Page 50 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘You’ve got a face like a wet weekend,’ Trish said, plonking herself down on a stool and leaning her crutches against the counter at the end of the lunchtime rush.
‘Just thinking,’ Ivy murmured.Would Trish help?
‘That’s always dangerous,’ Helen quipped, shrugging off her fur-trimmed coat. It smelled faintly of expensive perfume. Helen was becoming one of the café’s regulars.How did she find the time, wondered Ivy? ‘Haven’t you got some marking to do?’ she asked.
‘It’ll keep. I needed to get out, and I’ve a free period.’ She said, settling herself on a bar stool. ‘I assume you’re both coming to the school play next week. Theartistic masterpiecethat isA Snowman’s Christmas Wish?’
‘What poor muppet wrote that?’ Trish asked.
‘Someone who has clearly never met an actual child.’ Helen sighed. ‘The entire second act consists of a snowman singing a heartfelt solo about how hedoesn’t want to melt. Deeply moving. Unless you’re the five year old playing the snowman, who mostly stares into the lights like he’s receiving a message from the mothership.’
Ivy removed her dirty apron, securing a clean one with a bow. What could Trish do to help Omar? Trish grew up in Brambleton, and after a few years away at university had returned to run the café – she didn’t have the skills or contacts to free Omar from his past. And although a good friend, Trish steered clear of drama; when a planning battle threatened to ruin the village, Trish helped, but from the shadows. No, she wasn’t the answer.
‘What’s your role in this performance?’ asked Trish.
Helen flicked her hair back. ‘You are looking at the woman who’s beenpromotedto wrangling the reindeer chorus. Do you know how many small children can fit inside a single cardboardbox?All of them.’
Trish snorted.
Ivy tried to focus on their chatter, but her mind wouldn’t settle. Fred wouldn’t help. Victor couldn’t. Where else could she try?
She stole a glance at Helen, watching as the younger woman fished a sugar cube from the bowl and nibbled at it absent-mindedly, like some glamorous, red lipped hamster.
Helenknew Omar’s story, and she knew Robby. Helen had told Ivy she thought the accusations against Omar were false. But how much did shereallyknow? And, more importantly, could she be trusted?Helen was batting for Team Robby. And Ivy had promised Omar she wouldn’t even talk to Helen, so how could she involve her without breaking that promise?
‘And then helickedthe Baby Jesus!’ said Helen.
Ivy snapped back. ‘Sorry,what?’
Helen smirked. ‘One of the shepherds. Got nervous, panicked, and instead of putting the doll in the manger, he licked its head. Quite tenderly actually.’
‘That’s got to be some kind of theological crime,’ Trish said.
Helen sighed. ‘Well, at least it distracted from the angel falling off the stage. Again.’
Ivy’s lips twitched. She couldn’t involve Helen. But if Omar had any chance of setting things right, he needed allies.
Later that afternoon, Ivy was sitting in a small room lit dimly by a flickeringfluorescent overhead light. In the distant past, someone had painted the walls a dull beige, long since faded to the colour of old parchment, and in places the paint was peeling, strips curling from the walls. A garish paper wreath hung crookedly over the doorframe, festooned with plastic holly and red glitter that clung to the edges like desperate memories. Fake poinsettias graced the cluttered table, which was piled high withpamphlets on everything from debt management to housing rights.
Sue, the volunteer lawyer at Barnstaple Citizens Advice sat across from Ivy, her brow furrowed with the kind of professional patience Ivy knew all too well. The lawyer adjusted her glasses and looked at Ivy with disbelief.
‘So, let me get this straight,’ Sue began. ‘This man keeps losing his job because someone’s spreading rumours that he’s involved in drug smuggling, and you want to know what I can do to help?’
Ivy nodded, feeling a flush of frustration rise up her neck. ‘Exactly! It’s outrageous. Every job he gets, someone, some malicious gossip, spreads these absurd rumours. And just like that, he’s out the door. That can’t be right. There must be something you can do to protect him.’
Sue blinked, clearly trying to reconcile the absurdity of the situation with her professional legal mind. Ivy could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes, processing the hopelessness of it all.
‘Right, well, if he’s been with the employer for less than two years, they can pretty much fire him for anything, provided they don’t discriminate based on a protected characteristic. I mean, they could even say his role has been made redundant and that’s that.’ She paused and glanced down at the folder in front of her. ‘Unless this person’s been working for an employer with more than twenty employees, there’s no need for any kind of formal redundancy process.’
‘More than twenty employees?’ Ivy nearly choked on the words. ‘That’s it? That’s the law? I’ve seen larger groups of people at a coffee morning!’ But sadly for Omar, there were plenty of firms that didn’t employ that many people.
Sue sighed, tapping her pen against the table, her expression a mix of sympathy and mild exasperation. ‘Yes, if an employer has fewer than twenty staff, they can terminate employment with noformal process. Employers can find innovative ways of changing the job spec to replace someone they want to fire. So, if the employer is under the threshold, and your friend’s been there less than two years, there’s not much I can do.’
‘More like two months.’
‘Probably still on probation then.’
To Ivy, the air in the room felt oppressive, filled with the scent of stale coffee and the tang of slightly off milk. She slumped back in her chair, feeling defeat curdle inside her like that same spoilt milk, the once-fresh possibility now turned sour with disappointment.
