CHAPTER 192

BRIAN POV

The whole town knows Moona Avii is staying with Cain. Three different people question me on my way to the office, three nosey fuckers without anything better to be worrying about.

      Yes, she’s staying with Cain. Yes, she’s working for him.

      The gossips will talk, rumours will ripple. Maybe some of them will even be close to the truth.

 I know I’m going to have to face Alice, but I head to my desk first and turn on my PC. I’ve no idea yet what I’m going to say to her, and I’ve never been a man to lie – that’s not my style, but I’m not about to offer up the full, honest truth to her either.

Not when I’m still coming to terms with it myself.

      If I weren’t so invested in helping the poor kids in my books that need someone to fight their corner, none of this would bother me.

      But there’s no arguing the fact that I’ve stepped over professional boundaries, even if Moona Avii is a case all of her own. I’ve stepped over lines that would be impossible to justify to co-workers, and my board, and the agencies I work with.

 I contemplate resigning, but the thought pains me. I’m good at what I do. I work damn hard, give it everything I’ve got.

      I care more about my job than anyone else in this building, but that won’t be enough.

   Alice heads right on through before my day officially starts. She takes a seat opposite me, her back bolt upright as she clutches a file of paperwork in her lap.

 “When did you know about Moona Avii?” she asks.

      I look her straight in the eye. “It moved fast, a couple of days ago. Cain came back from business and she was already at his. She said his fencing was a disgrace and he gave her a shot at fixing it.”

“I see.” She nods. “You didn’t say anything.”

     

“Amie and Nick didn’t want to know. The police weren’t interested in locating her, not now she’s an adult, and officially she’s off our case list. I didn’t see what relevance it had.”

      “It doesn’t,” she agrees. “But I’m still surprised you didn’t mention it.”

      I don’t break eye contact. “Well, now you know.”

      “And this is permanent, is it? Her position on his property?”

      “She’s doing a good job, he certainly has no complaints.”

      She sighs. “Poor sod. I hope you’ve told him what he’s letting himself in for.”

  

And that’s it. I can see it in her eyes. She’s no more interested in Moona Avii than anyone else around here beyond having someone to sigh and gawp over.

      “Cain’s making good progress with her. We both are.”

      “I’m glad to hear it,” she lies. “I hope the girl sorts herself out.” She taps her fingers on her paperwork and I wonder what it is now it’s obviously not my official written notice. “You haven’t been home this weekend, I take it that you’re helping Cain with Moona?”

      “I am.”

 She smiles. “You really do take your work seriously, Brian.” The smile disappears as she flips open her file. 

“Which is why it pains me to say that the official quarter’s budget has been released. It’s another cut, I’m afraid. I only got the memo this morning.”

      I raise my eyebrows. “Another cut? But they slashed it to bits last quarter.”

      She sighs. “And they’re slashing it again. Donations aren’t what they once were and you know what the state of services is like around here. At this rate we won’t get any funding at all by the end of this financial year.”

      Fuck.

      It’s not that I haven’t seen the cuts to services. In a rural community like this they affect all of us. I’ve seen the local police cutbacks, I’ve watched smaller charity organisations fold under the pressure or merge with other branches. I’ve been at local school fundraisers, giving my time to fund things that should never have to be funded with private donations.

      “We knew it was coming,” she says.

      I shake my head. “I didn’t think we’d get hit with cutbacks twice in a row.”

      She shrugs. “Yeah, well, me neither.” She hands the file across my desk and my mouth drops open as I see the scale of the deficit and the proposals in place to handle our existing commitments.

     

“No,” I say. “It can’t be.”

   “It can be, and it is,” she says. “Two months tops with each of our cases from here on in, fortnightly sessions instead of weekly. I’m going to have to let a few members of the team go. I’ll break it to them after our morning catch up and call a team meeting later in the week to announce all this officially.”

      “Fortnightly sessions for two months isn’t going to do anything to help these kids,” I tell her, like she doesn’t already know.

      “My hands are tied,” she says. “All our hands are tied, we’re just going to have to do our best.”

      But my best will never be good enough, not under these conditions.

      My career is turning to dust before my eyes, not because of any dubious choices I’ve made this weekend, but because our whole funding infrastructure is going to the dogs.

      “I’m sorry, Brian,” she says again. “I know how much this job means to you, I know how much you care about your service users.”

      Service users.

      She means kids. Kids without prospects. Kids who need us.

      Kids who have been let down by the system.

     

   Kids who’ve never known anyone to be on their side.

      “We can’t work like this,” I tell her but she shrugs again.

      “It’s not my call,” she says. “Please keep this to yourself until after the official announcement.”

      Luckily, I’m good at keeping things confidential.

      I try to think of ways to reverse the funding decision right up until my first meeting.

      But I have nothing.

    Alice’s right, we can only do our best.

But my best isn’t going to be enough any longer. It’s going to be nowhere close.