Nina felt her spirits sink as a response popped into her email account. ‘Dear Sir or Madam . . .’ The impersonal, automated response told her all she needed to know. She clicked on an advert for ‘Incredible Telesales Opportunities’ but noticed this was a rolling advert with no start or end date, and the job was paid in commission only. She needed something more concrete than possible commission. Another advert caught her eye, a Senior Housekeeper position at a country house hotel on the outskirts of town.
Nina scanned the article, and picked up her phone before she lost her nerve; she was grateful that the boys were out and that she didn’t have an audience. It wasn’t what she had hoped for, housekeeping, not what she would have chosen at all, washing sheets and emptying bins, but she now knew the old adage wasn’t wrong: beggars could not be choosers. If it meant regular money, then so be it; a housekeeper she would be. Nina placed her hand on her stomach to try to calm her butterflies. You can do this! She spoke the words of encouragement in her mind, taking a deep breath.
‘Good morning, Winterton’s. How can I help you?’
‘Morning,’ she ventured, working to keep the anxiety from her voice. ‘I am calling about the job advertisement?’
‘Do you have a reference number? We have several vacancies.’ She heard the sigh in the man’s tone.
‘Erm . . .’ She ran her finger over the advert and gave him the long number, hoping she had got it right. There was a silence on the other end of the line.
‘Hello?’ she prompted.
‘Yes, madam, one minute please. I am trying to find it on my computer.’ He sounded irritated. She wondered if she should offer to call back at a more convenient time.
‘Senior Housekeeper, got it. And if I may ask, where are you currently employed?’
‘Oh! I’m not.’ She swallowed.
‘So if you could give me your last position in this or a similar role and tell me a little of your experience?’
‘I . . . I don’t have any experience, but I have kept my own large house and looked after my sons for the last few years, and I think I can manage as a housekeeper.’
‘You think you can manage?’ This time he made no effort to hide his irritation. ‘Do you have any relevant experience as a commercial housekeeper?’
‘Other than looking after my own house?’
‘Yes. Other than that. Have you for example managed a team of housekeepers? Worked to a budget? Organised rotas? Dealt with commercial suppliers? Handled contracts for industrial linens . . . Any of the like?’
‘I . . . I haven’t, but, I did have a large house and . . .’ She cursed her tears that threatened, thickening in her throat. She tried not to picture her lovely life in her beautiful home that she missed. ‘The thing is, I need a job.’
‘Well, we all need a job. The difference is, some of us are qualified to do a job and others are trying to wing it without the relevant experience. Was there anything else I can help you with today?’
Nina hung up, then sat at the counter-top with her face in her hands and cried.
‘Don’t cry, Mum.’ Declan’s small voice from the doorway threw her; she hadn’t heard them return. And she was so used to spending time alone in the kitchen at The Tynings with the boys off elsewhere. She spun around to face him. Connor walked straight into the bedroom without any greeting. She didn’t challenge him, thinking it best he was warm, and hoping he might calm a little before their next heated interaction; every exchange felt like they were in a long drawn-out boxing match. Ding, ding.
‘Oh, darling!’ she sniffed at Declan. ‘Just feeling a bit sorry for myself. I thought a job as a housekeeper would be a doddle for me. Turns out I’m not even qualified to do that. I think there might be more to it than I realised. If only they’d give me a shot, I’m sure I could learn.’
Declan walked forward and placed his little hand on her back. ‘When I grow up and have my own business, I’ll give you a job, Mum.’
Her heart swelled. ‘Well, I appreciate that. What business do you think you might have?’
‘I am going to have a sweet factory or a farm.’
‘Both of those sound good.’ She winked at her boy, hiding the naked fear that if she didn’t find a job soon, they were going to be in real trouble. Nina then turned her attention back to the computer. Regaining her composure, she continued to scan the screen, rereading adverts for jobs she had first rejected, hoping to find something within the ad that she had missed.
‘We had a bit of an explore. But it was so cold, we came back.’ Declan unwound his scarf from his neck.
‘Did you? That’s good. What did you see?’ She spoke over her shoulder, wishing she could work in silence.
‘I collected these.’
She looked down to see the clutch of cards in her son’s hand. He held up an array of scantily clad women with names like Crystal, Emerald and Candy, all offering heavily discounted services, emblazoned with a premium rate telephone number.
‘Oh good Lord!’ she called out. ‘Where did you get those?’
‘I found them. They are everywhere – the telephone boxes, the lamp posts. I’m going to collect them,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
Nina leapt from the stool and took them from her child. ‘Actually, I think it’s against the law to take these, Dec.’ She fell back on the old staple that had served her well in the past, knowing that her boy, like most kids, had a fear of falling foul of the legal system. ‘It’s something to do with advertising and they have to be left alone.’
‘Oh.’ Declan shrugged. ‘Okay.’
She pulled him by the arm. ‘Come on, let’s go and give our hands a good old scrub!’ She shoved the cards in her jeans pocket, considering how and where to dispose of them as she marched her youngest off towards the bathroom.
The next few days were some of the hardest days of Nina’s life, and the nights some of the darkest. The weather was brutal. Ice formed on the inside of the windows, which she scraped at with her thumbnail, gently rubbing the crystals away. She kept the fire burning when the boys were in the room, but other than that, she wore an extra jersey and thick socks to save money. The feeling of being depressed by her environment had been so constant in her childhood, yet she had almost forgotten it. She hated how often she suggested they all take to their beds during the day, knowing they would at least be snug under their duvets and extra blankets. It was as if the weather dealt them this one final blow to crush any bud of happiness that might form on their miserable family tree.
Every day she trawled the job sites, looking for new openings, applying for anything and everything, sipping hot water that warmed her bones and laughing to herself at how particular she had been when first searching. Now, some days later, she sent off applications to anyone who was hiring, from janitor to rat catcher, to legal assistant, her theory being that if she fired enough bullets with this scattergun approach, surely one had to hit a target. Only they didn’t, and with every rejection her spirits sank a little lower, taking all her efforts not to give in to the blind panic that threatened. What would she do when they ran out of money?
The few replies she did receive, standard letters and emails explaining that she wasn’t qualified or that the position had been filled, were more often than not for roles that she had forgotten she had applied for. She even eagerly called about the ‘Incredible Telesales Opportunity’ that she had been so dismissive of – commission only it may be, but it would be better than nothing. She spoke energetically to the young woman on the end of the line, trying to sell herself, hoping her sunny nature might make her a more attractive prospect. The woman quickly yet politely informed her that her lack of keyboard skills and sales experience precluded her from applying.
It was a new low point.
Every day that ended with a lack of success meant she felt the black cloak of despair throw itself over her little family, and it took all of her strength to cast it off and encourage them to look towards the light. She started handwriting letters of introduction, asking
about any employment opportunities, and posting them through all the letter boxes of businesses up and down the streets, thinking this personal, local touch might make a difference. With the shake of nerves, she handed one over the counter to the pink-haired girl who she discovered worked in the convenience store opposite.
The girl was very pretty at close quarters; she took the envelope with a smile. ‘I shall give it to my boss.’ It was the most hopeful encounter she had had, and Nina felt guilty for how she might have judged the girl.
‘I’m Nina, by the way. I only moved in a little while ago. With my sons.’ She turned and pointed towards the flats over the road.
‘I’m Lucia.’
‘Hi, Lucia.’
‘We are neighbours actually, I live four doors down from you.’
‘Well hello, neighbour,’ Nina said with a smile.
‘Welcome to Portswood! And I will pass your letter on as soon as I see him.’
‘Thank you.’ Nina meant it. She liked the way the girl spoke clearly and firmly; she liked her manner very much and envied her youthful confidence.
‘I do a night shift, cleaning at the hospital. It’s a bit crap, but the money’s good. I could have an ask for you there as well if you’d like?’
‘That’s so kind of you, thank you. Yes, that would be great.’ Nina walked away, praying something else would come along before she was forced to leave the boys alone every night, although good money was exactly what she needed.
It was mid-morning by the time Nina let herself back into the flat. Connor was quiet, surly, but now with a new air of melancholy that she hadn’t seen before. It placed her worry for him on a whole new level.
‘You can always talk to me you know, Con,’ she offered as she turned on the kettle.
‘About what?’ he fired.
‘About anything.’
He shook his head and ground his teeth, leaving the room to once again seek out the isolation of his bed.
She sipped at hot tea that warmed her throat and gave an instant feeling of relief, which was welcome, no matter how short lived. In this environment, living this reduced life, she had discovered that it was the small lifts that brought her tiny bursts of joy. ‘Mummy . . .’ Declan’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
‘Yes, darling?’ She turned and saw him cowering by the doorframe. She wondered what Connor had done or said to cause such a reaction, and her anger flared.
‘Can we go to the launderette?’ he asked, looking at his feet.
Nina smiled. ‘Well now, that’s not a request I get every day.’ She expected him to laugh, join in, but instead he shrank further against the wall and bowed his head. ‘Oh Dec, what’s the matter?’ She knelt in front of him and tilted his chin so she could better see his face.
‘Nothing,’ he squeaked.
‘Well it sure looks like something,’ she coaxed, smoothing his hair from his forehead, ‘but I do know that nothing is worth looking this worried about. Plus, if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, then I can’t fix it, can I?’ She kissed his nose.
‘You mustn’t tell anyone!’ he implored.
‘Okay.’ She nodded her oath.
‘I . . . I did a wee in my bed.’
‘Oh, darling.’ Nina held him close to her chest. It took all her strength not to weep with him. ‘That doesn’t matter, we can fix that right away.’
‘I did it before as well and hid the sheet under my bed.’ He sobbed, pulling away from her clutches. ‘Please don’t tell Connor!’ He held her gaze, his eyes begging.
‘I won’t tell a soul.’ She kissed his teary cheeks. ‘But you know everyone has wet the bed, even Connor,’ she whispered. ‘Now, let’s go and get those sheets, and you and I shall take a trip to the launderette and we might even stop for sweets. How does that sound?’
Declan sniffed as his tears abated. ‘Sounds good.’
‘Right, you go and wash your face and we’ll set off in a bit.’ She ruffled his hair and watched as he loped off. She kept her smile of reassurance fixed in place until he had disappeared. Poor kid must be going through so much inside, contrary to the outward displays of happiness at which he was so deft. My baby boy, I am so sorry . . .
Opening the boys’ bedroom door, she was hit by the smell. It was evident that Connor couldn’t help but know what had happened: the smell was overpowering in the small room. They exchanged a knowing look. Nina felt overwhelmed with gratitude for his pretend ignorance. After stripping Declan’s bed and reaching underneath to retrieve the other sheet, she looked up at Connor’s back. He had turned, hunched over in his favoured position, facing the window.
‘I know you probably don’t want to hear this, Con. But I really love you and I love the way you are kind to Dec. It means the world right now. He’s lucky to have you. We all are.’
A slight shift in his position told her that he had heard.
After bundling the sheets, she and Declan walked towards the launderette in a matter-of-fact manner, both trying to pretend it was any other jaunt. Nina was torn between ignoring the event, hoping to minimise his embarrassment, and wanting to fire a thousand questions at him about how he was feeling and how she might help. Obviously he was shell-shocked by their move, by losing his father, by trying to adjust to their new life.
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
‘You have nothing to feel sorry for. I know how hard things feel at the moment. But it will get easier.’
Declan blinked and looked up at her. ‘I was very busy when we were at home, but here I’m not so busy and I notice that Daddy isn’t here even more.’
Nina understood this perfectly. Without the distraction of life in their lovely house, the funeral and the rest of term to distract them, they were able to fully focus on their loss, and no wonder it hit them hard. She bit her bottom lip, trying to ignore the fact that for her it felt like the exact opposite. Living in this cold, dark, sullen place made her grieve for Finn a little less and dislike him a little more. Not that she would ever disclose this to her kids, knowing they would never understand. In fact it was hard for her to understand, but the nagging thought that pawed at her senses was that he was the one who had dropped them into this living hell, and he had done so without giving her fair warning, without giving her any choice or time to act, and that was unforgivable.
She and Dec pushed open the door to the launderette and were met by the grey-haired lady who managed the place, who had previously introduced herself as ‘Toothless Vera’. One gummy smile and Nina had no need to ask why. Vera was quite a character; she had more of a cackle than a laugh, and gave out the change for the coin slots and made cups of tea in the back room, which she then served in Styrofoam cups.
Without a washing machine in the flat, Nina had become a little more comfortable using the launderette along the road. The first time she had used it, the idea of putting her family’s clothes into a communal machine that had washed strangers’ soiled items had made her shudder with revulsion. In her spacious laundry room at home, the washing machine and two tumble dryers had run almost constantly. She used to think nothing of popping a tablecloth, some sports kit or a favoured pair of jeans in if they were asked for. Now, after a couple of trips, trotting up the street with dirty clothes was becoming normal. Sometimes Toothless Vera would unload the machine in her absence and fold the clothes into a cardboard box. Nina had to admit it was nice to have someone assist her in this odious chore. The place was warmed by the constant whirr of the industrial dryers and on a cold, damp day like today, she realised that it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Nina felt her shoulder muscles loosen in the heat.
‘Oi, oi! What we got here then?’ Vera called in greeting and Declan laughed, a genuine laugh at the funny lady who was so different from anyone he had ever met.
As she and Declan made their way home a little while later, Nina spied Tiggy strolling along the pavement towards them.
‘Hey, you!’ she called out. It was still a thrilling novelty for Nina to see her si
ster so casually without pre-planning or arrangement. Today, the sight provided a much-needed lift to her spirits.
‘Where you heading?’ Nina called.
‘Coming to find you, actually. Connor said you might be at the launderette. Fancy a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, lovely.’
Tiggy did an about-turn and the three made their way along the pavement. Declan skipped ahead and then walked backwards, facing them as he spoke.
‘We didn’t need to go and wash anything, we just wanted to. There was nothing that we had to wash, Mum and I just went with my sheets because we wanted to,’ he was keen to explain.
‘Okay then!’ Tiggy gave her sister a quizzical look and Nina reminded herself to have a chat with her youngest about how much information it was necessary to give away when trying to keep a secret. Nina winked at her sister.
It was as if for now the two had papered over the cracks formed during their years of estrangement, and for this Nina was grateful, knowing that to bring the topic to a head, to go over the reasons why, and who was to blame, was more than she was able to cope with right now. Nina woke each day with a feeling of dread, living with the windows permanently shut, hoping for a respite in the cold, cold weather and praying for the sun’s warmth in the small, fusty rooms. In her lower moments, in between job hunting and cleaning the flat, Nina often sat and stared out the French windows, watching the world go by on the pavement three feet below. She often saw Lucia, rushing off to work, sometimes with the baby in tow and sometimes alone, but always in a hurry. It took all of her resolve not to bombard the girl with questions as to whether her boss had seen her application and if there were any vacancies at the hospital. She was wary of slowing her down, and figured that if Lucia had news, she would share it. She caught her eye once through the nets and smiled; she was rewarded with a little wave and a mouthed ‘Hi, Nina!’ It had made her day, this show of friendship.
‘God, it’s cold!’ Nina rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet as they made their way inside the flat. Declan ran to her room and dived under her duvet.
The Art of Hiding Page 15
