Bums.
Hands loosely woven together, eyebrows raised, and ‘concern face’ ratcheted up to very, very concerned, Rachel Woolly was standing behind her like an over-cheery spectre.
What a nightmare. Rachel was everyone’s favourite manager to hate. Rachel didn’t just love working for 111, she believed in 111. It was her calling to provide ground up healthcare advice to ordinary Britons at their most vulnerable moments.
It was quite obvious from the way Rachel talked about their callers that Rachel hadn’t ever actually spoken with ‘an ordinary Briton’ or ever dealt with the bloody pull-down menu when asked whether or not she believed elves were real. What Rachel was renowned for, was ‘dipping in and out of the calls for quality assurance.’
Micromanaging.
Rachel nodded at Raven’s headset. ‘How about you unplug for a minute so we can go somewhere a bit more private?’
Raven silently followed behind, the weight in her gut churning round and round, growing heavier and heavier with each step.
She could not get fired. Please oh please oh please god, do not let her get fired. The last thing she could do today was go home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Incident No: 601321
Time of Call: 16:48
Call Handler: FLORENCE WILSON
Call Handler: You’re through to the NHS111 service, my name’s Flo and I’m a health advisor. Are you calling about yourself or someone else?
Caller: I am calling about my boyfriend.
Call Handler: Is he breathing?
Caller: Yes. I suppose.
Call Handler: Can you check, love?
Caller: No. he’s not here.
Call Handler: Can you tell my why you’re calling about him, then please, duck?
Caller: He’s given me nowt for Valentine’s Day.
Call Handler: I’m sorry?
Caller: He’s not given me nothin’ for Valentine’s Day. It were over ten days ago now. Didn’t pop in either. Not for a shag or nothin’. He were out with the lads. That’s what he said. [Puts on a deep voice] Sorry, love. Been out with the lads. Do you think I should dump him?
Call Handler: Darlin’, this is a health line, not a dating line.
Caller: I know, but it’s actually, physically hurting my heart?
Call Handler: Are you feeling physical symptoms in your heart?
Caller: Aye. Definitely. One minute I love him so much I feel my heart is going to burst, the next I want to take the biggest bloody knife I have and—
Call Handler: I’m going to stop you there, love. As a health advisor I can suggest making an appointment with your GP or, if you’re concerned you need immediate health care, I would head to the nearest A&E. I can see there is one about three miles down the road from you.
Caller: [Bitter laughter] Already been, haven’t I?
Call Handler: Sorry, love. Have you been to the A&E or your GP?
Caller: GP. He’s bloody useless he is. Never has appointments. Always busy. Just ilke Dan-o, innit?
Call Handler: Is Dan your boyfriend, darlin’?
Caller: You tell me. If coming round for booty calls at two in the morning after being out on the lash with the lads means he’s mine, then yeah. He don’t come round every night. What if he’s seeing other women? Got two or three of us on the go? Do you think I should confront him? Ask him what he’s playing at?
Call Handler: Perhaps you should give your GP another ring. Most surgeries are open until five or six. Why don’t we end this call and see if your GP can sort something out for you?
Caller: Like what? See if he can find me a man who pays me some proper bloody attention? They don’t listen right when I go there. Not any of the GPs. I’ve seen ’em all. They’re all anxiety this, bi-polar that. Stop drinking. Can you imagine? Not having a drink when I’m this bloody stressed over my man?
Call Handler: Are you feeling unwell now, love?
Caller: I bloody well am. My boyfriend’s given me nowt for Valentine’s Day, hasn’t he? Never picks up after himself. Wants a hot tea if he deigns to come before midnight. No warning. Just comes in, where’s me tea? It bloody hurts, it does. All over.
Call Handler: Are you feeling any physical symptoms that are giving you cause for concern?
Caller: Yes.
Call Handler: Can you describe the symptoms, duck?
Caller: Hungry.
Call Handler: You’re hungry?
Caller: Aye.
Call Handler: Right then, darlin’. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and make yourself a nice bit of cheese on toast. That should help. And some tea. Can you get catch-up on your television?
Caller: Aye.
Call Handler: Put on Love Island, take note of how self-absorbed and unimaginative the men are, then ask yourself, do I really want a boyfriend who ignores me? You think about how you want to be valued and ask yourself, honestly, is Dan the man for me? Sorry … I’m just going to … you want me to end the call? Rachel, I’m just – oh alright. Just handing out a few home truths – Darlin’, are you there?
Caller: Yeah. Are you in trouble for telling me to eat cheese on toast?
Call Handler: No, not as such. A little, maybe. Is there anything else I can help you with?
Caller: No. Thanks for listening.
Call Handler: My pleasure. Please be sure to ring back if the symptoms worsen or change. Thanks for calling 111. Now, Rachel—
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Fired?’ Raven looked shocked.
Not as shocked as Flo was, but it was good to know she wasn’t the only one who’d been blindsided by the ‘little one to one’ with that prissy manageress, Rachel Woolly.
‘That’s right, duck,’ Flo nodded, trying to keep the swarm of conflicting emotions in check, eyes glued to the watery beams her headlights were throwing on the back of Sue’s little red Ka a few metres in front of her. ‘Although Rachel called it a “voluntary redundancy” so that my record’ll be clean for whoever’s lucky enough to employ me next.’
Raven’s eyes widened.
‘Not to worry. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found something new tomorrow.’
With any luck.
Flo was doing her level best to remain cheery, but the truth was, she was absolutely fuming. Fired
