business cards there. “Yes, take one,” said the worker, “it’s got my direct line on.” Frankie smiled his thanks
and left.
He went across the road into the Tourist Information Centre, found a quiet corner and phoned the number.
“Mike Channell, housing officer, how may I help?” came a harassed-sounding voice.
“Hello, this is Paul Hughes from Newport District Housing. I was wondering if we could help each other. You see, we believe that a woman and her daughter have recently moved to your area
and have probably been housed by you. We just wanted to let you know that the woman left us owing substantial rent arrears and was classified as a nuisance tenant.”
“Oh,” said the housing officer, “we could do without that. You’d better give me their name and I’ll check on our system.”
“Janice Frost and her daughter, Celia Frost. They would have arrived about three weeks ago. If you do have their address we’d appreciate having it so we can begin proceedings to
recoup the rent arrears,” Frankie said, crossing his fingers for luck rather than because he was spouting a load of lies.
There was a long pause and Frankie could hear the tapping of a keyboard down the line.
“Do you know what, Paul? I’m going to have to call you back. I’ve got a big queue of people waiting and I’m having no luck finding them,” said Mike, sounding even
more hassled.
Frankie knew that he couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t give a mobile number when he was meant to be sat in an office in Wales – he would be rumbled straight away.
He thought quickly. “Please, Mike, could you keep looking? I’m actually meant to be on leave but the boss has insisted I come in to sort this out. I can’t go home until I
do.”
“You shouldn’t be coming in on your day off,” said Mike sympathetically.
“You know how it is with our job, Mike. We’re slaves to it, aren’t we? Always giving 110 per cent and even then they want more.”
“You’re telling me. Hold on for a minute while I keep looking.”
“Thanks, you’re a real pal,” replied a relieved Frankie.
The news came a couple of minutes later. “Sorry, Paul, but they aren’t on our system. She’s not come to us to be housed and it looks like she’s not claiming housing
benefit either.”
Frankie couldn’t disguise his disappointment. “Where else could I look?”
“They could be anywhere in the city, and then there are all the suburbs and outlying towns. They’ve all got tons of low rent, low quality private housing. It’ll be like looking
for a needle in a haystack.”
“Thanks anyway, Mike,” Frankie sighed.
He was just contemplating going to find a bakery to cheer himself up, when his phone rang and his day got even worse.
“She’s not on an admission list for any school in the area. Now leave me alone,” Julian said, switching his phone off before Frankie could even get a word out.
Frankie couldn’t believe it; he’d been relying on at least one lead. He walked over to the tourist enquiry desk.
“How many people live in this city?” he asked the smiling woman behind the counter.
“Just over a million, sir.”
Frankie stood, silently brooding.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” prompted the woman, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“Only if you can find a needle in a haystack,” he grunted.
“Maybe we should just forget it. I can’t get the hang of it,” a frustrated Celia said, attempting to climb out of the lake.
“No you don’t,” replied Sol from the slabs. “Stay in there. You’re no mermaid, but you just need to keep practising. Go back and try again.”
“It’s all right for you, sitting there like Robinson Crusoe, with your fire and your sausages.”
“Yeah well, maybe if I see you putting some effort into your swimming, I’ll cook you one,” he said, teasingly lifting the spitting sausage from the frying pan and taking a big
bite.
Celia reluctantly waded back out into the
and left.
He went across the road into the Tourist Information Centre, found a quiet corner and phoned the number.
“Mike Channell, housing officer, how may I help?” came a harassed-sounding voice.
“Hello, this is Paul Hughes from Newport District Housing. I was wondering if we could help each other. You see, we believe that a woman and her daughter have recently moved to your area
and have probably been housed by you. We just wanted to let you know that the woman left us owing substantial rent arrears and was classified as a nuisance tenant.”
“Oh,” said the housing officer, “we could do without that. You’d better give me their name and I’ll check on our system.”
“Janice Frost and her daughter, Celia Frost. They would have arrived about three weeks ago. If you do have their address we’d appreciate having it so we can begin proceedings to
recoup the rent arrears,” Frankie said, crossing his fingers for luck rather than because he was spouting a load of lies.
There was a long pause and Frankie could hear the tapping of a keyboard down the line.
“Do you know what, Paul? I’m going to have to call you back. I’ve got a big queue of people waiting and I’m having no luck finding them,” said Mike, sounding even
more hassled.
Frankie knew that he couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t give a mobile number when he was meant to be sat in an office in Wales – he would be rumbled straight away.
He thought quickly. “Please, Mike, could you keep looking? I’m actually meant to be on leave but the boss has insisted I come in to sort this out. I can’t go home until I
do.”
“You shouldn’t be coming in on your day off,” said Mike sympathetically.
“You know how it is with our job, Mike. We’re slaves to it, aren’t we? Always giving 110 per cent and even then they want more.”
“You’re telling me. Hold on for a minute while I keep looking.”
“Thanks, you’re a real pal,” replied a relieved Frankie.
The news came a couple of minutes later. “Sorry, Paul, but they aren’t on our system. She’s not come to us to be housed and it looks like she’s not claiming housing
benefit either.”
Frankie couldn’t disguise his disappointment. “Where else could I look?”
“They could be anywhere in the city, and then there are all the suburbs and outlying towns. They’ve all got tons of low rent, low quality private housing. It’ll be like looking
for a needle in a haystack.”
“Thanks anyway, Mike,” Frankie sighed.
He was just contemplating going to find a bakery to cheer himself up, when his phone rang and his day got even worse.
“She’s not on an admission list for any school in the area. Now leave me alone,” Julian said, switching his phone off before Frankie could even get a word out.
Frankie couldn’t believe it; he’d been relying on at least one lead. He walked over to the tourist enquiry desk.
“How many people live in this city?” he asked the smiling woman behind the counter.
“Just over a million, sir.”
Frankie stood, silently brooding.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” prompted the woman, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“Only if you can find a needle in a haystack,” he grunted.
“Maybe we should just forget it. I can’t get the hang of it,” a frustrated Celia said, attempting to climb out of the lake.
“No you don’t,” replied Sol from the slabs. “Stay in there. You’re no mermaid, but you just need to keep practising. Go back and try again.”
“It’s all right for you, sitting there like Robinson Crusoe, with your fire and your sausages.”
“Yeah well, maybe if I see you putting some effort into your swimming, I’ll cook you one,” he said, teasingly lifting the spitting sausage from the frying pan and taking a big
bite.
Celia reluctantly waded back out into the
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