The art of manipulation
He looked across at Natalie Garman with the innocence of a child,
though in Austin’s case innocence wasn’t something he’d had for a very long
time. Even at five he knew how to lie well. However, the second part was right.
Being a child was very much Austin’s forte.
‘You see
how it looks on the books, Mr Stapley,’ Natalie was saying.
‘But of
course,’ Austin added suitably demurely. ‘But then how was I to know my mother
would be rushed into hospital.’
‘You
could have phoned to let us know.’
‘In
advance?’
Natalie
swallowed. ‘No, after it happened. Or at least as soon as possible. Not turning
up for an interview…well, that…’
‘Yes,
yes.’ Austin was getting fed up with this. He’d already been sent away once
because he turned up too early for his damned Job Centre appointment. Too
early, for goodness sake. They wouldn’t let him wait. In fact they were quite
rude about it. There was no pleasing this bunch of half-wits. Now because he’d
bailed on an interview with some logistics company (moving things from one
place to another, let’s not get fancy about it), he was being threatened with
withdrawal of his Jobseeker’s Allowance. Okay, his mother hadn’t really been
rushed into hospital. He’d actually been having a lie with the magazine with
the brown paper cover marked ‘maths’, at the page of Anthea. He’d had a heavy
night at the King’s Head wallowing in self-pity and he needed comfort not
another grilling about his previous track record with jobs by some toffee-nosed
prospective employer.
Austin’s
mother had her uses. She cooked his meals from a limited menu (nothing foreign, though the dishes themselves often looked alien), and washed his clothes. She
was easy to wind up, which could be tremendous fun as long as she didn’t have
hold of an offensive weapon. And she came in useful as a reason for non-attendance
at interviews. However, Austin was running out of legs she could break, arms
she could fracture or fires in the kitchen. He needed to do something because
it wasn’t only the Job Centre on his back. Stella Stapley was demanding money
with menaces, namely housekeeping, or she would stop cooking.
Austin
hadn’t the guts to admit to his mother that he’d lost another job and was
currently unemployed. There were only so many nights he could stay out (he’d
been a night watchman). It was time to have a new job, to make something up. He’d
have to back it up somehow, but Austin was used to winging it. Now what did he
fancy doing? A fishmonger? No, his mother would expect cheap fish. A car
salesman? No, he’d never managed to pass his driving test. She’d suss that one,
though it might make her worry about the Austin A30 malingering in the garage.
His father’s pride and joy which only saw the light of day at weekends, and
then only on the driveway, despite it being bequeathed to him after his father
died. He couldn’t go there right now. Besides, Natalie was trying to get his
attention. She’d been in the process of calling over the security guard because
Austin hadn’t moved in several minutes and she thought he was having a mini
stroke. When his head shot up she cried out in shock, or was it relief?
Austin
assured her he was alright. ‘Worried about mother,’ he said.
‘Of
course.’ The sympathy was back in her voice. Austin revelled in that for it
wouldn’t be seen again in a long time, if at all.
‘I thought I was going to have to
write an obituary to my poor dear mother,’ Austin went on.
‘Well, she’s making a recovery
surely?’ asked Natalie in concern.
‘You can never tell with mother.’
One true sentence in a whole lot of lies. But it was at this point that Austin
had a brain wave. He would be a reporter to the local rag. He’d always fancied himself
as a writer, and this held a certain prestige that his mother would like to brag
about, and unsociable hours he could play with. As Austin eased himself out of
the chair and out of another tight situation he caught his smile in the window
of the Job Centre. It wouldn’t solve his money problems, this non-job, but he’d
work on that while he worked on his mother. He passed Greg, the obnoxious security
guard, on his way out and he gave him the finger.
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