Taking Care 2

       I had a phone call next day from Malcolm, asking me if I could come back in for a second stage interview.  This was new to me.  Was something amiss?

       "We'd like you to meet some of the residents," he said.  "See how you get on, and if they get on with you."

       That seemed fair enough.  He said whenever suited me - so I went down later that morning.  This time, he showed me into a small lounge opposite the office - a couple of large settees, a few chairs, a coffee table, a TV.  Andrea was already there waiting.  On one settee sat three of the residents.  I knew Derek already.  Next to him was a young Asian man about the same age, with a round, happy face and a neat crop of black hair.  Then there was an older man - mid-30s, quite shy-looking, perhaps a bit uncomfortable with being there, wringing his hands together.  They were all dressed similarly, in t-shirts, jeans and trainers.  Derek also had a pair of white cotton gloves on, which seemed to be taped to his wrists. 

       Malcolm went over to them and they all looked up at him, unmoving all of a sudden - making me realise they'd all been a bit fidgety.

       "Lads, this is Will who would like to come to work here.  What do we say to Will?"

       They all said Hello, Will in their own individual ways, not together.  Derek took some time to say my name, repeating Wa-Wa-Wa before finally saying Weel.  I was delighted.

       "Hello, lads."

       Malcolm introduced them.  The Asian lad was Dilip, the older lad Jake.  They both shook my hand - Jake making an elaborate gesture of it, opening his mouth in a broad grin before snatching his hand back again, like it was just a joke after all.

       "Yeah!" he said, like someone would if they were saying Yay!  I've done it!

       "Del can't shake hands at the moment," said Malcolm, as I looked at the gloves.  "Not 'til he stops picking his hands, anyway.  We have to do that until they get better."

       I could see now that they were thick, like they'd been pumped up.  There were crepe bandages underneath.  He shook his head a few times, then looked sideways up at me with his left eye while the right one looked down at the carpet.

       "He sees alright with that eye," Malcolm went on.  "He's almost blind in the other one."

       Malcolm sat down and indicated for me to do so, too - facing the three lads.

       "Well," Andrea said, "Have any of you got anything you want to ask Will?"

       Dilip put up his hand.

       "I want to, Andrea."

       "Go on then."

       He looked across at me.

       "Will... I want to ask you, Will... Where do you live?"

       "I live near here, Dilip.  Just along the road."

       "Along the road," he repeated.  "That's.... gooood!"

       I smiled at his emphasis on the word.  He made it sound like a wonderful thing.

       "Thank you, Dilip."

       "That's alriiight!" he said.

       Then they sat there.  Derek started shaking his head again.  Dilip was chuckling to himself over something.  I was struck by how smart and happy-looking they all were.  And how vulnerable, too.  All of them adults - yet more vulnerable, it seemed, than small children.  I think it was at that point that I knew I wanted to be a part of their lives - as daunting as that still seemed.

       Then Jake put his hand up, at the same time as dipping his head down as if he was embarrassed about it.

       "Yes, Jake," said Andrea.

       He raised his head again then, in a gesture that suggested he was building up a mental drum roll for what he was about to say.

       "What's for lunch today?"

       I was about to laugh, but managed to hold it in.  He was looking at Andrea, anyway - who was laughing.

       "Will won't know that, Jake, will he."

       He shrugged his shoulders.  "Will don't know."

       "That's right.  So, who do you need to ask what's for lunch?"

       "Jill," he said.

       "That's right. Because Jill's..." 

       She waited.

       "Jill's cooking lunch," he said at last.

       "That's right."

       Jake then thrust his arms triumphantly into the air.

       "That's right!" he cried - his face splitting across in a wide, toothy grin.

       Malcolm sat forward.  "All you think about, Simpson, is what goes into your gut.  You wouldn't believe it to look at him."

       Jake certainly was quite thin.  He seemed healthy enough, though.

       There was another short pause.

       "Any other questions for Will?" Andrea asked.

       Dilip put his hand up again.

       "Are you coming to work here, Will?"

       "I hope so," I said.

       "Would you like Will to come and work here, Dilip?" said Andrea.

       Dilip looked at her, but the smile was gone.  Instead, he now looked quite serious.

       "Yeeesssss... I wooould!" he said, with that same elaborate emphasis.

       Andrea smiled at him.  "Okay, then.  We'll have to see what we can do."

       "That's riiight!" said Jake.  He got up.

       "Oh, are we finished, then?" said Malcolm.

       "Yep!" said Jake smartly, going for the door.  The other two got up to follow him.

       "What are we going to say to Will, then?" Andrea called after them.

       "'Bye, Will," they all said, in chorus this time.

       Dilip was the last to leave.  As he went out he turned to me.

       "See you later, W-W-Will," he said.

       When they'd gone, Andrea and Malcolm got up.

       "Okay," said Andrea.  "That went alright."

       We headed out to the hall.  Andrea went towards the office.

       "Thanks for coming in again, Will.  Malcolm will show you out."

       I was a bit confused by that.  As I stepped out, I turned to Malcolm - not offering my hand this time.

       "So... when will I hear, one way or the other?"

       He did a double-take.  "Hear?  You've just heard, mate."

       "Eh?"

       "The lads said it.  You're in."

       "Oh... great.  Thanks."

       I felt like a complete idiot all at once.

       "We'll put the letter of confirmation in the post today.  It's dependent on your references and CRB, but you've told us there's nothing to worry about there.  So that should be fine."

       "Okay."

       "Welcome to the funny farm," he said.

       Then he closed the door.

 

       I got the letter a couple of days later, with a copy of the contract to sign and drop off when I was passing.  The starting date would be confirmed as soon as the references were in.  It also said that I could start on shadow shifts until the CRB arrived, which might take a few weeks.  The contract was the basic stuff: hours, pay, leave entitlement, grievance procedure.  It mentioned that there was no entitlement to sick pay - just SSP.  I'd been honest at the interview and had mentioned that I'd been on an extended period of sick leave from work, explaining the circumstances.  It hadn't fazed them at all.  Andrea had just commented 'We all go through bad times in life.  You're obviously better now,' and then we'd moved on. 

     The contract also mentioned the requirement to be flexible with hours, depending on the needs of the service.  That hadn't been mentioned at the interview, and I'd made it clear that part of my reason for applying was that the hours suited me.  I'd told them that I did evening classes, and weekend activities I didn't want to stop.  Again, no objection had been raised.  I wasn't quite being untruthful, either.  I'd applied to do a part-time MA at a local college, which required evening attendance.  The main thing is, though, that I'd always worked those kinds of core hours, and had always struggled with any variations to them.  It was something that had been instilled in me from school days - that routine - and I'd constructed the rest of my life around it.  I wanted evenings and weekends free.  They were 'my' time.  Anything affecting those times had always caused anxiety and disruption, for some reason I could never explain.  It never made any sense.  Other people had always said to me 'Just adapt.  Everyone does.' But I had never been able to.  That's why, up to that time, office and shop jobs had always been my preference - always been what I'd gone for.  Not long shifts.  Not variable shifts.  Set shifts, and set hours, with no or limited overtime.  I deliberated over that section of the contract for a while, and almost picked the phone up to ring the home and clarify things.  But the fact that it wasn't mentioned at the interview, and that it said - in black-and-white - that the hours were Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, finally stayed me.  I didn't want to go creating difficulties now, or bringing up doubts.  I needed this job, and I'd got it.  That was enough.

       I signed the contract and dropped it through the home's letter box that evening.

 

(continued)