Free The Death of the Elver Man by Jennie Finch Page B

glanced around her, taking in the bookshelves crammed with Alex’s textbooks and official manuals, the swathe of paperssurrounding a small, clear patch on the desk and the gallery of modern art postcards stuck up in the corner. She was a pale woman, almost anaemic with washed-out grey eyes and wispy straw-coloured hair. On special occasions, such as office socials or a day in court to record details, she applied enough make-up to her bland features to make her look like an anxious panda or (as Alex had once confided to Lauren) a weevil that hadn’t slept for days. Although she was only in her mid-twenties she acted like a middle-aged secretary, or maybe the way she thought a middle-aged secretary should act. She was recently married and had spent the first month of Alex’s tenure drifting dreamily around the office, placing her ring hand casually in front of anyone who came to the counter. It was difficult to imagine anyone in the office less compatible with Alex than Alison.
    ‘Ah, thanks,’ said Alex, trying to hide her confusion. ‘Er, why are you …’ she searched for a polite way to ask here . Finally she raised her eyebrows and tried an encouraging smile.
    ‘I thought we’d better get stuff sorted,’ said Alison, ‘so we both know how it’s going to work.’
    There was a sinking feeling in Alex’s stomach.
    ‘How what’s going to work?’ she asked though she was already fairly sure she knew the answer.
    ‘I’m taking you over, from Lauren. I’ve already brought your case notes up to date so we should start off all square and ready to go,’ Alison said smugly, ‘and I can bring you coffee if you like.’
    Alex glanced at the cup in front of her as the implication of this artless remark hit her. She opened her mouth to snap at this mean little person and then realized she was going to be stuck with Alison for some time. It was her own fault and she needed to avoid making matters worse if possible.
    ‘I don’t expect anyone to get my coffee thank you,’ she said forcing a smile. ‘And I was looking at the files – is there a problem with the carbons? It’s just they’re a bit fuzzy inplaces …’ She came to a halt as Alison’s face turned sulky at the first hint of criticism.
    ‘We’re supposed to be economizing,’ she snapped. ‘We have to turn all the ribbons around and use them twice. That’s why they’re a bit fuzzy .’
    Alex raised a hand, despising her own weakness, ‘I’m sure you are doing your best in a difficult situation,’ she said. Alison fixed her with those pale, washed-out eyes and finally nodded, mollified by the conciliatory tone.
    ‘Well, okay. Now, let me have your diary.’ She held out her hand as Alex sat back in horror. The diary was the single most important item a probation officer used. It was both an indispensable tool for planning and scheduling the many tasks that made up the job and a legal document providing evidence admissible in court for breaching non- attendees . Alex had studied cases where the diary had been used to save an officer’s career and been called in evidence at the Coroner’s Court. With notes, meetings and appointments the diary showed what work was done with and for each client . A probation officer was expected to ‘advise, assist and befriend’ but it didn’t always work like that. Most officers lost at least one client in the course of their careers and it was natural for the families to blame someone. Sometimes the diary was the only thing standing between an officer and a career-ending disciplinary meeting. Alex was not about to hand hers over to an unknown and deeply suspect guardian such as Alison.
     
    She was saved by Sue who made her usual entrance, flinging the door wide and announcing, ‘Let’s go then. You promised to take me on a home visit and it’s going to rain later – oh, sorry Alison. Have you just finished?’
    Alison rose from the chair, gathering the fuzzy files to her almost non-existent bosom