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Merg

A short story by Ker Wallwork

Merg blinked. She knew it was a social worker, she’d heard the name
and maybe seen photos in books or documentaries, but it was peculiar
seeing one here on the floor in front of her. They were archaic things that
didn’t look right in the contemporary world, it was like seeing a dodo or
a floppy disk.
“I guess they are re-wilding nowadays,” Merg thought to herself.
“If wolves are being reintroduced to Scotland, perhaps social workers
are being reintroduced to England.”
The social worker readjusted her clothes, yanking up her tights and
smoothing out her skirt in an instinctive but neat little jump. She gathered the papers that had heralded her arrival, and made a half-hearted
attempt at ordering them. She then fixed a glassy smile on Merg, tilting
her head slightly.
Merg slowly straightened her back from the 90 degree angle she had
been examining the papers from. They stood in silence eyeing one
another. The social worker occasionally changing the direction of her
professionally-perfected head tilt.
A hefty silence continued between them until Merg could take it no more
and announced:
“You crawled out of the woodwork.”
This was obviously the wrong thing to say as a stain of annoyance
spread through the social worker’s smile.
“Well… no, not exactly,” she said as she adjusted her glasses, “I
don’t make a habit of crawling. And besides, where else, exactly, would
you expect me to be? It’s not like the old days when we had departments,
offices, filing cabinets. Our resources have been decimated.”
The social worker stretched her mouth back into its closed-lip curve of
concern.
“But more importantly, how are you today Maeve?”
“Merg,” said Merg.
“Oh dear, that doesn’t sound very good,” said the social worker.
“Now, let’s see what we can do to get you back into work.”
Merg stared at the social worker, who produced a pen and lined pad, and
sat on the edge of the bed looking expectantly at her.
“Uh…” began Merg.
“Now, now,” said the social worker. “It’s not going to help you, is
it? Being lazy. I understand that currently you are in hospital but I cannot
stress enough just how important it is to keep the right attitude, mmkay?
Alright? Now, let’s see… yes, here it is, HWC the Health and Work
Conversation, a quick but effective way to help claimants feel more open
to taking on challenges, during the WCA and beyond.”
She studied the top page of a thick wodge of A4 sheets, and in a monotone rush read:
“I would like to start this discussion by acknowledging that you have
name of condition but let’s quickly move onto something positive you
have mentioned, such as an activity you enjoy doing.”

The social worker smiled hopefully at Merg. “Now, Maeve, what was it
you said you enjoyed?”
“I… um… I mean… What?” said Merg.
The social worker looked disappointed.
“You don’t want to become addicted to being ill now Maeve, do
you? You must look towards the future. Work is vital to your self-worth
and right now you seem quite defensive. I think you would benefit from
spending some time thinking about what’s really important to you. Here,
this should help you be more open with me, okay?”
“I only just got here,” said Merg, taking the sheet of paper the
social worker was thrusting towards her. “I’m not sure I’m even meant to
leave this room.”
“Yet,” said the social worker. “Not meant to leave this room yet.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” said Merg. “What’s the point of
this? I thought I was going to see a doctor this morning.”
“Your medical treatment has nothing to do with me, Maeve. My
work is more holistic than that,” the social worker rose to her feet, her
joints making a splintering sound as she moved towards the door before
pausing, giving Merg a cold look.
“Honestly, I would love to be in your position, lying about doing
nothing. Do you have any idea how tired I am? How difficult this job is?
I’ve got a lot of appointments after this one, you know, with people who
are much worse than you are. And that’s before we even get to the
paperwork.
“Even with all the will in the world, I can only help those who
are willing to help themselves. At the end of the day it’s up to you what
you get out of my support. Time waits for no man…” she looked quizzically at Merg. “Or... woman? But the point is, okay, that it’s your decision. Now, are you going to at least try to help yourself, Maeve?”
Merg wanted the social worker to go away, so she nodded.
“Good. Well, I am supposed to remind you that your commitments are voluntary, okay, but I will be arranging a follow up to discuss
with you how you have got on, and there may be consequences if I don’t
feel you are sufficiently engaged with the process. It really is very important that you engage fully with this exercise, it will help when you come
to create your Labour Market System Action Plan, okay?”
As the social worker was speaking, Merg noticed that the panel of
frosted safety glass in the door behind her was beginning to change.
Stripes were emerging in its gridded surface. Clear, then frost, clear, then
frost, clear, then frost. Visible in these clear stripes, and suggested in the
frosted ones, was a round brown face. Handsome and smiling.
The owner of the face knocked, opened the door, and entered the room in
a swift movement, then stood there, still smiling.
“Oh, hello,” said the social worker. “Maeve and I were just
finishing up, weren’t we Maeve? I’ll be arranging a follow up.”
The new face nodded. “Very good,” it said.
“Right, yes, well, I’ll just sign out then,” the social worker
hesitated, glancing at the skirting board.
“GOODBYE MAEVE, YOU TAKE CARE,” she said, her voice
inexplicably increasing in volume and slowing in speed, before she
darted through the open door.
“Mary, my friend!” the new face said without skipping a beat. “I
am Aisha, it is a pleasure to meet you. I will be your named nurse. Did
you have breakfast? You know where the refreshment area is? You’ll

have to ask if you want anything hot, a tea or a bath. But first, of course,
we will have some paperwork to do.”
Aisha picked up the papers that the social worker had left behind and
arranged them with her own stack of paper, carefully interleaving the
sheets one by one.
“Okay, so we will be doing the CBAB version of the assessment,” she said
“The kebab version?” asked Merg.
“Yes, that’s right. You know, a version is a particular form of
something that is slightly different from other forms of the same thing,”
said Aisha kindly. “So, we’re going to do the CBAB version, which is
slightly unlike the previous CPA version, which was a development on
the SMEL formulation.”
“Oh... right...” said Merg.
“So with the CBAB assessment, this has been designed to complement and build on solution-focused training. It is a conversation, it is
claimant-led, it is holistic, it is calm. So it will help you, the customer, to
think about what you value in life beyond health and work.”
Aisha plonked herself down on the edge of the bed, leafing through the
papers.
“So… to assess the extent to which your capability for work may
be improved by the taking of steps in relation to your physical or mental
con…”
She stopped mid-sentence looking around the room despondently. Merg
waited, not sure if this was part of the assessment. She watched a gridded square of light flicker across the floor.
“A strong wind/ the changing light/ a moment’s peace and quiet:
moves you/ proves you.”
Aisha rubbed her eyes and said quietly: “Things are not themselves.”
“Sorry?” said Merg.
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” said Aisha. “Form does not follow
function, it follows vision. Vision follows reality and honestly, what a
miserable reality to have chosen as your guide, but here we are. A world
with no imagination. These windows, that sink. A farce. What comfort in
these pastel walls, that synthetic blanket? None. None at all. Not that
they’ll admit it but a bed is not a bed, is not a bed, is not a bed.”
She stared glumly at the armchair opposite. “This chair looks fat,” she
said, nudging it with her toe. “It’s weighted down, but fat as it may be,
there is no pleasant softness to be found. It’s wipe clean and mean.”
She rubbed her eyes and forehead again.
“But you know what I’m supposed to tell you? I’m supposed to tell you

to take this time and throw it to the bottom of the garden. Let the worms
eat it. Don’t look back, don’t reflect.
“And in a place of fat chairs and thin support it might be what’s best,
keep moving, get on, get away. But if you’re moving externally while
keeping lumpen inside, then why would you bother, Mary?
“The day that you don’t look back on the previous and exclaim to
yourself that dear Lord, yesterday I was barely conscious, a mere rock
being kicked along the dirt, but today my understanding runs deeper,
today I see further, that is a day that your consciousness has indeed
ceased. You are done, finished, kaput. A rest is no excuse for congealing…”
Aisha was interrupted by a sudden cry from the radio belted to her waist.
“The concept of time has never returned.
“The concept of time has not yet returned.”
“An emergency Mary, I must go,” said Aisha, smiling once more
as she scuttled out of the door.
Merg sits on the fat chair and looks out the window. The building she is
in wraps around a small courtyard. It is nearing dark on the grey square
of tarmac below, but in the blue above, a seagull flies so high its belly
glows pink. Merg watches it rise higher, becoming a radiant orb before
splitting into two, gliding side by side.

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