On Saturday, Aisha asked if she could use the library room again. Her phone signal at home was unreliable, and she wanted to hear the advice worker without standing beside an upstairs window.
Marianne agreed. I made the booking in the ordinary way and told Aisha she did not have to report the call’s contents to me.
“Would you mind staying for the beginning?” she asked. “Just while I get the dates straight.”
I stayed. The adviser, Leanne, asked who else was present and whether Aisha was happy to continue.
Leanne established the immediate problem: a confirmed job, a gap before wages, and transport that did not fit the first shift. She offered to check local options and helped Aisha identify what to ask the agency.
After ten minutes, Aisha gave me a small nod towards the door. I left with the list of dates she had asked me to write down.
In the corridor, Celia was waiting beside the noticeboard.
“Vivienne mentioned there was a transport problem.”
I glanced back at the closed door.
“Did Aisha ask you to come?”
“I’m offering to drive. Andrew doesn’t need the car that early.”
It was a practical offer. A week earlier I might have accepted on Aisha’s behalf, grateful to have a solution ready before she came out.
“I’ll ask whether she’d like to discuss it.”
“Where does she live?”
“She can tell you if she chooses to.”
Celia’s expression cooled.
“It’s hard to arrange a lift without an address.”
“It’s hard to arrange one without her agreeing first.”
A child at the end of the corridor dropped a box of pencils. Celia bent to help before I had moved. She gathered the pencils, handed them back and smiled at the embarrassed father. Her kindness did not switch off because we were arguing.
When they had gone, she lowered her voice.
“You think everything I do has an ulterior motive now.”
“I think she gets to choose who knows where she lives.”
The room door opened. Aisha came out holding her phone and looking more alert than she had yesterday.
I introduced Celia and described the offer without recommending it. Aisha thanked her but said she was waiting on the agency’s arrangement.
“It might be useful as a backup,” Celia said.
“If I need one, I’ll ask.”
Celia wrote her number on the back of an old receipt. Aisha accepted it. There was no offence in the exchange until Celia tried to add a question about who else was at home in the mornings.
“I’ve got that covered,” Aisha said.
She turned to me and asked for the dates. I handed them over.
After Celia left, Aisha exhaled.
“Does everyone need the whole story?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m running out of versions short enough for strangers.”
She showed me the note Leanne had helped her make. The agency could ask whether an initial later shift was possible. The other worker had now agreed to speak to her. A small local assistance scheme might consider the short gap, but nothing had been approved.
“It’s still a lot of maybes,” I said.
“Yes. But they’re different maybes. Yesterday I thought there was one person with a purse and I had to make her like me.”
I knew whom she meant. I also recognised how much of our arrangement had depended on gratitude arriving before help.
Vivienne called while Aisha was packing her folder. With Aisha’s permission, I said that she had spoken to the advice service and was pursuing options. I did not give a summary of her finances.
“Shall I ask Peter to contact the employer?” Vivienne asked.
I repeated the question to Aisha.
“No,” she said immediately. “I don’t want them thinking the neighbourhood has to negotiate my job.”
Vivienne heard. To her credit, she accepted the answer without a second attempt.
Before leaving, Aisha asked whether she owed anything for the room.
“No. It’s booked through the library.”
“Not through your group?”
“Not through our group.”
Her shoulders relaxed. I had not realised she was still holding them so high.
That evening she messaged to say the agency had arranged a later start for the first two days, followed by a shared lift she could pay for when her wages arrived. One short transport gap remained. Leanne was helping her check it.
I read the message twice, then resisted the impulse to forward it to everyone.
I deleted the draft message I’d started to Vivienne. Aisha could tell her when she wanted to.