Finally Ruby put the papers down on her desk. “It is certainly a very powerful account, and whereas the morality of such assessments may be open to question, I’m afraid legally it would be a nigh on impossible case to prove.”
“What? But…I’m sorry Miss Pu…Ruby, how can they get away with that? That man’s death was a direct result of his treatment by the system,” Sue said, she wasn’t nervous any more.
“Yes Miss Bailey, you’re probably right, but unfortunately the link between this gentleman’s death and TOST cannot be categorically proven. And…” Ruby held up her hand to quell another outburst, “…and presumably George was aware of his own medical condition, of what he could and couldn’t do, yet he chose to exercise his own free will in going out to tidy up the garden area.”
“With all due respect Miss Purser,” John said, his voice flat and expressionless, “you have no idea how these people make you feel, how society and the government make you feel; when he went out to tidy up he would not have been thinking rationally.”
“And I appreciate that, I really do, but the legal position remains the same.”
“What about those people who have named the stress of TOST testing and government cuts as a reason for taking their life, surely naming them in their suicide note establishes a direct link?” Sue asked.
“Once again, I’m afraid it’s not that clear cut. In such an instance you would have to prove that a medical practitioner or assessor had been negligent in their duty of care toward a client.”
“Doesn’t the fact that these people are no longer here demonstrate that negligence?” Barbara asked.
Sue nodded in agreement, she could feel the tension in her whole boy, as if pure will power alone could produce the response they wanted.
“In order to establish negligence the client would literally have to say something like, ‘I will kill myself if you don’t do this or you do that…’ in such an instance the medical practitioner would then have a duty of care toward that person, and if he failed to act upon that information then you might be able to establish he had been negligent in that duty.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Claire snapped.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Ruby said.
Time to move on, okay the first attempt may have failed miserably, but it wasn’t the only matter upon which they had hoped to make a case.
“Okay, our next query concerns the language used by the DWP. In any correspondence concerning the sum of an award of benefits, it says how much we are to be given, and states, because that is how much the government says you need to live on. In my particular case, I receive, including council tax and mortgage relief, about five hundred pounds a month. That doesn’t even cover my bills, my parents are giving me an extra two hundred pounds a month just to exist. Would someone with a similar set up to my own, be able to challenge the government on this figure; I mean, I’d like to know what criteria they are using to come up with that amount.”
“You would be entirely within your rights to ask for access to the data used to calculate different amounts of benefits,” Ruby replied.
“And if they refused to give it, or it’s based on some archaic system?” Sue asked.
“The DWP has to be transparent in its decision making, so I would question why that access wasn’t being given. If its methods of calculation prove to be unsatisfactory then we could ask for a judicial review of the system, leading eventually to any proposed new methods becoming statute.”
Sue noted the use of the word we and hoped it indicated some sense of interest in their plight, however the whole thing sounded like a frustratingly long process.
“In terms of our human rights being infringed, is there anything else we can do?” Sue urged.
Ruby glanced along the line of their faces. “I understand how passionate you all feel about this issue, but you have to ask yourselves if taking the government to task on this, in the present climate of unrest, is going to do anything to gain the populace’s sympathy.”
“Miss Purser,” Jenny spoke up, “I was hit by a drunk driver, I have several metal rods in my leg, as well as bolts and plates, my left leg is an inch shorter than the right, because of which I now have problems with my back and hips. I do manage to still work part time, and was recently in a restaurant with friends, when I passed a table on the way out I could feel someone looking at me, you know how you do, so I glanced over and smiled. The woman said, I bet we paid for that meal, and no doubt her foreign holiday. I don’t think we have anything left to lose, hopefully only understanding to gain”
Sue felt the tears once more, she swore she never used to cry this much.
“Exactly,” she nodded to show her agreement with her friend. “I don’t think any of us are doing this primarily to see if we can have more in terms of our benefits, that’s not what challenging them on their criteria or whatever is about. We simply want to get the message out that we’re not all receiving twenty-eight thousand pounds in benefits a year, but a mere fraction of that. That many of us have worked but have been forced to give up due to some unforeseen event; we haven’t chosen this lifestyle and we certainly aren’t reaping the rewards of it.”
“Of course.” Ruby lent forward, unclasped her hands, examined her scarlet red finger nails and then looked up. “Under the Human Rights Act everyone has the right to a family life. If a person’s benefits were shown to be so low that wasn’t possible…it could be an area we could challenge on,” Ruby stated, she gave Jenny a tight nod, of what, approval, sympathy, recognition that she wouldn’t say no? Because that was it, wasn’t it, the fact they had yet to mention they couldn’t afford to pay for her services and Sue sensed the moment of truth was getting near.
“So, you think we may have something, in terms of the monies paid and the right to family life?” Sue asked.
“Possibly,” Ruby replied.
“That’s enough, thank you,” Sue said.
An awkward pause, Sue looked along at her friends; they all looked at each other.
“Allow me Miss Bailey, you are wondering if I’ll help you despite the fact you can’t afford to pay me?” Ruby stated.
“Well…err, yes, yes we are,” Sue said.
Another awkward pause, Sue tried to maintain eye contact.
“This will not be a popular cause to take on but it is an interesting proposition. I will have to consult with my partners, but if I can work it around my present commitments then I would be interested in pursuing it further.”
“Is that lawyer speak for yes?” Claire asked.
Ruby Purser finally smiled. “Yes, it is.”
Chapter fifty-six
Monday 24th November
Sue
Sue still couldn’t believe that Ruby Purser had agreed to help them, what’s more her partners had sanctioned her involvement; after all if they succeeded it would be headline grabbing stuff. And the time for them to be effective, to persuade the populace as a whole that they were not the money-greedy scroungers of the popular press, well that window of opportunity was rapidly closing. The news that morning had again been dominated by the escalating violence in the city centres.
Later in the broadcast, the presenter had been joined by two guests, and they had then reviewed the morning papers. Many of them were making the link between insurgents at home and abroad, calling it a worldwide movement against capitalism and growth. It was the usual rhetoric of the right-wing papers, but even those of a more left wing slant had seemingly abandoned their traditional readers. It seemed to Sue, that to support, or even to sympathise with the protestor was not only political suicide but commercially far too risky. Instead the press of the People’s Party reported in a monotonous homage to unbiased fact regurgitation; you had to dig long and hard to find a reporter who was allowed to show a grain of empathy.
Plus, the images that continued to horrify the viewer were almost exclusively that of trouble in the cities, the retribution carried out in the benefit’
s estates was alluded to but rarely shown. The reporters maintained their access was limited because of police cordons and because those seeking vengeance effectively blocked the access routes into the land of the untouchables. What happened beyond those barriers, the violence inflicted, was watered down through unverified first and second hand accounts, and it seemed the favoured shots of the aftermath inevitably focused upon town and city centres. If you knew where to look, the internet had become the only real voice of what was happening in the estates; former journalists and reporters, members of the public, they tried to highlight their cause, but few had the inclination to look.
*****
Andrew
Andrew splashed cold water on his face and then looked at his haggard reflection in the mirror. His PR people complained that it was getting increasingly hard to cover up his dark circles and grey complexion, he wondered what on earth they expected, he rarely grabbed more than a few hours sleep. But, apparently a relaxed and healthy appearance was meant to show he was in control of the situation, it would reassure the public he was told. Andrew failed to see how fussing around him with concealer was going to persuade the great British public that he had a grip on the present situation when the daily shots of violence clearly testified he did not. Christ, what a mess, he’d hardly seen Molly or Elaine for weeks. Not that he was complaining, he’d never believed being PM in the present economic climate was going to be easy, but he had thought the difficulty would come in rebuilding the economy, not effectively keeping one half of the populace from killing the other half.
“Knock, knock.”
“Hi, I’m in here, I’ll be out in a minute,” Andrew called, from the small bathroom adjacent to his office. He knew it was Nigel, he was the only one who would knock and enter, if the door to his room was open. It was his friend’s only concession to their shared history. The man was always there, he never left until Andrew himself made a move, and he still beat him in the next morning, Andrew doubted he would be coping at all if it wasn’t for his and Molly’s support. Of course his parents phoned frequently, and he learnt of their best wishes through his wife, but he couldn’t confide in them, nor indeed his sister, in the way he needed to at the moment. Opinion polls still had him trailing in the popularity stakes, although he had risen a fraction once he’d allowed the army to become involved in policing the protesters; lending weight to right-wing calls for more extreme action.
He shook his head, as if to clear an imagined fog, dried off his face and went in to meet Nigel.
“How come you don’t look as rough as me?” Andrew asked.
“Because I looked rough before all this, so it’s harder to tell,” Nigel replied, depositing a pile of newspaper upon Andrew’s desk.
He groaned. “Do I want to read those?”
“Probably not, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t,” Nigel answered. “I can give you the summary if you prefer.”
Andrew sat in his chair, and reached for the coffee Nigel had brought in for him. “I would really appreciate that, we’re meeting the Home Secretary, Commissioner, Defence Minister and the Head of the Armed Forces in fifteen minutes.” He could only hope that one of them had a fresh idea in terms of their present approach to the protesters, because it was becoming very clear that they weren’t going to just fade quietly away.
*****
Nigel watched each man as he entered the special briefing room, each face told the story of their stress. The Home Secretary’s hair had become ever more manic, the Commissioner had actually lost weight, to the point where he was wearing a padded waist band under his clothing during press conferences; apparently weight loss was also an unacceptable indicator of panic. The Minister for Defence was around the same age as Andrew, but looked younger, his fair hair and blue eyes made him seem too immature for his role; despite the fact he’d actually served in the RAF for seven years. At least on first glance Chivers’ seemed to be coping well with the demands upon him. Nigel knew, as did the party, that he could be a real threat to Andrew’s leadership, compared to the PM he seemed to be taking the situation in his stride. Still, since talking to Sir George, Nigel no longer wasted any time in analysing Andrew’s leadership; it was increasingly obvious that his time at his side was drawing to a close.
The last to enter the room was the Head of the Armed Forces, General Beston. Now he was a man to trust, he gave the impression that nothing could dent his air of authoritative calm, his weathered face showed interest rather than concern, and at seventy-eight, he had an air of gravitas that said, I’ve seen it all before and come out the other end, don’t worry.
Nigel took his place at the table, it was long and capable of seating at least sixteen people. Andrew sat at the head, his back to the large monitors that dominated the far wall, Parks and Lowston sat on his right, Chivers and Beston to his left. Nigel left an empty seat between himself and Beston as he claimed his place at the gathering. His presence was now tolerated, but he knew better than to make any contribution to the discussion; his place represented that fact, he was there but not truly part of the family.
He was just pouring his coffee when Andrew began.
“I trust you have all seen the coverage of last night’s violence and been briefed upon any developments.”
Everyone murmured their affirmation. Nigel asked Beston to pass the cream.
“And you all know that, as a government we are under pressure to step up our response to that violence. While we do not make judgements based upon popular pressure, I believe we do need to consider what our next move should be. Lowston, how are your officers holding up?”
Lowston shook his head. “All leave has been cancelled for six weeks now, no one has had a day off since this began. My officers are under unsustainable strain, and errors of judgement will be made, it’s inevitable.”
“I can appreciate that, and please ensure you pass on our thanks to police forces around the country, but we can’t excuse the use of excessive force because of tiredness,” Andrew replied.
“With all due respect Prime Minister, the media will always show the more sensational aspects of the violence and the incidents you are referring to are under internal investigation. But you will see more and more images of so called police brutality if you don’t do something to give my officers a break.”
“Home Secretary?” Andrew directed the issue to Parks.
“For once I agree with Lowston, and I think that, as a government, during any interaction with the media, we should be emphasising the pressure the police are under and the very dangerous task we are asking of them. I think we should be countering any charge of excessive force with facts on how many police officers have been injured, and start displaying the weapons used against them, at press conferences.”
“Well that’s certainly something we can look into,” Andrew responded.
“I think we need to do more than look into it Prime Minister, we need to do it. The public is completely behind the police and of course the army in the actions they are taking and would in fact like to see them coming down harder on the protesters,” the Home Secretary said.
Nigel could see the shadow pass across Andrew’s face, the knowledge that he was being tested by his own party, and could not be found wanting.
“Is this your experience also Chivers?” Andrew directed the discussion to the Defence Minister.
“Yes, it is. People can’t afford to have their businesses damaged night after night, can’t afford the loss in trade from people too scared to come into the towns and cities. Many independent shop owners have begun camping out in their premise ready to take the law into their own hands. But I can appreciate the Commissioners point about the Officers in his care. We need to start giving them some down time and the only way we can do that is by bringing in more troops. In fact I would go further than that and suggest we consider troops on the streets during the day, to try and tempt back those presently too nervous to come into the city.”
“And you don’t think an a
rmy presence during the day would have the opposite effect and scare people away?”
“No I don’t,” Chivers stated. “We have to do something to restore confidence in the high street.”
“I’m not convinced by that argument myself,” Andrew responded. “General Beston, do you have any thoughts?”
All eyes turned to the military man, he met each gaze, as his face gave the impression of ruminating over every comment made, dissecting and analysing it.
“Three things, a military presence has, so far, only been used in the benefit’s estates, we need to expand that presence to the cities and give Commissioner Lowston’s officers a much needed break. Two, we delay using a military presence during the day, because once we go there it may be hard to go back. Three, we set up checkpoints on the main routes into the cities from the estates and reserve the right to stop and search.”
Everyone nodded and then turned to Andrew. “Would this checkpoint be in place for those leaving the cities as well as those coming into it?” he asked.
“Of course, no bias, we protect cities, towns and benefit’s estates.”
Now Andrew nodded, he scanned the faces of those around him, his eyes resting briefly upon Nigel, who also gave the slightest inclination of his head.
“Okay gentlemen, let’s work out the details.”
*****
Sir George
Sir George stood at one of the windows in the club and gazed out at the street below, the violence hadn’t reached that far into the city…yet. It would only be a matter of time, and he would be sorry to lose the ambiance and surroundings of his beloved escape, but it should only be for a brief moment. Things were coming to ahead rapidly now, governments around the world having the momentum of change dictated by violence. As an idea it had originated in the French camp, and even Sir George had to bow before its brilliance; it meant even those countries that hadn’t adopted Britain’s ill-fated social housing scheme, were still overwhelmed by the tides of unrest and economic desperation. The phrase, workers of the world unite, had never seemed more apt, except this time they would lose everything.
An Ordinary Working Man Page 44
