Broken by Ilsa Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

her. This
couldn’t
happen to her.
    But it had. And, after a few moments during which her sudden panic attack threatened to send her back out into the safety of the atrium, she got her breathing under control and forced herself to walk slowly past the chairs and join the queue snaking up towards the Parenting Claims counter. She stood behind a young dark-haired woman with a stroller that contained a baby suffering from a nasty cold. With red-rimmed eyes and a constantly running nose, every so often the child punctuated the silence with a loud sneeze that sprayed the air around with tiny droplets of clear mucus.
    â€˜Sorry.’ The young woman mopped the baby’s nose with the corner of a towelling nappy and glanced apologetically at Mattie. ‘I’d have rather kept her home but I had to come and fix up a mistake. I
had
to.’
    â€˜That’s okay.’ Mattie tried to smile understandingly, although she really didn’t. How could a mother bring out a child who was so clearly unwell? She stood back and looked away, trying to avoid further conversation. She didn’t belong here.
    It took twenty-five minutes, with the sick child sneezing every five minutes or so, before the young woman with the stroller was called up to the counter and Mattie’s toes fronted the yellow line. There ensued a hushed conversation during which the baby’s sneezes were greeted not with the nappy but with a distracted rocking of the stroller as its mother concentrated on the Centrelink representative behind the counter. This was a plump man of about forty, with a receding head of thin, sandy hair that flowed down to his shoulders at the back. Mattie glanced behind her and was not surprised to see a line of about seven people, all women, snaking back to where she had started over half an hour ago.
    â€˜Next, please!’
    Mattie whipped around to see that the young mother was finished and had pushed the stroller over to the side where she was cleaning up her offspring. Neither looked happy The man behind the counter – Brian, according to his nametag – smiled politely as Mattie walked up, feeling like a fraud. As if he would realise, immediately, that she didn’t belong here and send her on her way.
    â€˜How can I help you?’
    â€˜I made an appointment last week, for nine-thirty. Um, see I’ve just left my – that is, my marriage has broken down and I wanted to apply for a single mother’s pension.’
    â€˜It’s called a parenting payment now,’ said Brian cheerfully, turning towards a computer screen set slightly to one side of him. ‘What’s your name?’
    â€˜Matilda Anne Hampton.’
    Brian pressed a few keys and turned back to her, smiling genially. ‘I’ve let the interviewer know that you’re here so it shouldn’t be too long. Just take a seat over there.’ He waved to the rows of seats. ‘Next!’
    Mattie moved away as the next person, a plump young red-haired woman, quickly took her place. She stood still for a moment, staring back at Brian as he dealt with the woman in the exact same cheerful manner that he had shown her. No difference at all. She looked away quickly before he saw her staring and turned to the seating by the glass doors. There were about twenty-five people sitting there. In the front row was the young woman with the ill child, rocking the stroller while the baby cried fretfully Next to her was a hugely overweight woman, her bulk overflowing onto the seat either side, who glared at the young mother every time the child sneezed. Then there was a young Muslim couple, the wife with her head modestly covered, and a very well-behaved toddler. On the last chair sat a young man, his legs splayed, who had a large black-inked tattoo running down his left arm that looked very much like train station graffiti. And that was just the front row. There were another four rows behind that.
    Mattie’s stomach