“In other words,” Sir George said, his gaze steadfast on the German, “because you will, in effect, become the bank of Europe, you want to receive a greater remuneration for doing so.”
“Succinctly but accurately put, thank you,” the German replied.
Sir George looked around the table, who was going to be the first to show their hand he wondered. The Spaniard cleared his throat. “We are prepared to agree to an extra five per cent of the monies earned, but no more.”
Fool, Sir George thought, he might as well have bowed and kissed the German’s feet while he was at it.
“Let’s call that an opening offer shall we?” the German replied.
Sir George looked at the Frenchman, surely he wasn’t going to agree to that. Yet, he remained silent, and met his gaze in a smug, Gaelic manner. Ah, Sir George surmised, so you’d already brokered some sort of deal.
“We are prepared to agree to the five per cent,” the Italian nodded slowly as he spoke. All eyes turned on Sir George.
“May I ask why, after events have been set in motion, and a deal previously agreed, you now think you can come back to the table and ask for more?” Sir George spoke directly to the German, who didn’t flicker, he would have expected the challenge.
“Events have moved quicker than expected, and the economic downturn looks set to be deeper than predicted. Germany will have to add more to the communal pot than expected, our citizens will not accept that.”
“Well, that’s a preposterous argument and you know it, the whole point of these events is for your average man in the street not to accept it, and to fight back, assuming he has any gumption left in him. Plus, the extra money you contribute will have to be found from the Government purse, no doubt borrowed, at an extortionate rate of interest, from our superiors.”
“Ah,” the German flexed his fingers, letting the knuckles crack.
“Ah indeed, so why don’t we discuss what you actually want,” Sir George stated.
“We want you to join the euro, simple as that,” the Frenchman spoke this time. The Italian and Spaniard managed to cover their confusion, but not before Sir George had seen it reflected in their eyes. They had not been part of the plot. So, his superiors had been right from the start, a gentleman’s word was no longer good enough; they wanted Britain in the melting pot with them, just in case things did not work out as planned.
“That won’t happen and you know it, a year from now and you’ll be lucky if there’s any fiscal unity left in Europe,” Sir George stated, the tone of his voice, as much as his words ruling it out.
“Then what will you offer?” the German asked.
“We are prepared to ensure the Government will contribute toward keeping the Euro a viable currency, up to a ceiling of five hundred million.”
“We were thinking of a figure closer to the billion mark,” the German replied.
“Then we have a bit of a way to go,” Sir George commented, as he puffed air into his cheeks and released it with a long, contemplative sigh. “We’ll go to six hundred million, and no further, with an agreement that there will be no more calls back to re-negotiate.”
The German nodded. “Then I think we should all retire and take council.”
Sir George stood and left the room. The cameras would have relayed the action to their superiors and the others would be awaiting further instruction. Sir George would receive no such communication, not yet, he was authorised to go up to seven hundred million if necessary. Not that any of this should be necessary; he fumed, as he walked back to his room. The Germans wouldn’t have come up with it themselves, it would be the damn French seeking assurances that England would not rise to a position of greater influence in the group; they wanted to ensure Britain’s interest in keeping the European union afloat was as great as their own, binding it further to its allies. Because if that economy truly crashed and burned, it could…or could it, he wondered; maybe what this actually represented was a power struggle further up the ranks that Sir George was unaware of. Yes, it was certainly a possibility, and it would explain why a meeting had been called; how very, very interesting.
*****
Sir George barely had time to finish his article in the Mail before his presence was requested once more. Not that he read the Mail very often, but it was necessary to muddy ones feet in the popular pool occasionally.
When he entered the room this time, it was to find only two members present. “Please sit down,” the German said, as he rose to pull out a seat between him and the Frenchman. A pincer move, Sir George thought, well it would take more than that to outmanoeuvre him.
“Well, I wonder if-”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” Sir George interrupted the German.
The Frenchman spoke this time, “They don’t feel they need to be here, they are happy for us to finish negotiations.”
“But perhaps I’m not happy to carry on without them,” Sir George replied, something was going on and he didn’t like it. It was true that Spain and Italy had long since lost any great influence, but it still made better odds for the UK, than two against one.
As Sir George made no show of continuing, the German shrugged and went to the door. He opened it a crack and issued a few brisk commands. It wasn’t long before the two missing representatives were ushered back into the room, and judging by the look of suspicion worn by the Italian, Sir George was not altogether convinced they had been aware of their group being reduced to a triumvirate.
“Well, now we are all here, perhaps you could tell us how far you are prepared to go to meet our demands?” the German asked, his gaze on Sir George.
“We’re prepared to go as far as we stated six hundred million,” he said.
The Frenchman sighed, as the marginalised politicians merely sat and watched how the game would unfold.
“We had hoped you would have seen the fairness in our request, we couldn’t take less than eight hundred,” the German replied.
“Then,” Sir George responded, “You are to be disappointed, because we are sticking at six hundred. Perhaps it would help if I reminded you that this issue should never have been brought to the table. A plan once agreed upon, should not then have to be renegotiated.”
“I think you’ll agree, that all campaigns have to be constantly re-assessed, which is all we are doing,” the Frenchman responded.
“And we have taken that on board with our offer,” Sir George linked his fingers, resting them lightly on the table, as he sat back in his chair.
The German paused to consider, it was all theatrics of course, as he would have been instructed as to his limit.
“Seven hundred and fifty million.”
“Six hundred and seventy-five,” Sir George countered, “that is our final and only offer, accept and we can all go home.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” the German looked at his ally, and then spoke, “you give us no choice but to agree.”
He reached out a hand and after a slight pause Sir George shook it, and then he stood and left the room. It had been a very interesting meeting; the dynamics of the group were clearly changing, and if it was affecting negotiations at his level, then goodness knows what was happening further up the ranks. It was all very intriguing, and for now, frustratingly beyond his reach.
Chapter twenty-six
December 2010
Sue
It was a small, bland room. It was also stiflingly hot, despite the frost lying un-thawed on the ground outside. There were two other people present including Sue, and each had tried to prise the window open, but with no success. The walls were blue, the carpet beige, and chairs sat in straight lines around the edge. There were no magazines, so once your gaze had completed a once over of the space, you had to settle for staring into corners, as eye contact with others may cause conversation. They were all there for appeal hearings, having been universally turned down for ESA, you would think everyone would chat, condemn their common enemy, but the atmosphere was too strain
ed, too edgy for conversation to be attempted. Sue sat and looked at her knees, not because they warranted looking at, but because resting her gaze there seemed like the safest thing to do. She’d given a nervous hello to the man and woman who shared the room with her, but that was it. The other woman was large, very large, and rather surprisingly for the middle of December, was wearing a vest top. She sat opposite Sue, the man sat on a third wall, underneath the malfunctioning window. He was older than Sue, possibly in his late fifties, and was also shedding clothing at an alarming rate. He now sat in his shirt sleeves, a pile of clothing on his lap. Sue felt sorry for him, although she wasn’t exactly sure why, maybe because he was older and shouldn’t need to go through such stress at his age, or maybe because he’d come in a suite, complete with waistcoat. Yes, Sue mused, that was probably it, he was dressed as if for a job interview, he was of an age when you made an effort for a meeting, even if it was in front of an ESA tribunal.
The door opened and they all looked up, hoping it was their turn, and dreading in case it was. A harassed middle aged woman entered, and scanned each of their faces before consulting her notebook. “Mrs Jackson?”
“That’s me,” the larger lady answered, putting her hand up at the same time, just in case there was any confusion.
“Hello Mrs Jackson, I’m Marion from Welfare Rights, I shall be going into the hearing with you today. Have you attended one of these before?”
“Yes, this is my second,” the woman replied.
That thought alone started a hollow feeling in the middle of Sue’s stomach. She tried not to listen to their conversation, but the room was so small that even with Marion dropping her voice, every word was clear. So much so, that Sue felt herself blush when the Welfare Rights lady apologised for the lack of privacy, as there was nowhere else for them to go. The whole set up had such an atmosphere of despair that trying to maintain any positivity toward the outcome of your hearing was difficult.
“What are they like, the judges, are they alright?” the large lady asked. Sue tuned back in.
“They’re fine…the judgements have been…mixed, but that’s normal…now,” Marion replied.
The feeling in Sue’s stomach spread and she felt what little righteous indignation she’d managed to hold onto slip away. What was the point? She just wanted it over.
A woman popped her head in the room and nodded at Marion.
“Right, it’s time to go in,” she said to Mrs Jackson.
Sue looked up, meaning to give a reassuring smile, but Mrs Jackson’s gaze was firmly on the ground. And then the door closed and there were just the two of them left. Sue looked over at the man who gave her a nod of acknowledgement; she smiled back, and then began to stare at her knees once more.
Only moments seemed to have passed before the larger lady was being led back into the room.
“It won’t take long, and then we’ll be called back in for the verdict to be given,” Marion explained.
Then she turned to Sue. “You must be Miss Bailey, I’m Marion from Welfare Rights, I shall be going into the hearing with you today. Have you attended one of these before?”
“No, this is my first,” Sue answered.
“Okay, leading the appeal is Judge Marrow, and Dr Knight is the health care professional. They’ll reassure you when you go in and tell you it’s just an informal meeting, so that you relax. Don’t you believe it for a second, this is a legal procedure.”
“Oh, right…yes,” Sue murmured, the feeling in her stomach had spread to her throat, threatening to render her speechless.
“I see you are appealing against the walking criteria, the lifting and bending criteria, and the standing criteria. Is that correct?” Marion asked.
“Yes,” Sue confirmed, “you see at the medical I told them-”
The door opened once more, interrupting Sue.
Marion turned to her apologetically, “I’m sorry, I’ll be back shortly.” Then she turned to Mrs Jackson. “We have to go back in now; they’ve come to a decision.”
Sue only nodded in response and turned her focus back to her knees once more.
The door to the room where the appeals were being heard was directly opposite the door to the waiting room. Sue heard them go in and barely a minute later she heard the door open as they came out. There was a second of silence, and then a clash of voices which she couldn’t quite interpret, were they raised in anger at a failed agenda or in relief at a hurdle jumped? Either way, they soon faded and Marion re-entered the room. Sue wanted to ask how Mrs Jackson had done, had she been treated with humanity, had the decision been fair. But of course she couldn’t ask, and a feeling of total and complete resignation settled over her, she was no longer nervous because how would she be able to get from zero to the necessary fifteen points, it just wasn’t going to happen.
“Right,” Marion said, settling herself down beside Sue, “we only have a few moments. Is there anything you want to ask me about the process?”
“Well, I-”
It was immaterial what Sue wanted to say because the door opened and the clerk gave another nod to Marion. “I’m sorry, that’s us.”
It was a conveyor belt that belied the importance of the situation, the wrong decision could mean everything, the loss of a home or an inability to cope and buy the very bare required for any sort of existence.
Marion held open the door as Sue walked out into the corridor, and then repeated the action as she entered the opposite space. Walking that short space was the most peculiar thing, rather like when the Head would ask you to pop along to her office and your thoughts would whirl back through the day while you tried to work out what you’d done wrong. Here, you were instantly on the defensive, because the basis of the meeting was the implication that you had lied at your medical assessment; if Sue had been believed, she would not have been there.
The Judge and health care professional sat behind a large table, papers spread in front of them, while a clerk sat at the back of the room to take the minutes. Marion indicated where Sue should sit, she did as instructed. By now her face was flushed and burning, she knew she should look up, make eye contact but she couldn’t get her gaze beyond the desk top; the sound of a throat clearing finally grabbing at her attention.
“Good afternoon Miss…Bailey, I’m Judge Marrow, and this is Dr Knight; we’ll be hearing your appeal today. We’ll kept it as relaxed as possible, we aren’t here to make a judgement upon whether or not you are fit for work, we are only here to decide if you are entitled to ESA. We have a few preliminary matters to deal with, if I can ask…”
Her voice faded away, Sue watched her face, saw her lips move, but beyond that she had no understanding. The Judge was addressing Marion now, as legal niceties were adhered to, while she did so Sue stared at her and found it odd that she looked so normal. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, short mousy brown hair, and she had a red blemish on her chin that she’d unsuccessfully tried to conceal. Dr Knight wore a suite, and Sue thought that good, because the man in the waiting room had made the effort to dress smartly, and maybe it would be comforting to have that code reflected back on himself. Otherwise Dr Knight seemed about a decade younger, although he was already bald, with a paunch over his trousers no doubt due to a sedentary lifestyle of endless appeal hearings.
“Miss Bailey, if we could just ask a few questions to clarify some points in your assessment. You have appealed against statements four, six and five b, is that correct?” the Judge asked.
Sue sat and looked at her copy of the papers, as she tried to flip through and find the relevant sections; but the paper wouldn’t turn properly and her tongue was too dry to give moisture to her finger tips, so she just answered, “Yes, probably.”
“Well, I’m going to hand over to Dr Knight, who will ask you a few questions with regard to those points, but he may also ask about the rest of the answers you gave at your medical assessment.”
As she spoke, Sue’s resignation grew, because she could no longer rem
ember any answers she’d given previously, so inevitably she was to be damned a lair by her own words. Oh god, let’s just get it over with.
“How did you get here today Miss Bailey?”
“My dad drove me.”
“And did you have far to come?”
Sue smiled. “No, not far, I just live about twenty minutes away.”
“Good, and how did you get into the building from the car?”
Sue looked at him puzzled, what did he mean? She’d hardly have flown in.
“I walked in.”
“I see. Did you walk unaided?”
“Yes, although it does hurt whenever I-”
“How far did you walk Miss Bailey, how many yards?”
Sue’s mind scrambled around, how far was a yard for christ’s sake?
Dr Knight looked bored by her lack of an answer “Could you, for example Miss Bailey, walk to the parked car over there?”
He pointed to the window, in front of which lay a small parking area, followed by a wall, a pavement, a road, another pavement and a row of terraces.
“Err, which one in-_”
“The blue one,” Dr Knight interrupted.
He may as well said, the blue one that is parked, no doubt, about where you would have been dropped off by your father, and from where you have just admitted you walked in.
And there it was again, complete despair. “Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I could.”
And so, fifteen minutes later Judge Marrow informed her that they upheld the previous judgement and she was not entitled to ESA. Sue stood up and thanked them, she actually thanked them for their time. But then that is what people do, isn’t it, fall back on convention if they have no words themselves.
“You must go home and reapply for ESA,” Marion told her, once back inside the corridor. Sue wondered if that’s what the larger lady was told in those few seconds of communication, is that what the man in the suit would be told in half an hour’s time?
An Ordinary Working Man Page 13
