part0015

I knew everything was going too well. I also knew that when one thing went wrong that wouldn’t be the end of it; bad things always come in threes.

The day started well enough, Friday is a good day, normally. Into the office to hand in my timesheet and then to the café with Doris. I’d made sandwiches for Mother’s lunch so I didn’t have to hurry back. I told her I’d be back in time to make dinner. Probably. It’s not like she’s going to starve is it?

As I came out of the house and unlocked my car a movement caught my eye and I turned to the side and sitting on the brick wall running around our garden was a magpie; calm as anything. It didn’t even move when it saw me, just stared back at me with those malevolent eyes. A little part of me knew then; call it an old wives’ tale if you like but there must be something in it or how do these sayings start? One for sorrow.

I shook it off and told myself to stop being so stupid but it did put a dampener on the day for me, it was there at the back of my mind. Fridays are my favourite day of the week and I cursed myself for turning around and seeing it; maybe everything would have been alright if I hadn’t seen it. I prayed for a black cat to cross my path on the way to Moppers to counteract it, but of course it didn’t .

The usual crowd are squeezed into Moppers when I arrive and I have a job to get through the door; most people drop their timesheets and run so I wonder why everyone is hanging around. I’d just handed over my timesheet to a miserable Moira when Doris pushed her way through the throng.

‘Fuck me, what’s everyone doing here?’ Doris thrust her timesheet in front of Moira’s nose.

Moira sniffed disapprovingly and took the paper from her.

‘I don’t know.’ I looked down at Moira. ‘Do you?’

Moira doesn’t answer immediately, just to make sure we know she’s superior, then says, ‘Veronica wants to talk to you all.’

The malevolent magpie pops straight into my head and I know bad news is coming; Are we all getting the sack? Is Moppers closing down?

The manager’s office door opens and Veronica stands silently like a Roman emperor in the doorway while she waits for the babble of chatter to stop.

‘Ladies,’ she announces when everyone’s quiet, ‘a quick announcement, if you please.’

‘Get on wiv it for fucks sake.’ Doris hisses under her breath.

Veronica glares in our direction; ears like a bat.

‘I’m pleased to tell you that Rita, one of our longest serving employees, is coming back next week.’

My heart plummets; much worse than I feared, I hadn’t even thought about Rita coming back. A few people murmur good and nice to hear but not, I notice, the cleaners who have taken over her shifts.

‘Now I know that some of you have been doing Rita’s shifts in her absence but I don’t want you to worry, I have several new clients to replace those shifts if you want the hours.’

A few worried faces look happier at this news, even the pearl and twinset twosome who had to be persuaded to take Rita’s shifts in the first place but wouldn’t let Doris have any.

‘Would those involved stay behind and everyone else can go.’

Doris taps my arm. ‘I’ll wait outside.’

‘Why don’t you stay? You could get one of the new clients.’

‘Can’t be arsed, Charlie’s got another job now anyway.’

She joins the bottleneck of people and pushes her way out of the office.

‘Ladies,’ Veronica is speaking again. ‘Rita will be taking all of her shifts back straight away so if you want hours to replace them please let me know now.’

She looks at us expectantly.

‘Can’t Rita have the new clients and we keep the old ones,’ I say as I mentally cross my fingers.

Veronica looks shocked.

‘I’m afraid not, they’re Rita’s clients.’

Yeah, and she’s been off for two months, I want to say, but don’t.

‘So.’ Veronica poises her pen over her clipboard. ‘As from next week you’re no longer cleaning at the Willoughbys’ but I can offer you another shift at the same time on the other side of town. Is that okay?’

‘No,’ I say ungratefully. ‘Leave it for now, I’ll have a think about it.’

‘Oh.’ Veronica makes a show of crossing my name out on her clipboard. ‘I can’t promise you another shift if you don’t take it now.’

I pick my bag up from Moira’s desk and shrug.

I pull up in front of our house, kill the engine and sit for a moment. I met Doris for our usual catch up at Joey’s Café but my heart wasn’t in it. All I could think about was not going back to Bella’s again. Was it my own fault? The last time I cleaned there had been strange; apart from the laptop shenanigans and stealing the dress. I’d started to feel a bit disgruntled with Bella, I was in a bad mood with her, thinking that she didn’t deserve all that she had because she didn’t take care of the house or her lovely possessions. Had those negative thoughts somehow whirled around and made Rita come back to work?

Ridiculous! Screams the rational part of me, complete nonsense! But I can’t shift the feeling that somehow I made it happen. Yes, I do feel differently about Bella but that’s only to be expected because I’ve changed; our relationship has moved on from hero worship to a more equal footing.

I still have online access to Bella’s emails and accounts but I can no longer get into her house; not legally, anyway.

Although I do have a key. I had one cut, just in case.

It won’t be the same, though, I won’t be able to go there legitimately. I won’t have a reason to be there and there’ll always be the fear of getting caught.

Doris kept asking me if I was alright when we were at the café, that’s when she wasn’t prattling on about Charlie. Talk about a loser; what does she see in him? I try to make hints that he’s a waste of time and she should get rid but she’s so loyal it’s unbelievable. Love is blind in her case, that’s for sure.

I obviously couldn’t tell Doris what was really bothering me so I made up a story about Mother, about how she’s got a lot worse and I might have to think about putting her in a home as she’s acting strangely and keeps forgetting who I am. I got a bit carried away and Doris was so sympathetic; I even squeezed a few tears out.

I should be on the stage, really.

It was only a temporary diversion though; I feel deflated and adrift, and also annoyed with myself for making it happen by thinking bad thoughts about Bella.

I get out of the car and walk despondently up the path to the front door. I notice Dolph out of the corner of my eye but deliberately don’t turn my head so I can pretend I haven’t seen him. I hope he hasn’t seen me, I don’t want to talk to anyone else today. I’m just about to put my key in the lock when I hear him call out.

I turn my head to see Dolph striding up the path towards me, all long rangy steps and flamboyant arms flying everywhere. He has a new hairstyle; the sides shaved close to his scalp with the top sculpted into perfect curls.

‘Alison, darling, how are you?’ he catches hold of my hand and spins me around so he can look at me. ‘You look fabulous, darling! Fab-u-lous!’

I smile half-heartedly. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re positively tiny! You must tell me your secret so I can get rid of all this blubber.’ He pats his non-existent stomach and I consider telling him the truth – near starvation and running around Frogham for hours and hours until I’m fit to drop.

‘But sweetheart,’ he steps closer and peers into my face. ‘What’s the matter? Have you been crying?’

‘No, I’m fine, honestly.’ Have I been crying? Maybe I have.

He leans towards me and puts an arm around my shoulders, ‘Is it, you know.’ He looks around to make sure no one is listening. ‘Your mother?’ He mouths the words without sound and in spite of my misery I stifle a giggle which I quickly turn into a sob.

‘Oh dear.’ Dolph’s eyebrows furrow in sympathy. ‘You poor thing, why don’t you come into mine and have a cup of tea? Brian might even have baked one of his lemon meringues.’

‘Thank you, but I can’t,’ I say in my best trying to be brave voice . ‘I need to get in and see to Mother.’

‘Hmm, I can help out you know, take the strain off you if you need some time on your own. I could sit with her for a few hours.’

Warning bells clang, I need to be very careful. I can’t have people coming in to the house and speaking to Mother.

‘Thank you, Dolph, that’s really sweet of you but I couldn’t ask you to do that.’

‘You’re not asking, darling, I’m offering.’

Shit. This can’t happen. That sodding magpie.

I bite my lip and frown in what I hope look like an agony of indecision look.

‘The thing is, Dolph,’ I say hesitantly. ‘If Mother sees anyone but me she’s likely to have one of her episodes. I’ve tried getting carers in and it was an absolute disaster.’ I risk a quick look at his face; he looks a bit worried. ‘I feel really disloyal saying this because I know she can’t help it, bless her, and I hope you won’t repeat this, for Mother’s sake, but the last carer we tried had to stay off sick for a week after Mother had finished with her.’

A look of horror flashes over Dolph’s face which he quickly tries to hide but I’ve seen it.

‘Oh, that’s so awful, lovey. It must be so difficult for you.’

‘It’s not been easy, I’ll admit,’ I say. ‘Although luckily she agreed not to press charges otherwise I don’t know what would have happened.’ I let my bottom lip quiver so Dolph knows how awful it was.

Dolph stares at me in shock and I can see his mind whirring as he tries to imagine what Mother might have done. I’m almost disappointed when he doesn’t ask as this is the most fun I’ve had all day.

‘Well you know best, sweets,’ he says hurriedly. ‘You just let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ He’s already backing away down the path.

‘Thank you, Dolph, that means a lot.’

‘Anytime, lovey, anytime.’ He’s already reached the garden wall and I breathe a sigh of relief; there’ll be no more offers of help from him.

I watch him hurry down to his house and half expect him to break into a run. That’s what people are like; all that talk about helping but not really meaning it. I’ve been looking after Mother for the last ten years and never had a genuine offer of help and the few friends I did have soon vanished.

Dolph disappears through his front door and no doubt is already regaling Brian with the goings on at number six. I unlock the front door, go inside and close it firmly then pick the post up from the mat and go into the lounge and flump onto the sofa. Right now, I could eat and eat and eat. Only the fact that there’s no junk food in the house stops me. I should go for a run; a good, long run. For hours and hours.

The house is quiet; usually I can hear the murmur of Mother’s television which she has on from early in the morning until late at night when I turn it off after she’s fallen asleep. But the house is silent and I wonder if she’s okay. She could have passed away in her sleep while I was out, I mean, she’s not getting any younger, is she?

I get up to go and check on her when I realise I still have the post in my hand. I look at the three letters without interest; Mother’s bank statement, an offer of a credit card addressed to Mother and strangely, a letter addressed to me.

I turn the letter over in my hand and scrutinise it; my full name and address and it has a stamp on it so I know it’s not junk mail. The envelope is good quality, thick white textured paper. I hold the letter in my hand and study my name and address as if the answer to what’s inside will suddenly present itself to me. I quickly turn the envelope over and peel the flap back and carefully pull out the contents; one thick white sheet of textured paper. I unfold it and open it out; Thompson’s Solicitors and Commissioners of Oaths is printed in curly black lettering across the top of the page with an address in Frogham underneath .

We are very sorry to inform you that your father, George Henry Patterson, has recently passed away. Please accept our sincere condolences for your loss.

We have been informed that you are his next of kin and as such there are various matters to discuss with you. Can you therefore please telephone this office at your earliest convenience to arrange an appointment.

I stare at the letter open mouthed, trying to take in what the words mean. I don’t know which is more shocking – the fact that my father is dead or that he’s put me as his next of kin. I’ve never met him, he’s never contacted me or written to me in my life yet he knows where I live – that’s probably because Mother has stayed here all of her life. I don’t know what to make of it. He’s never attempted to contact me when he was alive. Why? It just doesn’t make any kind of sense.

I’ll never meet him now. I’ll never have the chance to find out the truth about why he ‘cleared off’ as Mother puts it. Bitter regret rises in my throat; too late, I’ve left it too late. I thought I had all the time in the world, thought that one day I would meet him. Although I made no attempt to find him . I was waiting for him to contact me; I was sure that he would, one day. Always at the back of my mind was the idea that one day we would meet when the time was right and his reasons for abandoning me would be explained, and of course there would be a good reason, and we’d all live happily ever after.

If he knew where I was why didn’t he contact me? Did he care anything at all about me? I veered between believing that he didn’t care because he ran away and never made contact or that somehow he’d been prevented from contacting me, I could never quite decide. But if he didn’t care why would he put me as his next of kin?

I need answers and I’m not going to get them from him now, am I?

I pull my mobile out of my handbag and tap in the number of the solicitors on the letter and let my fingers hover over the call button. I think for a moment and then delete the number.

First, I need to speak to Mother, see what lies she has to tell me, find out if she’s known where my father was for all of these years. How humiliating will it be to make an appointment at the solicitors and have them know that I’ve never met my father and know nothing about him? Or do they know already?

I stand up and walk out into the hall and stand at the bottom of the stairs for a moment. Calm down, I must compose myself before I go up there. Knowing my luck Mother has died in her sleep and I’ll never know. I could live with that , that nasty little voice pipes up, I could live with not knowing if she was dead.

I push the nasty voice away and take a deep breath in through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth several times, focusing my gaze on the treads of the stairs .

Which is when I see it; a peach thread caught on the carpet fibres of the second step. I bend down and catch hold of the thread and pull it out. I straighten up and hold it in my fingers and scrutinise it; only two inches long it’s the exact colour of Mother’s dressing gown.