have never really tried to speak and converse with me, it’s always been at me. You’ve never before tried or showed your interest in me – in here." She tapped her head. "Each time you or my Dad have shouted or screamed at me, or have ignored me, you’ve never asked why I’m so quiet with you, why I don’t think aloud, why I don’t interact with either of you, or with others. And you never ask why I'm seemingly happier alone and existing quietly away inside here." Again she hit the side of head with her wrist. Her mother was silent and stunned, watching and hearing the most detailed and personal elucidation she had ever heard from her daughter. She carefully chose her next words and again spoke with concentrated calm. "Just please talk to me now then Lyndsey." "I don’t not speak to you, but I can’t just… I can’t just begin to…" Lyndsey paused grasping elusively for words, but again her mother cut in. "Just tell me, are you going to leave again?" Her mother could feel the moment beginning to slip away and she wanted to address her deepest worry before control and tempers absconded too. Lyndsey was quiet and suddenly felt calmer and more clearer-headed. "I don’t know really what I'm going to do. I'm still trying to come to a stop now that I'm back here again. I haven’t decided what I want to do, where I want to be – what I should be, but … well I'm not happy in here…" She gestured around her. "Or here." For the third time she tapped her head with her wrist, but softer and more contemplatively this time. As Lyndsey spoke her words became softer - more painful and raw, as she felt herself feeling more and more rueful and resigned. She was aware of the hurt that her spoken thoughts would cause, but she could find no other words – and at least these were honest. And now her mother was silent, but she couldn’t speak only because she was crying. Quietly and softly she wept, but deeply too. And in watching her, it hurt Lyndsey, but also she felt affected by the numbness she felt, the feeling that maybe she should be more upset at seeing her mother so hurt, but genuinely she wasn’t. Instead Lyndsey could feel the elation of the sense of finally releasing a part of herself that had long been suppressed. Also she felt that finally she had done something for herself that had been difficult to do and say, but was right and genuine. For the first time in a long time she had stubbornly bitten down and steely followed her own thoughts, her own instincts and wishes. These she had observed instead of heeding someone else’s words and influence. She had a long path in front of her, and she couldn’t walk it all alone, but she was beginning to tread it more steadily as she blended the intelligent and honest thoughts of others in with her own common sense and her rejuvenating self-confidence and awareness. "Just… please tell me this time before you go – if you do go – if you must go… Please don’t leave me to wait around just to receive a letter like last time." Her mother spoke quietly through her tears; wracked and beaten, unable to wrest whatever it was she had wanted from the conversation. "Mum I do love you." Lyndsey stood again and spoke wide-eyed to her mother’s down-turned face. "I love you a lot, but I'm just trying to look after and look out for myself." "…And I want to help you." "It’s too late for that now…" Lyndsey spoke again finally, then she walked out and through the doorway and exited the flat. She was downbeat, but clear-headed. As sore and as miserable as anyone would be after a personal argument and from seeing her mother cry helpless and heartfelt tears of anguish over her. But Lyndsey felt more focused now, motivated suddenly and freer of heart and head. And on walking down the street she could feel herself walking along briskly, positively and purposefully. On she was walking, forwards, forwards, forwards. The rain had stopped outside, the sun was out from behind the dark receding clouds and so the soaked streets that had been dull and grey an hour or so ago were lent a sudden sheen. The dark-dull greys reflected in the puddles suddenly became the ochre-blue of the naked cold sky reflected from above in the pools of water; but then the bright open sky was always there – it was just so often cloaked and masked by the misery of the grey clouds. Lyndsey skipped along, down through Shudehill, dodging the alarming clarion call of the rapidly approaching tram. Cutting through the multitudes of shoppers and pedestrians thronging Market Street and pouring out of the cavernous Arndale Centre, Lyndsey walked through the environs, the greenery and the litter of Piccadilly and made her way onto Canal Street. Here she chose one of the dark, sleek and industrially designed bars as a private hangout to clear her head, and to mull over the morning’s exchanges with her mother. As is so often the case, an angry or emotional exchange of words can put fresh ideas and re-newed focus into one’s head. Sitting down quietly now, watching the few other inhabitants of the bar through her cigarette smoke, Lyndsey certainly felt lighter and more drawn to the novelty of positivity. She also had new ideas and plans in her head and thoughts; down in her bag was another letter from Jon. Further elucidating his thoughts, further communicating and opening up more affection for her. Where once Lyndsey had been only vaguely suspicious of Jon’s thoughts and actions, and had dissuaded herself from reading into and taking them too far, she was now presented with only thinly veiled endearments and wistful longings. To read Jon’s wish that Lyndsey had never met Tom and maybe how different things would be if she had had more time and feelings for others, well this felt almost like a definite statement to her. She couldn’t help but feel warm, self-confident and more interested in life, whilst believing and feeling that those around her that she liked, liked her even more. The paradox of her current mental situation, where she was placing herself again open for scrutiny, where she was again actively pursuing contact and conversation with others and was using the people she suddenly wanted to gather around her to help her to feel better – to fill up and make more rosy her world; this paradox where before, very recently she had positively excluded ‘outsiders’ and others from her world and had refused conversation and interest in anyone, bar herself – this paradox had alarmed and stirred her for a good while. But now reading through the letters she coveted as she recalled more happily her past recent experiences in Glasgow and collecting together her thoughts from her earlier encounter with her mother, she began to understand the paradox and she suddenly she knew why she felt different: she felt and acted differently now because she was different and she was a changed person now. Previously she had almost never interacted or conversed with others – this had been a fact of almost all her adolescence. She had long had ideas and reasons that made sense to her as to why she was best this way – why it was best on her own. Often she would catch a reflection of how insular and exterior she was, and she would see the marked difference between herself and the more open, ebullient people around her who weren’t seemingly different in any other way, but this she would shy away from analysing or examining too closely – it was better this way. She was with herself better and stronger; she was wiser and more adventurous for existing in and only for herself. But now her old, and frankly immature, feelings of superiority and self-satisfaction and containment were beginning to dissipate away – and this was without doubt due to the fact that she had recently began to open herself up and had begun to talk and beg the interest of others. She was no longer rather foolishly convinced only by her own opinions and points of view, she could appreciate and also was interested in the opinions and arguments of others; sometimes, increasingly now, they would sway or mould her own ideas and thoughts. On a darker note also, on seeing how easily she had crumpled and fallen down emotionally in Glasgow, this had led her to believe and understand that she wasn’t as high above the ‘others’ and the so called ‘ordinaries’ around her as she once had thought. And now she knew for certain that she wasn’t as strong and determined as she had always previously believed and assumed. She was firm and upright so long as she cut herself off and disregarded the few comments or thoughts aimed or hurled at her. After all, what value the words of those if those are ones you wouldn’t dream of lowering yourself to seek their opinions and ideas of, not even their conversation. And now reflecting on the probable true worth of herself and of how poorly she had seemed to present herself so far to the outside world and in its situations, she felt a great deal of hope and even optimism. Like trying on a new pair of shoes or a new hairstyle, to leave behind suddenly a silent, impassive self for a lifestyle of interaction and sharing, this was almost inevitably going to lead to early pinches and dissatisfaction. Maybe if she had known or thought ahead to this she would have ridden through her discomforts and prepared herself for the self-serving of others and the disappointments they often deal to those around them – even those somehow reliant on them. Perhaps also the acuteness of her experience, maybe the intensity and volume with which she had almost wanted to endure what she had felt and gone through, had prevented her from coming through less ruffled and less in need of self-therapy and respite. Maybe and basically it was probably just the fact that in some or many small and innate ways she was mentally different to large numbers of those around her, and she reacted in her own way to each stressful situation that presented itself to her. But whatever it was - whether it be lack of experience, paucity of forethought or just plain innate differences in her make-up and head – whatever, here she was: battered and bruised, but fine. A few more worry lines, maybe a couple of greyer hairs, but she was wiser and more experienced for here experiences and yes – her bravery, her courage in reaching out to grasp the unknown and the new. And today was but the first day of the rest of her life. The opportunities and new horizons, different peoples and other worlds were all around and only waiting for her to prepare herself, stiffen her resolve and self belief, and widen her eyes and mind a little more.She threw down her spent cigarette and crushed it into the bowl as she smiled and thought more happily to herself. "Perhaps it is time to stop examining the demons inside, and begin embracing the clear air ahead…" Lyndsey packed her belongings back into her bag and left the bar to re-join the rushing multitudes in the city centre again. Lyndsey was back amongst the tides again – back on Market Street pushing and dodging through the crowds. Through the resigned and the enthusiastic ‘Big Issue’ sellers, and past the loiterers and the vacant. Away around the corner and so taking the deepest of breaths she prepared herself to enter the premises that she had long since vowed to shun, the establishment that she had always quietly and sometimes not so quietly sneered at, the organisation at who’s mention from her parents was the easiest and quickest way to shut down her interest and perception of what they were trying to communicate. Away through the doors she went and joined the slow moving and vacant hordes in the Job Centre. Lyndsey wandered around aimlessly – a virgin lost, until she found a ‘Reception and General Enquiries’ desk. She wandered over, composing the few words she could think of that would communicate what it was she thought she was looking for. Smile pleasantly. "Hi, I'm looking for some help please. I'm looking for information about jobs away – well away from ‘round here." The young man sat blinking behind his side of the open-plan desk and wondered how to answer and how to assess this girl. "Err, have you tried calling in at other Job Centres in other areas to check on their vacancies." "What do you mean?" "Have you tried checking out the vacancies and opportunities in other Job Centres, maybe close to, or in the areas you are thinking of?" Lyndsey was silent for the moment after he spoke, so the young receptionist pushed on. "Which areas are you interested in?" "Err… well nowhere really specific. London maybe, Glasgow… Fort William…" "...Where?" "I dunno” she hastily went on, “– just somewhere more in tune with me, and somewhere where I can enjoy myself whilst I'm living in a place where I can… well, feel much more like myself and so enjoy the job I'm doing." The young man was wide-eyed now, and was wondering how or were on earth he could refer this enquiree. "Err,” he spluttered back into life. "…well what kind of work can you do?" "I… I’m not sure. That’s why I want to see what’s available, and in which areas. Then I can decide which area and which job." He discussed shortly with her, her even shorter career and employment history. He established her age, qualifications and current benefits situation. Still stuck… How to move on this stringer of vague and difficult questions? Then suddenly an idea alighted inside his methodical head. "Why don’t you see a Client Advisor – they can help you formulate a Career Plan." "A what?" She couldn’t refrain from half-smiling. "It’s what you may have called a Careers Teacher at school. They will help you to assess your skills and help you to match yourself to an Employment position – one that is suitable to you, and they will also help you to formulate a Career Plan." Lyndsey could feel the imminent surges of her expiring patience and also she could see a validation for having previously left these establishments well alone. "Look, I'm well aware of my skills, talents and aspirations. I think I know what I want – I just want to know what is out there, and where." The young Civil Servant was acutely aware of the passage of time. He knew the duration of each interview or enquiry he should handle; this one was now well over-run, whether or not it had reached a satisfactory conclusion. "Well if you will make an appointment to see a Client Advisor they will help you to match your skills to a position that is out there and suitable for you." Lyndsey shrugged. "Okay, how do I do that?" "If you will fill in this form please, you can fill it in over there…" He motioned unattractively towards a few plain day-glo settees occupied by a few loitering leisure-wearing youths around a low scuffed coffee table. She had half-rose to take his advice when another pertinent question came into her head. "When will I see this Advisor?" "Well, we’ll make you an appointment, then we will contact you at your address and let you know…" "Can I see someone now?" She cut his waffle short. He blinked behind his large glasses, shaking his head. "Oh, they’re all very busy seeing people who have already made appointments. You'll have to fill in the form and join the queue." "Couldn’t you see if someone will see me this afternoon?" "As I said, they’re all very busy. You will need to…" She leaned forward and smiled calmly at the dithering Civil Servant. "Why don’t you just ask around - your Supervisor, your boss… maybe one of these Client Advisors. It won’t take more than a minute of your time, and then we both could be happy." Lyndsey smiled benignly at him, well aware of his desire to get her away from his desk. Well here she was giving him an opportunity. The man was silent, furiously thinking of how to be rid of this difficult, obtuse girl. Then he quietly got out of his chair, straightened his tie and disappeared to speak to a few people behind the scenes and well away from Lyndsey. At last he came back with a look of relief on his perspiring face. "If you can fill this form out and wait over there, Michael will see you – but it could be another hour or so." Success. Of a kind. "Thank you dear." She grinned patronisingly and acidly at the young man and took the form from his outstretched hand. "They must be related…" Lyndsey had a small wry smile playing across her face as Michael – the Client Advisor, approached her patiently waiting body and asked her to take a seat at his open-plan desk. It was situated in a quieter part of the cavernous hangar of the Job Centre, well away from where her former bespectacled interlocutor was still sat, meeting, greeting and referring his ‘clients’. "Thank you for coming in today Lyndsey," The maturer Civil Servant spoke familiarly to her as she took her seat. "Now, I see that you don’t have any employment history, although you do have impressive academical qualifications. And you are now 18, but you left school at 16. Have you considered the benefits of further education? Or maybe some College courses, or On-work training schemes? Or maybe…" His patter went on; this man was obviously versed in the same language as her previous interviewer, but this one was evidently a little more experienced and confident. His tones had reached a resonant drone and Lyndsey had already begun to fade and tune him out. Hearing a sudden pause where he took in some breath, she leapt in ignoring his offers and suggestions with a question of her own. "What about jobs? Real jobs. And one away from here." He blinked behind his smaller frame glasses and licked his lips. "Employment is an intensive business these days – with your experience you are realistically looking at vacancies in competition with many, many others. Many of these applicants will have far more detailed and expansive experience than yours." He paused, but for the moment she didn’t have anything to say. Seeing a cue he leapt forward again. "If you would like to speak to one of my colleagues – this afternoon…" he paused to emphasise his grand gesture, "…she will be pleased to speak to you about further education." Lyndsey stared back at his earnest face with baleful eyes. Right – enough of this bullshit and sidetracking. "Look, please will you answer me. I would like to know what is available in other areas, in places other than Manchester or close by. I want to live somewhere else, in a place that stimulates me, and doing a job that I can do and enjoy." The Civil Servant was quiet after her minor speech. So Lyndsey again pushed on to attempt to get the advice she sought. "Is there a list or a vacancies board for any other area other than Manchester that I can see or take a look at?" He was still silent, then he sighed and returned to peer into his VDU, near his keyboard. He tapped away rapidly at a few keys and the pixels of green reflected in his glasses. "Which areas are you interested in?" Now was her turn to be silent. Faced with the same logical question again, she was still no nearer a target or a suitable area to aim herself at. "Err... London." She said vaguely. "London?" He almost laughed the word out. "Well I can tell you without needing to search, that practically any vacancy you can think of or imagine is probably available down there – but with fifty times the amount of applicants. And all of them with local knowledge, living close-by and probably within the Tube network." He stared back non-plussed at her racing face. "Well okay then, what about Fort William?" "Fort…" Clearly by the look in his face he had heard of the Scottish town, but the enormous jump both geographically and culturally from ideas of London threw him, and he was momentarily speechless. This could be a gag – a waste of his valuable time, but then she had waited too long and seemed too earnestly enthusiastic. He paused again, and then his quick fingers deftly resumed their typing." "This is a SOC search. This will give me a list of any vacancies under certain categories in any UK Job Centre. Now first I need you to give me the kind of work you are interested in or seeking, to see if there are any vacancies under that particular category advertised within that particular area." Lyndsey was about give another vague answer, but the guy cut in again, or rather he hurtled on in his resonant drone with his speech. "…From what I can see here," his glasses were filled with rows and rows of neat green type as he faced his monitor. "From what I can see, practically the only availability in, or around Fort William is for Hotel and Catering work." He looked away towards Lyndsey’s watching face. "I don’t think that’s what really… is that what you want?" His preconceived thoughts and opinions of the kind of work and career he had already mentally placed her in bounced back from her eyes to his. He could see her thinking, but she didn’t seem vague or lost. She had guessed that the local work available around and near Fort William would be Catering orientated. She had never before, of course, undertaken any Hotel or Catering work, but she had half an idea that she could try it – and also she was sure she would make great efforts to enjoy her work. Largely it was the job versus the location. An interesting fulfilling job – whatever that was, maybe was hard to find. But in a large, populated city like London, supposedly teeming with opportunity and variety (and quality) of work, the interesting job may be available, or at least attainable. But in a location like Fort William, or a similar, relatively remote town, jobs and variety thereof, would be necessarily sparser. Even to the inexperienced and unknowing Lyndsey, she reasoned that the available jobs to someone such as she were probably going to be few, and the quality low. The potential fulfilment of the work available wouldn’t be as high as the potentialities and opportunities available in the big city – London or elsewhere – even Manchester. But it was location, location. The idea that the drabness of a job could be enlivened by the world she would be living, breathing and working in. Her theory and idea was that the pleasant job in the city would be brought down by its surroundings; the erstwhile job in the wide-open spaces lifted higher. But it wasn’t the job – it was the place she would be living in, making her the kind of person she wanted or imagined herself to be. The pay-off, the pros and cons of the city versus the country didn’t tax or vex her for long. She knew which was the sensible and conventional way, and which was the braver, different and maybe easier way… "Yeah, okay. What have you got listed under Fort William for Hotel and Catering?" The Civil Servant paused again holding her gaze. He seemed ready to say something more – probably another run-out of his further education patter. But then he noticed the determinedness of her look. He shrugged and returned to his monitor. "Well, how many do you want? There’s twenty or thirty vacancies here, all maybe more suited to those living locally or with the relevant experience." She ignored his rebuff. "Can you print me off a list of what there is available?" "No. Not really. I can print off the relevant details of each vacancy you may be interested in applying to – the establishment and job requirements. But I can’t feasibly print off thirty addresses and Job-spec’s." "Why not?" The question flashed into her head, and an hour ago she would have mischievously have enquired this, but now she was as eager for herself to leave the Job Centre as her Client Advisor was. "Okay then, can you tell me what is available – where and what, then I can perhaps narrow your list down to a more practical length." The ever helpful Civil Servant shrugged again, then he began quickly listing, chasing an end to this interminable interview. "Cook required. Relevant experience. To help Chef prepare evening meals, self-preparation of bar meals. Experience essential. Live-in available. Wages based on experience." "Waiter/ Waitress. To serve breakfast, dinner and bar meals. Must be young and fit. Experience preferred but not essential. Wages – on application." And so his list went on. Mostly predictable, but nothing really away from her perception of her abilities. They narrowed the list down to mostly those jobs requiring no experience or offering training to those keen to learn; mostly it was Front of House hotel work. But eventually they came to an end and gaily she left, smiling, happy release with a list of various addresses – potential keys to a new and different world. Jobs – just jobs. Anathema to the old Lyndsey Shaw - that was the bold, cold truth. But this was a new her – the changed, more mature and experienced Lyndsey Shaw. And this was a list of addresses that almost made her salivate with anticipation. This was a new-living – living for now. An eagerness and readiness for tomorrow, the planning and making ready; no more bowing down and enduring. And were these addresses to bear no fruit, she could easily repeat her visit to the Job Centre to gain more hope – more addresses to places almost in exotica.
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