Then one day when she came home from school she found her mother sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the window. That wasn’t like Mum at all. Sofia had never come home from school to find Mum, already back from the morning shift or just leaving for the late shift, staring so fixedly at the window, completely oblivious to her. Was she in a world of her own? That had to be it, otherwise she would have done what she always did; she would have come over to give her a hug, or if she were busy with something she would at least have called out and asked a question or explained what she was doing. Sometimes it felt like she was a bit of a nag.
“Mum, what’s up?” she asked.
Natalya Filippovna cried. She cried during the day and she cried during the night, even in her sleep. She wasn’t even sure whether she slept at all or just cried. If she were suddenly called back to work now it was more likely than not that she wouldn’t be able to do anything because her eyes were so red and sore from crying, and her head was thumping, and she had a pain in her chest, and her fingers were trembling – there was no way she’d be able to do anything with her fingers in that state. And now there was nothing for them to do anyway.
She had of course heard that things weren’t going so well at the factory. There was talk of a crisis engulfing the global electronics industry, of things not going well with their two main clients, and that there might even be lay-offs. That’s what the gossip was – not that she really paid much attention to it, perhaps because she was, after all, above average. No doubt her age was significant but what did that matter? She was above average for accuracy and speed, had never been off sick and her daughter wasn’t so young that she’d have to stay at home on the odd occasion that Sofia happened to be ill. She was a very good, effective worker. As a result she didn’t immediately understand when they called her in for a chat and said that with regret they could not extend her contract. Later it transpired – as the women had already guessed – that only people whose temporary contracts were coming to an end were being let go. This meant that they would not be laid off – only that their contracts would not be extended any longer. Then it emerged that they were not real workers, unlike workers with permanent contracts who could not simply be discarded in this fashion because they had to be paid redundancy money. Temporary workers could merely be tossed overboard. Natalya Filippovna found it particularly insulting that everyone was treated alike; their speed and accuracy and how much supervision they required counted for nothing. They’d always been happy with her, she’d never missed a shift and now they were suddenly letting her go while the slower, careless workers were kept on just because it cost the factory more to get rid of them… She understood of course that the factory had problems. Even if they actually got rid of the less capable workers on permanent contracts, the factory might not survive, but whatever way she looked at it it felt so unfair. Why bother to monitor and congratulate and praise workers, if it counted for nothing? As she stared at the window, she wanted to hammer her fist against the glass until it bled but instead she merely wrung her hands. It didn’t matter if she broke her fingers, but a broken window would have to be paid for… And how could Sofia live here then, in a kitchen with the wind whistling through… There was no money for new glass… How much would they charge for glazing these days anyhow?
Kiira brought her back to reality. Where from she didn’t know – not from the clouds but from a black hole somewhere. “You mustn’t cry. There’s no point in you crying like this; you’ll make yourself ill and you’ve got a daughter. Who’ll feed you both and what are you thinking of – that your daughter’ll end up on the street? You’ve got to find a job quickly,” Kiira scolded.
That was true all right. She had to find a job quickly. Not just any job because Sofia’s braces were waiting and she was still 7,500 kroons short. It wasn’t just the braces though – if she got behind with the rent they’d be evicted. She had half a mind to walk into the sea, the cold grey sea, go as far as she could, first wading and then drowning, going ever onwards for as long as she could – until it was so cold already that she would just freeze to death and have no more worries. But where would that leave Sofia? The very thought that she could think like this at all – forgetting her child, not caring about her, not caring about the braces – drove her back to tears.
“Stop snivelling! There’s no point in crying. You’ve got a child to feed and bring up. You can’t let it get you down,” chided Kiira. “Here, have another swig!”
The wine was good. The wine had a relaxing, softening effect, like being enveloped in soft cotton wool.
“I mustn’t get drunk,” she said. “If Sofia comes home and sees her mum drunk…”
“Don’t worry,” said Kiira, “we won’t have any more, we’re not men – we won’t drown our sorrows. We’ve only had enough to lighten the mood, just this one swig, we’ll have a good strong brew and then we’ll see…”
And they did as Kiira said. Natalya Filippovna registered as unemployed: the benefit wasn’t enough even to pay half the rent, but it was supplemented by a housing allowance and now every cent really counted because unemployment benefits were available only for a few months and there was very little hope of getting work at the job centre. She’d been hoping for a job as a caretaker or dishwasher or cleaning lady. The pay was really low – the minimum wage – and there’d be no paying for braces on that, but at least they wouldn’t be thrown out of the flat. It would be just until she found something better. In the past she’d held down three caretaker jobs… But now she learnt that these jobs had all been taken long ago by pensioners, because pensions weren’t enough to live on. After all, a bit of snow shovelling in the early morning never did anyone any harm… And caretaker jobs were much sought after; you couldn’t just walk into one like in the old days. They all asked for work experience! Only qualified caretakers with previous work experience were in demand. Yes, specially qualified. Your caretaker work was no longer what it used to be. Now they had different brushes and sponges and pastes and powders, polishing wax for the floor and all kinds of machines, and everywhere they said you had to speak the official language. If the client said or asked something in the official language you had to be able to answer – it was the same for shop assistants – you had to be able to understand and reply! But the moment she was asked a question and had to reply, Natalya Filippovna understood nothing – her face went red, she bit her lip, and a rushing sound filled her ears, muffling her hearing. It always happened just when she was asked a question that required an answer and because of the swishing sound it was impossible to understand anything or think of a response… The only thing she got at the job centre was depression…
Then one day Kiira arrived with some news: there was A WAY OUT! There was a job, although not a permanent one – a temporary job as a replacement so it was only definite for a couple of months, perhaps four or five, that was the downside – but there was no need to give up the benefits, and the work was in the evenings. The job was a bit like being a carer for the sick, and it would be cash in hand every evening. And there was no need for the official language, in fact there was no need for any language. Only a patient mindset. How could it be – a job like this?