Shaping the Ripples (5 page)

The morning passed uneventfully. I heard George arrive, but he didn’t come in to say hello – it sounded as if he had someone with him and they went down the corridor and into George’s office. Just before 12 o’clock I wandered down to the kitchen to get myself a drink of water.

When I came out of the kitchen, George was standing in reception, alongside a smaller man who was wearing what looked like a very expensive suit.

George was smiling broadly. “Jack,” he said enthusiastically. “I’d like you to meet Ian Jacobs.”

The other man held out his hand. “Really good to meet you, Jack. George has been telling me all about you and the rest of the team here. I’m a great admirer of the work you do.”

As we shook hands, George continued, clearly bubbling over with enthusiasm.

“Mr. Jacobs has agreed to publicly support the centre and make a very generous donation from his own company.” He paused, “But even better than that, he’s agreed to become a member of the Board of Trustees.”

I’d always tried to keep out of the business side of the centre, but even I knew why this news had got George behaving as if Christmas had come early. With a prominent businessman on all our letters and paperwork as a trustee (effectively a director) of the Centre it would give George a way in to most of the main businesses of the Centre. A thought suddenly occurred to me.

“You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, Mr. Jacobs,” I began. “I know that you’re the current Chair of the Executive Club, but what does your company actually do?”

I was slightly worried that he would see this admission of ignorance as a great insult, but he clearly didn’t have that huge an ego as he just smiled warmly and began to explain.

“Please call me Ian – Mr. Jacobs always makes me feel very old. I’m originally an accountant by profession. About five years ago I decided I’d rather have a greater involvement in actually running businesses, so I set up my own management consultancy firm. Basically, firms employ me to come in and have a look at their business, and give them advice as to how they could run it better and more profitably.”

“Sounds interesting.” I commented.

“Actually, it really is,” he replied enthusiastically. “I get to see such a variety of businesses and people. And when your advice has helped to save a business that’s struggling, or make a firm more profitable so they’re able to expand and create more jobs, it feels as if you’re doing something worthwhile.” His smile widened before he continued, “and fortunately, I can make a fairly decent living out of it at the same time.”

George gave an amused snort and interrupted, “Ian’s being rather too modest here.” He looked at Ian, “I checked out your company’s accounts for last year before we met. Didn’t you make a profit of over three million pounds?

Ian Jacobs looked slightly embarrassed at this disclosure “Yes, that’s true. My terms are always a fixed fee, plus a percentage of any increase in profitability over the following five years. I’ve been very lucky in that some of my advice has worked out well. That’s one of the reasons I’m so keen to do whatever I can to help you lot out. The work I do is enjoyable but it’s nothing compared to the work you are doing here. If I can use my good fortune to help you get the resources you need to go on helping people when they’re at their most desperate, then that will make me even happier. I’ve got everything I could want – a loving family, a nice home to live in, and more money than I could possibly ever need. I think it’s time I started giving something back to those who aren’t so fortunate.”

Ian stopped, and then continues with a large grin. “Anyway, here’s me rambling on and on about myself, when I’ve come here this morning to learn more about you and the work you do.” He turned to focus totally on me, “Jack, George has told me all about the three of you who work here and how talented you all are. Why don’t you tell me about what it’s like working here – the best bits and the biggest frustrations? Help me to get a better idea of what the Crisis Centre is really all about, and the sort of difficulties you’re faced with.”

As I began to answer his question, it was clear to me why Ian Jacobs was such a successful businessman. Although he was only quite small – about five feet eight inches I would guess – there was an amazing presence about him. It was as if he radiated energy and charisma. Obviously I was predisposed to like him, as it looked as if he was going to be able to help secure the long-term future of the Centre, but I found it hard to imagine that there were many people he encountered who wouldn’t. When you were talking with him, Ian had a sort of intensity that was almost hypnotic. He had a way of focussing his steely blue eyes upon you which made you feel that his attention was with you one hundred percent, and that he really wanted to hear and understand what you had to say.

It was very easy to picture him going into a business, and getting all the staff to talk freely to him. I had a hunch that if you gave him a morning in a place, by the end of it he would have uncovered virtually all the secrets and problems, just by the force of his personality. He would have made an outstanding counsellor, although he obviously wouldn’t have been as wealthy as he was in his current profession.

Just as I was concluding my account of life at the centre; the joys of being able to help very wounded and scared people begin a new life, and the constant struggle to get enough money to keep the Centre open, the main door opened. It was Katie.

As I watched her come into the room, I suddenly experienced the strangest feeling. The best way I can describe it is as a sort of sadness – a mix of nostalgia and almost longing for something that could never be. Something of what I was feeling must have shown on my face because Ian Jacobs looked at me with quizzical expression, and then turned with a smile to the door.

“You must be Katie.” He said, extending his hand, “and you’re even more beautiful than George described.”

Katie seemed a bit nonplussed by this greeting, but recovered quickly to take his hand. George made the introductions, and they began to chat about Katie’s experiences in the few months she had worked at the Centre.

“Tell me,” said Ian to her, “When your day is often an endless catalogue of cruelty and pain, do you find it hard to switch off when you eventually get home?”

Katie began to answer, and I was again struck by how skilled Ian was at extracting information from people. Over the next few minutes I learned that Katie shared a flat with an old friend from university, who worked in marketing at one of the cities big chocolate companies. They went out together most evenings, which was her favourite way of unwinding. I was annoyed with myself for feeling relieved when she made no mention of a boyfriend.

Ian listened attentively, and then said, “I’ve just had a brilliant idea. It’s the Executive Club’s Christmas Dinner in a couple of week’s time. It’s the one event of the year that almost all our members turn up at. Because I’m the chair, they have to put up with a speech from me while they’re drinking their coffee and munching their mints.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, clearly considering his idea, then resumed, “How about if I invite the three of you as my guests, and you do a little presentation? George could do an introduction to the Centre and what it’s all about, and then the two of you could give it all a human face; talk about the people you help, and the difficulties you face – that sort of thing. That way, you get an introduction to all the main people of the city at one go. What do you think?”

George looked absolutely thrilled at the prospect, but I managed to answer before he could speak.

“It sounds a wonderful opportunity, but I’m not sure you really need all three of us.” I said quickly. “George is the one who’s good at putting over what we do here – he could probably do a much better job on his own.”

Katie was nodding her agreement, but Ian shook his head. “I’m not casting any doubt upon George’s persuasive abilities – after all, he’s convinced me to get involved. But I do think it would be even more effective if they could see the people who do the front line work as well and hear how much the work matters to both of you.”

Both Katie and I tried to protest, but George held up his hand. “I’m sure Ian’s right,” he said decisively. “I can talk about what we do here, but it will have even more impact if the two of you can add your own stories and talk about some of the people we’ve helped, and how it’s changed their lives.”

“Besides which,” Ian added, “although I can tell that neither of you are exactly thrilled at the idea of public speaking, you will get an exceptional Christmas meal out of it. As well as that, it could be a real breakthrough in terms of getting local financial support for the Centre.”

I tried a different tack, “Well, what about Barbara then? She ought to get the chance to be involved as well, especially as she’s been here far longer than either of us have been.”

“I’ll have a word with her,” George replied, “but I’m sure she’ll say that she’s more than happy for the two of you to speak on her behalf. Come on you two,” he suddenly implored, “I know you’d rather not have to do it, but this is the opportunity that we’ve always dreamed of. Ian’s us the chance to put the Centre at the forefront of everybody’s mind, at a time when most companies are just about to decide on who they make their charitable donations to.”

There didn’t seem to be any answer to that. “OK” I said, “if Barbara’s happy, I’ll do it.”

Katie spoke, “Count me in as well.”

“Excellent!” said Ian, clapping his hands together. “I’ll liase with George about the exact date and time and so on. Perhaps the two of you could get together and sort out what you’re each going to say, to make sure that you cover slightly different areas. I’m really looking forwards to it.”

With that he shook all our hands again and left. George beamed at both of us.

“What a day!” he said “What a great day!” He scuttled off towards his office, leaving me alone with Katie.

“What have we let ourselves in for?” she asked.

“Indigestion, probably.” I replied, and was rewarded with a chuckle. I continued, “Have a think about what you’d most like to talk about and let me know.”

“You too,” she replied. “At least we’ll have each other there for support.”

I watched her walk into the kitchen to get herself a drink of coffee. As she went, I silently chanted my new mantra in my head. It went “work colleagues, work colleagues, just work colleagues.” Maybe if I said it often enough I’d be convinced.

Chapter Six

The following day was Saturday, so I had a bit of a lie in, and got up around half past nine. I made some breakfast, and began to write a shopping list. Every couple of months I treat myself with a trip down to London to watch the football, but apart from those days, the highlight of my Saturdays is a trip in the car to the supermarket. This isn’t quite as desperate as it sounds, because the supermarket has a multi-screen cinema next to it (Ok, it is fairly desperate). I flicked through the local paper as I ate my toast, and decided which film I was going to go and see. When I’d finished, I cleared up, and walked downstairs to the entrance hall which contains the pigeon holes where each day’s post is sorted and stored. Whoever gets first to the post in the morning sorts it all out and puts it all in to the corresponding named slot.

There were two letters in the my slot. The first was a letter from my bank, offering me a loan “at our lowest ever rate of interest”. I crumpled that up and put it in the bin, before turning my attention to the second letter. It was a telephone bill, the only actual calls on it being to work and my occasional use of the Internet.

I was about to go back upstairs when my eye was caught by a small piece of white paper at the very back of the box. It was a note, which must have been placed there before the post arrived, and then been squashed to the back by the two letters. It was written in blue biro, all in capital letters, and my puzzlement increased as I began to read what it said.

JACK,

I NEED TO SEE YOU TO DISCUSS SOMETHING URGENTLY.

PLEASE CAN YOU COME TO MY HOUSE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

I’LL BE AT HOME ALL DAY SATURDAY.

JENNIFER CARTER

The note left me with all sorts of questions. Jennifer had never wanted to see me between sessions before, and I knew that she never saw her clients at weekends. What could possibly be so urgent as to prompt this sort of radical change in behaviour? And why not phone me with the message rather than bring a cryptic note? Besides that, how had she managed to get in the building to put the note in my box? I supposed she could have waited outside until someone used the keypad and then followed them in, but it just seemed such a strange way of doing things.

I decided that I would give her a ring first, just to check that she still needed me to come, and so went back up to my flat. When I rang her number, all I got in response was the answering machine. I hesitated for a moment, and then spoke,

“Jennifer, it’s Jack here. I’ve just found your note and wanted to speak to you about it. Anyway, you’re obviously not picking up your calls, so I’ll come and see you in person. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

I put the phone down and waited by it for a few minutes, just in case she was screening her calls and decided to call me straight back. The phone stayed silent, so I got ready to go out.

It was a beautiful November day out on the streets. Although it wasn’t warm, the sky was blue and cloudless and the sun shone. The roads into York City centre were already clogged up with tourists in their cars, trying to get to the St. Nicholas Christmas Fayre, which happens every year on the last weekend of November.

As I walked, I was still trying to think of an explanation for the urgency of the note. The last session hadn’t ended especially well, but it hardly merited an extra meeting – in retrospect the questions Jennifer had asked about whether my current solitary life was enough seemed important and valid ones.

At last, I reached Jennifer’s house. I made my way up the garden path to the front door, and rang the bell. This failed to produce any sign of life from within so, after a few minutes, I rang again more insistently. However, even keeping my finger pressed on the bell for a good thirty seconds had no effect. There was no sound or movement from inside the house.