Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

them. I close the door behind me, but the pleas of the crowd can still be heard, although muffled. They pull at my conscience.

“Well, this is unprecedented,” says Ellie. I think we both wish we were in some sort of nineties cop show where she could open the drawer of her desk and pull out a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. She sits down, but doesn’t offer me a seat. I hesitate, unsure why there is suddenly a formality between us that there never has been in the past. I continue to hover.

“The people at the lottery company said there would be petitions for charity,” I point out.

“Did they tell you how to handle it?”

“Well, usually the winners hire an assistant to open the post, answer emails etc. Then the winners can buy some time before they make considered choices about who they want to donate to.” I shrug apologetically. “But I guess I’m much more accessible.”

“Yes, you are. Almost everyone you see and work with on a daily basis is in some sort of position of vulnerability.”

“We are going to donate to charities,” I rush to reassure my boss.

“I don’t doubt it.” Ellie smiles, but it doesn’t seem entirely natural or relaxed, and it seems to require more effort to muster than usual. “Sit down, Lexi.” She suddenly seems impatient with me. I hastily pull out a chair, which scrapes along the floor, lets out a howl. We both wince. “So, what are we going to do? You know you can’t give any of these people money, right? I mean, that’s not our job. Doing so would be short-termist. It would cause a lot of trouble for the bureau.”

“Of course,” I sigh. It’s impossible not to think how easy it would be to go back out there and start to dish out cash. It would ease countless concerns.

“Because you know once you started doing that, it would be impossible to know where to draw the line. Our job is to give advice, guidance, not cash.”

“Yes.” I nod. Ellie studies me to see if I’m really listening, then shakes her head.

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to refuse them, though. It’s not in your nature. You always struggle to draw a line.” I glance at her, guilty. I don’t think she is aware of the out-of-office help I’ve given Toma, how involved I have become, but I suppose she might be. He’s not the first client I’ve bent rules for. I have delivered clothes that my kids have grown out of directly to families I know are in need, when strictly speaking I shouldn’t visit clients in their homes. On one occasion I paid for a client’s supermarket shop because I knew she was too proud to go to a food bank and her kids wouldn’t eat that week if I didn’t. I’m not a natural insurgent—Jake is the maverick in our family—but nor will I adhere to red tape for the sake of it if I think it’s standing in the way of the right thing being done.

I sigh again. Ellie is right. I will struggle not to dish out cash willy-nilly, even though logically I understand it’s not the proper way to go about things. Or even, I admit, the most effective.

I look around the office. I am reminded, not for the first time, how insistently Ellie is resisting the digital age. Her shelves heave with lever arch files that are overflowing. Many of the cases date back ten or even twelve years. She is always promising herself that she’ll catalogue them digitally one day. They could probably be binned, but Ellie won’t do that because she’s too conscientious and also somehow respectful; the troubles those people had shouldn’t be entirely forgotten. Until she can preserve them digitally, the heaving files will remain. I read the posters that advertise the signs to look out for in a loved one if they have depression, others that advertise websites and phone numbers that people can call if they need help with certain legal or health matters. I don’t want to meet Ellie’s gaze. I think I know what she’s going to say, and consequently tears of frustration have welled up in my eyes. I don’t want them to spill. I have never cried at work. I’ve heard and seen many difficult things here, but it doesn’t help anyone if I cry. People come here looking for clear and confident guidance, not emotions. I can’t let the first tears be ones of self-pity.

“Are you sacking me?”

“No, no, of course not.” She pauses. “But I do think it will be best if you take a period of absence. No one can get on with their work with this sort of disruption and they have to work, Lexi. What we do is vital.”

“I don’t know how people found out where I am.”

“Word gets around, I suppose. You have been in all the local press. Many of our clients no doubt simply recognized your face.” I’m not certain, but I think I hear disapproval in Ellie’s tone. She probably thinks we shouldn’t have taken the publicity. She’s most likely right. It was never my intention. I wasn’t left with a choice. “Yesterday afternoon was quite tricky. There were fewer people here than there are today, but it was still disruptive. There was this one young guy, he can’t have been more than twenty, has Tourette’s syndrome. Apparently you are helping him find work.” She looks at me, waiting for me to identify him. She trusts me enough to know I know the names of all my clients.

“Dave MacDunn.”

“Yes, that’s it. Well, he didn’t believe it was your half day. He just thought we were stopping him seeing you. He got agitated, lashed out, knocked some elderly chap clean over. The elderly chap hadn’t even come to see you. He just wanted to talk to someone about his heating bill. It was very tricky.”

“Oh, no. Was he okay?”

“Banged his elbow and thigh