6

Michele – Nine Months Later

I hear the noise of the Hoover coming around the corner. My office door is open. I’ve been staring at the screen for over an hour, senselessly clicking on sites to waste my time. At least if I had bought a dress, a suit, some shoes. We need new towels, too. But I haven’t. I couldn’t make up my mind. If I can’t tear myself away from my desk, I should at least have gone through my emails, trying to reduce my ridiculously full inbox. But I haven’t done that either. I am mentally exhausted. It’s easier to stay glued to the computer than to focus my mind and my body on leaving. The cleaner has come around the corner. She is waving at me. I wave back with a smile. We have seen each other before. Numerous times. Although she is employed by a cleaning company, she’s probably been coming here for two, perhaps even three years. Anita from Portugal. She continues to hoover. I stare at the screen once more and can’t even make up my mind whether to buy some shoes. I don’t want to go home.

Anita has stopped hoovering and is wiping down the lift doors. I pretend to be busy at my screen. I click on the John Lewis site. I could at least order some towels. Most of our towels are a disgrace, worn so thin that they have holes and are frayed at the edges. I see the dark-blue and dark-green towels my mother-in-law gave us as a wedding present. I never liked them. I don’t want a dark colour. But I don’t want white or pink or light blue either. Hil has nice towels. Cath Kidston, that’s it. That’s where they’re from. I scroll down the towel list to see if they do Cath Kidston. I could buy a couple for Mum, too.

I’ve done the right thing with Mum moving in. The conversion worked well and they were incredibly quick. Twelve weeks from start to finish. We’ve moved her furniture and most of her stuff. We went through it with her to see what she wanted to take. Her main concerns were her pottery and Dad’s clothes. I decided that we should take all the books. I had asked the builder to put shelves along the free walls. Nearly all my parents’ books found a space. We also took the paintings. Hilary visits her every morning and I found Larissa, who comes between four and seven. I am happy with Larissa. Sarah recommended her, so she must be good.

The Cath Kidston towels on the John Lewis site have sold out. I google Cath Kidston and click on the link. Beautiful towels with lovely patterns in light colours. I order five small towels and five bath towels. Then I add two small and two big ones for Mum.

I don’t like to think of her sitting in our converted basement. I’m rarely home. I often work late. Mum doesn’t sleep much. She is always awake when I get home. And she hears me coming in, although the basement is practically a self-contained flat. But we kept the door to downstairs. In case Mum needs help quickly. And this door is always open. Mum asked for it. And of course I understand. I wouldn’t want to be locked away in a cellar either.

‘Michele, darling, is that you?’ I hear her call the moment I unlock the front door. I then feel obliged to go down and say hello and we sit together. She in her rocking chair, click-clack, click-clack, backwards and forwards. I usually make tea and sit with the cup on my lap at her kitchen table. It was easier when she was still living in her own house. Whenever I visited her, I busied myself with something – washing the dishes, washing her clothes. Now everything is already done by Larissa. And even when I go back upstairs, it’s never as if I am closing the door. I can only close the door to my bedroom now. Therefore, at the weekend, if I am at home, I tend to sleep late and then read for hours in bed. I have started to take a Thermos with me to my room in the evening. I have lukewarm coffee in the morning and can avoid going down to the kitchen. I like Mum to believe I sleep until two or three in the afternoon.

‘You are like a teenager,’ she said last Sunday.

She doesn’t of course know how right she is. She was merely referring to my weekend sleeping habits.

 

‘Mrs Michele is working late these days.’

I am startled and lift my eyes. Anita is standing in the door. I take off my reading glasses.

‘You are working late too,’ I say, smiling.

‘But my work day doesn’t start until six in the evening.’

For a moment we smile at each other in silence. I need to change the subject.

‘How is your son?’

Her son is twenty-five and has broken his leg. He is living at home again after a brief marriage. He wants to look for a job but hasn’t because of his broken leg. Apparently the fracture is not healing properly. The doctor messed up. I make the appropriate noises: ‘Oh, poor him!’ ‘Oh, poor you!’ I put my glasses back on as a sign that I need to return to my work. Just as she is about to turn away, I remember the fridge.

‘Anita, could you please clean the fridge today? Thank you.’

‘It’s on my list of things to do, don’t you worry, Mrs Michele.’

I fetch my purse from my handbag, type in my card number and pay for the towels. For a moment I hesitate, then I click on the Chie Mihara shoe site. I know their new spring/summer collection by heart. I am on this site almost every night. I have now finally made up my mind to buy a pair. After all, I am already holding the card in my hands. I order high-heeled green sandals. They will go beautifully with my red summer dress.