by Lynda Renham
She dons her facemask and gloves.
‘I always wear two pairs,’ she says. ‘We don’t want to have an aids test.’
Blimey, no. First the sexual health clinic and then an aids test, crikey, the NHS will think I’m a one-woman brothel.
‘No, that’s right,’ I agree.
‘We’ll work on the bathroom first. It will take us a while.’
‘Right,’ I say, trying to disguise the tremble in my voice.
‘I’ve got a new shower curtain and stuff. They’ve got someone moving in next week, so we’ll need to change the nets too. Apparently the blood went everywhere.’
I’m seriously going to gag. Becky throws open the bathroom door.
‘It’s not too bad,’ she says.
I reel back in shock. Not too bad? Not too bad? It looks like an abattoir.
‘Oh,’ is all I can muster.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Becky says. ‘I thought the same the first time. The key is not to think about the murder. I tell myself it’s no worse than when the kids spill tomato ketchup. So as I’m cleaning up, I think, blooming kids and their mess.’
Heaven, if I had kids that made this mess with tomato ketchup I’d throttle them.
‘I don’t know,’ I mumble, feeling faint.
‘It would be brilliant if you could,’ says Becky encouragingly. ‘I’d pay you forty pounds an hour for these jobs. I can’t get anyone you see. I can only pay fifteen for the normal cleaning.’
It’s very tempting. I’d worked out the finances last night. We owed the bank a thousand. They said I could pay it off each month. Then there are Frank’s debts. Five thousand so far and those are just the ones I know about. There’s the rent and bills and of course I’ve got to eat. If I take the murders, along with Waitrose and the cinema, I should get the debts paid off and still hang onto my winnings. If I get five murders a week that would be good wouldn’t it? I’m talking rubbish, aren’t I? There aren’t five murders a week in Essex are there?
‘How many murders could I do a week?’ I ask.
Becky laughs.
‘I hope no one can hear us,’ she says. ‘It varies from week to week. I get offered some jobs in East London and sometimes even further out. It depends. If you don’t mind travelling I could probably get you a few. It’ll help me a lot.’
‘I’ll see how this one goes.’
If I get enough money I could take myself off to Paris. It’s about time I lived my life for me. Frank would never go, said it was pointless.
‘There’s nothing to see that you can’t see on the tele,’ he’d said. But who wants to see it on the tele. I want to be there, feel the atmosphere and the breeze in my hair. I’ve done enough for others and look what’s happened. I’ve got nothing, been nowhere, and now I’m all alone. I went to the library the other day. Frank used to moan about that too.
‘What you reading posh books for? You’ll forget your place if you go on like that.’
Well, I’m coming out of my place. I like the library and I like my books. I’m reading Far from the Madding Crowd. It’s so inspirational. Frank would have ridiculed it, but Frank isn’t here is he? Frank’s dead and you know what, I’m going to Paris.
Chapter Seventeen
Rosie
I’m knackered by the time we finish. It’s hard work cleaning up after a murder. So much blood, I can’t begin to tell you. But Becky was quite right. You soon get used to it and once you stop thinking about the murder, it’s fine.
Apparently the teachers are on strike. It’s about pay. They want more money. Everyone wants more these days, don’t they?
‘It’s great,’ says Becky. ‘No school runs.’
We’re on our way to what will be my regular job. It’s just after three and Becky warns me it won’t always be like this.
‘When the kids are at school it’s awful,’ she moans. ‘The local school is just up the road and it’s a nightmare when they collect the little darlings.’
We’re in Emerson Park. It’s a million miles from the Tradmore Estate, I can tell you. The houses are lovely here. I always wanted a house. Nothing big, just a little terrace would have done me. A two-up two-down would have been lovely. I think Frank was mad to keep paying rent when we could have had a place of our own. Sam says we’d be paying a lot less now if we’d had a mortgage. Still, I’ve got a roof over my head and I’m grateful for that.
Becky said she’d pay me cash in hand if that’s what I wanted.
‘The blooming tax man gets enough if you ask me,’ she’d said.
‘If you don’t mind, it would help.’
‘Nah, course not.’
She turns into a tree-lined street.
‘It’s nice here,’ she says wistfully. ‘I’m saving for a house. That’s why I do the murders.’
It really does sound like we kill people doesn’t it? She steers the car onto a gravelled driveway and I look up at the huge double-fronted house.
‘He lives alone, this bloke,’ she says climbing from the car. ‘He lost his wife a few months back. He’s lovely. I said we’d come weekly but if he needed any shopping or whatnot we’d help out. He’s loaded I reckon.’
‘Okay,’ I say helping her lift the cleaning materials from the boot.
‘His name’s Alfred. He likes to be called Alf. He did all the work on the house himself.’
‘Right,’ I say, admiring the bay windows.
She lifts the door knocker and knocks several times. It seems an age before we hear movement on the other side.
‘Who is it?’ calls a voice. ‘If you’re selling something, I don’t want it, and if you’re peddling religion you can bugger off now. We don’t do God in this house.’
I look at Becky.
‘Is he expecting us?’
‘Oh yes,’ she laughs.
‘Alf,’ she shouts. She turns to me. ‘His daughter-in-law says he’s deaf.’
‘It’s me, Becky. Come to do the cleaning,’ she shouts.
‘Oh right,’ he says. ‘Hold on and I’ll unlock the door.’
We wait while he fiddles with a key in the lock. The door swings open and I step back in surprise. It’s Archie.
‘Hello Rosie,’ he says. ‘What are you doing here?’
*
‘Fancy you two knowing each other,’ says Becky.
‘Yes, who’d have thought it,’ says Archie, smiling. ‘Small world isn’t it?’
I feel stupidly embarrassed. He now knows that not only do I live on the dreaded Tradmore Estate but that I’m also a cleaner. I really could die of shame. He must think I’m a right loser. Well, he wouldn’t be wrong, would he? For one awful embarrassing moment I find myself having to hold back tears.
‘Can I use your loo?’ I ask.
I suppose that’s common too isn’t it? I expect he and Moira call it the lavatory. Becky shows me to the downstairs loo and would you believe, as soon as I’m inside, I have a little cry. It’s grief, that’s what it is. Who am I kidding? It’s not grief. It’s me, suddenly realising who I actually am. I should never have married so young. I could have got myself an education. I wipe my tears on the soft toilet tissue. I haven’t got time for this. I look around the nicely decorated loo. Archie probably doesn’t realise that there are still poor people out in the world and that we have to work our backsides off. I suppose Archie’s worked hard for this, though. What did Becky say? Something about he’d done all the work on the house himself. His wife was lucky. I wipe my tears away. I’m knackered, that’s what it is. I’ve got to go back to the cinema tomorrow. I’ve had a week off, that’s enough. It’ll be nice to get some popcorn. I wash my face and find Becky in the kitchen talking to Archie.
‘So you’re going to be my cleaner then, girl,’ he says when I walk in.
‘I thought your name was Archie,’ I say blushing.
‘No, it’s Alfred,’ he laughs. ‘I did keep telling you.’
‘I’ve got Archie in my head now.’
�
��How did you two meet?’ asks Becky.
‘It’s a long story,’ I say, pulling dusters out of a box.
‘She rescued my granddaughter from a sexual predator,’ Archie says.
‘Crikey,’ exclaims Becky. ‘When was that?’
‘Last Friday,’ I say. ‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘Do you have a list, Alf?’ asks Becky.
‘Nah, I forgot,’ he smiles. ‘But my bed needs changing if you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll show Rosie around and then we’ll get on,’ says Becky.
‘You can hang that bag up in the hallway,’ says Archie pointing to my holdall.
‘Oh right, thanks,’ I say, with absolutely no intention of letting it out of my sight. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t imagine Archie is going to steal my winnings. He’s got plenty already by the look of things. But I like to be able to see it. Just to be on the safe side.
‘You girls want a cuppa?’
‘Ooh lovely,’ says Becky. ‘I’m parched.’
I follow Becky out of the kitchen and along the hallway.
‘I’ll quickly show you the place,’ she says.
The house is gorgeous. It’s huge compared to my little flat. It’s a mess though.
‘I’ll show you where the bed linen is kept. If you could change the bed once a week that would be great,’ says Becky opening an airing cupboard on the landing.
‘The house is so big,’ I say, amazed at the number of rooms.
‘Yes, I know. It’s got five bedrooms. His daughter-in-law wants him to go into a retirement flat. He’s having none of it.’
‘I met her,’ I grimace.
‘Yeah, she’s a bit toffee-nosed. She hired me.’
Archie has a pile of books on the bedside cabinet and I quickly glance through them. Maybe he can recommend some books for me to read. Huh, he most likely thinks I can’t read.
‘Tea’s made,’ he shouts.
‘Thanks Alf,’ calls Becky.
I must stop thinking of him as Archie. But he looks like an Archie if you know what I mean, more of an Archie than an Alf anyway.
‘What you doing later?’ asks Becky.
‘Later?’ I repeat.
‘Mum’s coming over and we’re getting fish and chips. You’re welcome to join us.’
‘That’ll be nice, thanks.’
I’ve only got a Fray Bentos pie and some oven chips. I really must start cooking myself some decent dinners. This widow malarkey is no fun.
‘Great. Come over about seven. Johnny Crabtree is coming too.’
Oh no. It’s too late now to back out isn’t it?
Chapter Eighteen
Alfred
How odd to see Rosie. Oddly enough, I’d been thinking about her just last night. I’d been thinking I should have apologised for how Moira had behaved. Sticking her nose up in the air the way she had. It had been embarrassing.
‘I’m off,’ Becky calls up the stairs to Rosie. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay on the bus with your stuff. It’s a lot to carry.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ shouts Rosie.
‘I can take her home,’ I hear myself saying.
Becky turns in surprise.
‘Are you sure? Rosie lives on the Tradmore Estate. It’s not like ‘ere?’
‘I’ve been there. I dropped her off that Friday. I don’t think anyone is going to bother an old bloke like me.’
‘Huh,’ scoffs Becky. ‘Don’t hold your breath is all I can say. Think it over. You don’t have to mention it to Rosie until she leaves.’
The front door slams and I sigh with relief. She’s a nice enough girl, is Becky, but she does rabbit on a bit. I don’t think Rosie will blather on like that somehow. I make another pot of tea and carry a mug upstairs to Rosie. I peer around the bedroom door. She’s changed my bed and is looking through one of my books.
‘That was a good one,’ I say. ‘I brought you a cuppa.’
She drops the book in surprise
‘Oh, I didn’t mean to …’
‘You can borrow it if you like.’
‘I couldn’t,’ she says, her cheeks turning pink.
‘Why not?’
‘I can get it from the library.’
‘Don’t be daft. You can borrow it off me. You’re coming back, aren’t you?’
‘Well yes …’
‘Take it then. I’m in a book club so I’ve got loads to read on the shelf downstairs.’
She picks up the copy of Rebecca and slips into her overall pocket.
‘It was a film,’ I say, ‘Have you seen it?’
‘No,’ she says.
‘Here’s your tea.’
‘I’ll be forever in the loo,’ she says, taking it from me.
‘Bed looks nice,’ I say and then feel awkward.
She blushes again and says, ‘I’d better get on.’
‘I’m really sorry about the other night Rosie. My daughter-in-law was quite rude. I’m really sorry. She’s a bit toffee-nosed at times.’
She looks flustered.
‘Oh, it’s okay. I didn’t notice.’
She’s a good liar.
‘I’ll let you get on. I don’t want to make you late. You’ve probably got your husband’s tea to do.’
‘He died,’ she says flatly. ‘A few weeks ago, Domino’s Pizza killed him with their van.’
My mouth widens, and I quickly close it.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s okay. He liked pizza. Anyway, turns out he was knocking off some blonde behind my back. So …’
‘Angel cake?’ I say.
‘What?’ she questions looking at me blankly.
‘Angel Cake. It goes great with a cuppa. I’ll go and cut some. Pop down when you’re ready.’
Hell’s bells, knocked down by a Domino Pizza van, who’d have thought it?
Chapter Nineteen
Rosie
He probably thinks I’m light-fingered now. Oh dear, I hope he doesn’t say anything to Becky. I really don’t want to lose these cleaning jobs. I gingerly walk into the kitchen clutching my mug of tea.
‘Ah great,’ says Archie, pulling out a chair. ‘Everyone should have a break.’
‘I really shouldn’t …’
‘Of course you should. I employed people and I know how important it is to have breaks.’
I sit at the table and wrap my hands around the hot mug. He passes me a slice of angel cake.
‘This is the best. Cath, my wife, used to make her own. This isn’t a patch on hers but it’s better than nothing.’
‘When did you lose your wife?’
‘Aw, six months ago now. I’ve been staying with our Harry and Moira, but it’s hard work there. She’s got a dual flush with a remote control in her best loo. It’s got white fluffy towels too, but you’re not supposed to use those.’
I gape at him. He’s pulling my leg, surely.
‘Dual flush?’ I repeat.
What’s a dual flush when it’s at home?
Archie laughs.
‘You don’t want one.’
‘I can’t afford one,’ I say without thinking.
I bite into my slice of angel cake. I’m starving as it happens. I didn’t think to bring lunch. How stupid was that?
‘So how long have you been cleaning for Becky?’ Archie asks.
He’s not bad looking. I reckon he was quite handsome when he was younger. His hair is grey now. Frank used to dye his. I thought that was pointless at the time but now I’m beginning to understand why he was so obsessed with his appearance, the shagging little toad.
‘This is my first day,’ I say.
There’s a tap at the back door and I jump. I look down to see a tabby cat.
‘She’s always in and out of her cat flap,’ explains Archie. ‘Her name’s Cleo, we named her after Cleo Laine, the singer. Cleo is one of the reasons I came home. I couldn’t leave her at the mercy of my neighbour, Molly, for too long.’
Cleo rubs herself agai
nst my leg and I stroke her
‘I really should get on,’ I say, getting up.
‘How did your husband manage to get hit by a Domino’s Pizza van?’ he asks as I reach the door.
I sigh. I might as well tell the truth. He’s probably already formed his opinion of us Tradmore Estate residents. That’s if Moira hasn’t already filled him in.
‘He was drunk,’ I say. ‘He didn’t see the van coming. I don’t suppose in his state he saw much at all. They don’t usually pay out when it was the victim’s fault, but they gave me lots of pizza and five hundred pounds. I used the pizza for the wake. I’ve only got two left.’
I could have one of those tonight, couldn’t I? At least then I won’t have to see Crabbers. But I hate letting people down and I did say I’d go. I wonder what time Sam is bringing the car over. I’d better text him. It would be good not to have to get the bus to Becky’s.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he says.
‘And yours,’ I say.
‘I’ll let you get on,’ Archie says, picking up a newspaper.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’ll finish upstairs.’
Cleo follows me up and jumps onto the newly made bed. I stroke her and then switch the hoover on. It’s lovely cleaning a house like this. Each room is interesting. It must have been lovely bringing up a family here. I bet his son had the best, not like our Sam who always got second-hand. There’s a picture of Archie’s son in the hallway. It’s his graduation photo. I wish Sam had gone to university. I did try to encourage it. Frank just went on about how much it would cost and kept telling Sam to get a trade.
‘Education’s no good,’ he’d said. ‘A trade is what you need.’
Not that Frank ever had a trade. He was pig ignorant was Frank. I was stupid to have stayed with him. But when you’re young and naïve you don’t know any better do you? I wish I’d got an education. It’s too late now, I suppose. But then again … I read about this woman who got a PhD when she was a hundred. I can’t see the point in that myself, but sixty isn’t that old is it? I could do it now. I’ll have a look when I get home. There are courses you can do at home aren’t there? I read about them once. Now I’ve got a little bit of money maybe I could do it. I yawn and rub my eyes. That’s if I’m not too tired of course. I’m going to be cream crackered with this cleaning and Waitrose. Not to mention the cinema at the weekend. Still, it’s best to stay busy isn’t it?
