Wednesday

‘Why do you want to work for us?’

Sheila Boland was smaller than she appeared on camera, but even more formidable. Sam was not intimidated, however. The more she thought about this job, the more she realised it was perfect for her. She would be able to work around the children and she would be doing what she knew best. Now she just had to convince Ms Boland.

‘The kind of work you described on the television is what I love doing,’ Sam explained. ‘And I believe I’m good at it.’

‘Why do you think you’re so good at it?’

‘My husband has an executive position. He hasn’t lifted a finger around the house in years, he doesn’t even close doors. I do everything. But I don’t mind, I enjoy it.’

‘That still doesn’t tell me why you want a job with us.’

Sam hesitated. She had to be honest with this woman if she was going to work for her. It would come out soon enough anyhow. ‘My husband and I have separated.’

‘I see,’ said Sheila, pursing her lips together. She sat back in her chair, considering Sam.

‘I need the work, that’s true,’ Sam admitted. ‘But I already have a job one day a week and I’ve been offered more shifts. I just feel that if I’m going to have to work longer hours, I would rather be doing something I love.’

Sheila was still studying her. Sam found it a little disconcerting.

‘So, separated,’ she said eventually, writing it down. ‘How many children?’

‘Three,’ Sam replied. ‘Two girls and a –’

‘Are they all in school?’ Sheila interrupted, apparently not interested in the details.

‘My youngest is in pre-school two days a week.’

‘And you say you do everything around the house?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘We’re not interested in housework, you understand. This isn’t a cleaning service. It’s how you manage the house that’s important. Who pays the bills?’

‘I do.’

‘Did your husband allot you a certain amount of money for housekeeping?’

Sam had to smile. ‘I’m not sure that my husband was even aware what was in his pay packet each week. I used to give him pocket money, for want of a better term.’

Sheila was busily jotting notes. ‘Good, good. Who dealt with tradesmen, repairs, that kind of thing?’ she continued.

‘I did. We had a pool put in earlier this year and I handled everything.’ She’d had trouble even getting Jeff to have input on the colour of the tiles.

‘What about gift-buying?’

‘I do it all.’

‘For his family, his mother?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed. Most of the time they would actually be in the car, on the way to family birthday celebrations, when Jeff would say in a startled voice, ‘Did we get something for Mum/Dad/Aunty Sal/whoever?’

‘No, we didn’t,’ Sam would reply tartly. ‘But I bought a present, wrapped it and signed the card. It’s slippers, by the way.’

‘What about gifts for yourself?’ Sheila continued.

‘Oh no, my husband handled that.’ Most of the time. If she was honest she’d admit that it was probably his assistant more often than not.

‘Mother’s Day included?’ Sheila stopped writing notes to look directly at Sam. ‘I’m thinking of the school Mother’s Day stall in particular. Who organises the gifts to donate to the stall?’

‘I do,’ said Sam in a small voice.

‘And who gives the children money on the day?’

‘I do,’ she repeated, feeling pathetic. The kids enjoyed buying something themselves, and Jeff was always gone long before they left for school. He would have given them the money if he’d been around. But that wasn’t really the issue. It didn’t matter how she rationalised it, the fact was that Mother’s Day largely only endured because of all the mothers who kept it going. And that was not the most comfortable realisation.

‘And lastly, contraception, birth control. Who took the responsibility?’

‘Pardon?’ said Sam, taken aback.

‘Who took responsibility for contraception?’

‘Isn’t that a bit personal?’

Sheila paused, considering her. ‘If you’re coy about getting personal, this is not the job for you. Our clients expect you to handle some highly intimate matters for them on occasion. You need to be able to take it in your stride.’

‘Fine,’ Sam said, drawing in her breath. ‘At the time of our separation,’ she faltered, ‘I suppose we shared the responsibility for contraception.’

Sheila lifted an eyebrow. ‘So, your husband “took responsibility” some of the time?’

Sam nodded. Once in a blue moon.

‘Who purchased them?’

Now that they sold condoms in the supermarket it was hardly that big a deal. ‘I did.’

Sheila hit the end of her pen on the notepad. ‘Right, that’s it.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’ll have to check your references, of course, but I’m not expecting any problems. I’ll call you next week with the names of three clients to start with, and we’ll take it from there.’

Sam felt a little stunned. ‘Just like that? Isn’t there any training involved?’

‘How could I possibly train you, Mrs Holmes? You’re single-handedly bringing up three children and, until recently at least, you looked after a grown adult as well. You’re already a lifestyle manager. You have the skills we need. Welcome aboard.’