It’s Janet

This story contains sensitive content, please be advised



    There were just two working the helpline’s dead shift, Janet and supervisor Ivan, as Shannon had called in sick, again.

“Typical,” Janet tutted after Ivan told her she’d be on her own.

    “She’s got a lot on her plate,” Ivan said, pulling on his headset.

    “What happens when I get my ‘caller’? You know I’m not supposed to rush anyone.” Janet had received a number of advisory comments during her volunteering.

“Don’t sigh when someone tells you how they’re feeling.”

“You can’t get up and walk about mid call.”

“Suggesting someone gets their nails done as a way of ‘cheering them up’ is inappropriate.”

She’d thought about chucking the whole thing in and would’ve done if it hadn’t been for her ‘caller’. Her line rang, she looked at the number on her monitor and saw it wasn’t who she was waiting for.

“Community Helpline, it’s Janet, are you happy to talk?”

The line was quiet, all she could hear was breathing.

“Don’t feel you have to rush,” Janet added, hoping it would prompt them to at least hang up.

“I’m desperate,” a woman said quietly.

Janet gave it a few beats before speaking, “What’s making you feel like this?” She wasn’t interested, it was in the script.

“I don’t feel safe.” The woman was crying.

Janet reached for her coffee and looked over at Ivan who’d taken a call himself, good, she thought, he won’t be listening in to me. “Tell me about it,” Janet reached for a pen and began to doodle.

“My husband is always angry with me, he walked out recently.”

Janet twizzled her hair, hoping this moaner would finish up soon in case ‘he’ called tonight.

“We all have good days and bad days. Are you on any medication? Antidepressants?”

There was a long pause, “No, why?”

“Sounds like what you need is a little pick-me-up.”

“I’m at my wits end,” the caller began to sob, “I’m scared of him.”

An outdated dial tone indicated the caller was gone. Janet predicted another complaint, but she couldn’t care less. People shouldn’t expect anything from anyone, you’re on your own in this life and you swim or drown.

Her phone began to ring again, and she recognised the number this time, “Community Helpline, it’s Janet, are you happy to talk?”

“Hello Janet, it’s me.”

She felt a warm rush as he spoke, his voice calm and quiet, intimate and familiar.

“How are you doing?” She didn’t want to frighten him away like she did with other callers.

“Uh, not great, actually. I guess that’s why I’m calling.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Tell me what’s happening with you at the moment, don’t feel you have to rush.” Janet had often tried to imagine what he looked like, smelt like, how his touch would feel. She had boundless patience with this stranger, to offer a listening ear, to share his worries.

“It’s her again, and our kid. She, my wife, is always on and on about me always being at work, not spending time with our daughter, the usual.”

Janet would never treat a man like him in that way.

“Have you taken any steps to change things?” Her advice, though she wasn’t supposed to offer it, was for him to leave his wife, the ‘bitch’ as she’d once whispered to him when Ivan’s back was turned.

“Sort of. I didn’t want to walk out on our daughter, which wouldn’t be fair, but I’ve moved out of the house temporarily. And my wife is upset about it. She’s very, er, up and down, temperamental.” His voice quieted to a whisper, so faint Janet could barely hear him, especially as his phone sounded ancient, crackling and popping, “I have a plan though.”

Leave your wife for me, Janet dreamed, a thousand divergent futures of them running away together, setting up home, exotic holidays, hand in hand on sun kissed tropical shores, scenarios in which she and him were entwined.

He whispered slowly, “I’m going to kill her.”

Ivan made hot drinks. The dead shift wasn’t for everyone, that was for sure. He used to work nights at the chemical plan, so his body was accustomed. Janet, bless her, claimed to have always suffered from insomnia since she was kid, so she could take the endless nights and still emerge bright eyed and bushy tailed at the morning handover.

He wished Janet wasn’t so, well, Janet. Awkward and opinionated, bluntly matter of fact, often frustrated with people. She had some good traits, admittedly; she tried hard and was diligent and thorough and if she didn’t take against a caller she’d occasionally be quite good. To be honest, the only reason he hadn’t ended her volunteer contract is because no one else wanted the dead shift, and so he was stuck with her.

“Did I hear you talking to our regular caller?” Ivan took a mug of tea to Janet’s desk. She looked shocked.

“Were you listening in?”

“You have a gentler manner when he calls. He must trust you. Can’t you try to be more like that with everyone?” Ivan put his headset on and ignored Janet’s medusa stare.

Bloody cheek, she thought, scrawling a doodle angrily, scouring through her pad and into the desk. Obviously, she’d told Ivan about her problems, her past, the reasons why she wanted to volunteer with vulnerable people going through desperate times. He was only a helpline supervisor, he needed to stop being so up himself.

Her line rang, “Community Helpline, it’s Janet, are you happy to talk?”

The line was quiet and then a woman’s voice, subdued, spoke, “I called earlier and hung up. I’m sorry about that. I get upset about the silliest things.”

Yes, you do, thought Janet, pull yourself together and snap out of it, “Is there something you want to talk about?”

Again, a long pause before the woman spoke, “I mentioned my husband, he left us. There’s something wrong. He comes around now and again, to see our daughter obviously, but whenever he’s here he seems quiet, menacing somehow.”

“Has he threatened to hurt you or your daughter?” Janet liked a drama, and especially the domestic violence ones. If it sounded juicy, she’d report the number and details to Ivan who took it off her and went to the police.

“He’s threatened me in the past. Not my daughter.”

“What sort of threats?” Janet clicked her pen, sketching first a noose and then a knife.

“He said he wished I was dead,” the caller began to sob.

Janet’s training advised she allow the caller to weep, to express their feelings. Disinclined to follow guidelines she tapped the pen on her teeth, letting out a long, weary sigh.

“Are you still there?” asked the woman, the line crackled, her voice stammering as she fought to catch her breath.

“I’m still here. So, have you spoken to the police about your husband’s threat?”

“No,” the caller hissed, fighting to remain calm, “How could I do that? I’m sure men make threats like this all the time?”

That was true, thought Janet, her own father had threatened to murder her mother time and again. They thought she couldn’t hear his bullying abuse and her pathetic pleas, but she could, the walls in the house were paper thin.

Janet’s training finally led her to make one comment, should Ivan listen in again, “If you think these threats are serious you should report them to the police.” Not that it made much difference, Janet reflected, especially given what happened in her childhood home, her father a police sergeant after all.

“I’ll have to think about that. Is that what you recommend I do?”

Janet yawned, unconcerned if the woman heard her, “Not recommend, suggest. It’s your choice, you’re a grown woman.”

A dial tone buzzed then died. Janet stretched her arms over her head then waved at Ivan, head down over a pile of forms, “I’m going to the loo.”

Janet checked her mobile phone when she sat back at her desk. No messages because she had no one to message her. Idly, she began to revisit that daydream she had of being tracked down by the man on the phone, of him falling deeply in love with her, their quiet yet elegant marriage, honeymooning somewhere nice and warm but not too hot as she burned easily and didn’t like exposing her skin.

The phone interrupted her fantasy. It was him, again.

“Hi. I’m sorry I hung up. I’m staying at the house, visiting my daughter, and I didn’t want my wife overhearing.”

About you planning to kill her, I’m not surprised, thought Janet, thrilled he’d called back, “I understand. How are you feeling now?”

“It’s good to talk to someone, I suppose. I’m in a difficult position with work and home, and men definitely find it harder to open up, don’t they?”

Janet agreed, “It’s easier for women to talk about their feelings, that’s for sure.” That’s why she was so bored with their bloody neurosis. She began to doodle again.

“I feel comfortable talking to you, Janet. I’m trapped, that’s what I feel like. I never wanted a kid, which was her fault. Getting pregnant, taking me hostage, forcing me to get married.”

Women can be such bitches, Janet agreed. Her mum had done the same thing to her dad, though back in the sixties being a single mother was a definite no-no, not like today where it was par for the course.

“I want out. Freedom.”

Janet was swept away by her imagination’s rapture, barely able to contain herself, wanting to scream, beg, ‘Me, take me, I’ll never hold you back’. Instead, she kept her head, “If you could be free without harming your wife, what would you do?”

His tone changed, “I thought you understood how I felt?”

Sorry, sorry, thought Janet, I didn’t mean to upset you, please forgive me, “What I mean is, you’d be robbed of your liberty if you committed murder, you’d lose your daughter as well.” Like my dad, she thought, sent down and died in jail, leaving me to be raised by my lousy grandparents, who never wanted me and made no show of hiding it.

“This call is confidential, isn’t it? You don’t record them?”

“No, not even for training purposes. Your confidentiality is fundamental to the integrity of our organisation,” She read that off the flyers littered around the gloomy office.

He sounded relieved, though his voice retaining a steely note, “That’s good to know. I mean, if I thought you knew who I was, and something did happen to my wife, it could create an issue.”

Janet leaned back in her chair, briefly looking around the monitor to check Ivan wasn’t listening in, which the software allowed supervisors to do. He wasn’t. He was flicking through a ream of timesheets.

The caller’s attitude slightly unnerved her for the first time, though he was probably joshing with her because of his mental strain, that’s what it was. People say and do the oddest things when they’re desperate.

“The thing is, Janet, I think I may have to act fast.”

The line buzzed.

“Hello, hello?” Janet said quietly, wishing she had a receiver to tap repeatedly as they did in black and white films when callers got cut off during a tense scene.

“Everything okay?” asked Ivan, attaching a bulldog clip to his paperwork. “I’ve just got to go next door to the filing cabinet.”

That was shorthand for him standing on the fire escape for a quick cigarette and to check Tindr. She gave him a weak smile and watched him leave. With a deep breath she reread her notes. Was he really the sort of man who could kill his wife? How did she feel about that? If the end justified the means and he didn’t mind shacking up with a retired civil servant on a decent pension with her own home and time on her hands, then, why not?

A call came through on the other line. She recognised it was from that bloody woman again.

“Community Helpline, it’s Janet, are you happy to talk?” her voice was flat, bored.

“Oh, Janet, hi, I called earlier. I thought about what you said. You’re right of course.”

Janet snorted, of course she was.

“I’m a grown woman in charge of my own destiny. He’s in the house to see our daughter and I feel he hates me, he blames me for getting pregnant and for tying him down.” The words tumbled out, Janet not bothering to do more than catch the gist, paraphrasing on her pad, ‘paranoid cow’.

“This is a helpline for people in distress, not a legal hotline. You can try the Citizen’s Advice Bureau if you need a divorce lawyer.” She didn’t mean to be callous, but honestly.

“I hadn’t considered divorce, I don’t think I can,” The woman sounded quiet, frightened. Her next words were a breathy rush, “He said he could make me disappear, in a way that no one would ever find me. He could do it too with his job, he knows people.”

Sounds like he’d be doing us all a favour. Janet unscrewed her pen and let the little spring and refill bounce off her pad.

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating things. Is there anything you can do to protect yourself if you genuinely feel threatened?”

The woman was clearly thinking on the end of the line, Janet could hear her humming to herself, like her mum used to, “I could do something, I’m sure. I have to go, he’s coming downstairs.”

Again, the line died with a prolonged tone Janet thought had been done away with donkey’s years ago. She made a note to get Ivan to speak to that nutter next time she called, she’d had a bellyful for one night. She noted the number then screwed up her face in a wince of half-recognition. Did she know that number? Perhaps it was someone she’d worked with years ago, it was possible. Making a note she tore it from the pad when the next call began. It was him.

“Community Helpline…”

“Janet, I’m glad it’s you,” his voice cut in, hard, serious, in control.

She liked that. He had this sensitive side beneath a brusque veneer, her ideal man. She’d long wondered what he looked like, and had conjured up a tall, quiet type with a chiselled jaw, no beard though, she didn’t like them. His eyes were a Nordic blue, and his hair was cut short, his shoulders were broad, his hips slender and his…

“I’ve done it. She’s gone.”

You’re kidding me? Janet spun in her chair to see if Ivan was back. She was alone in the office. Should she wait or act now?

“Gone? Dead? That can’t be the case, surely? Is your daughter safe?”

The man’s voice was hoarse, weary yet resolute, “Talking to you has been so helpful, Janet. I feel you really understand what I’ve been going through. I couldn’t have done this without your support.”

He hung up. Quickly she dialled the first responder’s line and got through to someone, “Police, please. I have a telephone number, not an address. I think a woman has been attacked.”

Ivan stood gripping his mug in the kitchen as Janet shook her head, not looking at him.

“I could have stopped him. I…”

“I’ve heard you talking to him, night after night. Who was that other caller you’ve had? They called back more than once, didn’t they?”

Janet nodded and handed over her scribble pad, lines and drawings weaving all over the page. The woman’s number was jotted down in a corner along with Janet’s less than charitable observations.

“It’s the same number as his,” Ivan flicked the pad with his finger.

Janet wrested the pad from his grip and looked at it. Impossible. She’d have noticed, surely.

“I must have written it down wrong,” she mumbled. She felt tired, it had been too much tonight, that’s why she’d made mistakes. Maybe she was sickening for something?

“I’ll check the computer.”

She watched as Ivan pulled up the call log from late in the night into the early hours of the morning. He seemed confused.

“Are you sure you’ve been talking to people?”

“Of course I am, I’m not a bloody idiot,” she snapped. Hands on hips she looked at Ivan’s screen. There were no calls listed. “I don’t understand,” she started, when the door was pushed open and two uniformed police officers appeared.

“We got a call for an urgent home visit? Phone number only?”

Ivan left his computer and stood between the police and Janet, growing increasingly concerned. She’d made an awful mistake, he could feel it. He knew she meant well, but…

“We had the number on record, but it’s not a current landline. A house on New Street, number changed about forty years ago, same couple have lived there all this time. Retired now. This number belonged to a family called Baker.”

“That’s my name,” Janet blurted. She felt sick.

“Is that right? So, are you related to Derek Baker, the police inspector?”

Janet could only nod, she thought she was going to throw up. His voice. She knew his voice. And hers, her mother’s.

“He’s been dead at least twenty years, went to prison for murdering his wife. Is this some sort of prank?”

Ivan put his hand on Janet’s shoulder, “She’s not well. Please, leave it with me, I’ll take care of her. She won’t cause you any more problems.”

Janet watched as the door closed behind the departing figures, and Ivan guided her gently to her coat.

“I spoke to him, I swear I did. And her. She spoke to me, and I was awful, horrible.”

“Janet,” said Ivan, “I think you need some time to rest. Don’t worry about coming in again. I’ll call you if I need you.”