The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan

by Alison Sherlock

Charley gulped back her own tears as she watched her mother’s eyes fill. She stepped forward and was enveloped in a hug.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, snuffling into Maureen’s shoulder.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And we will repay you. I don’t know how long it’ll take but we’ll get there, I promise.’

  Her mother smiled but didn’t reply, instead picking up the barely risen chocolate cake and leaving the kitchen.

  Charley knew her mother didn’t really believe her. That the whole family was expecting her to fail in her promises. But she was determined that every penny would be returned to her parents. She just didn’t know as yet how it could be done.

  Chapter Ten

  BY THE MIDDLE of March, the ground floor of the house was bare. From the lounge, nearly everything had been taken, including the TV, sofas, chairs, glass coffee table, fancy artwork, crystal vases, mirrors, and other pretty things she had picked up over the years. Charley had kept all the photographs, but had to relinquish their expensive silver frames.

  The study was now missing its desk, chair, bookcase and all the computer equipment. The den had been stripped of its games consoles, leather chairs and huge television. Even the hallway had lost its table, mirror and hat stand.

  The Wednesday night dinners with the girls had slipped whilst Charley’s life disintegrated. But as soon as the Sold sign went up outside, she insisted they came to her home. It was left unspoken, but this was probably the last time they would meet there.

  The oak table and chairs in the kitchen were now missing so Julie suggested having a picnic indoors. Caroline brought some rugs and cushions to sit on.

  ‘I can’t believe they even took the microwave,’ said Samantha in disbelief. She lived on healthy ready-meals.

  Charley nodded. ‘The double fridge-freezer went today as well.’

  The only appliance in which they could now keep food cold was the wine cooler because that was built into the kitchen cupboards. Steve had drunk his way through most of the contents, so there was room for the ever decreasing food supply.

  The girls had brought a mixture of cold meats, quiches and salads with them. They all felt a little sad when they saw the boxes of home-made ice-creams defrosting on the counter.

  ‘It would have been a shame to let this lot go to waste,’ said Julie, licking the dark chocolate from her spoon.

  ‘This praline’s fantastic,’ said Samantha, before putting down her bowl. ‘But I mustn’t eat any more. That new bodycon dress I bought for the office party is pretty unforgiving.’

  Charley stared down at Samantha’s perfectly manicured fingernails before glancing at her own. She had already lost four false nails that week. She would have to get rid of the others soon. It looked ridiculous.

  She felt sick at the thought of her ice-cream and couldn’t bear to taste it. She hadn’t cared about the dishwasher or all the silly televisions. But losing her ice-cream was heartbreaking. That was real. Making it was possibly the only real talent she possessed. She had no appetite.

  ‘Where’s Steve?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘Out.’ Charley shrugged her shoulders. ‘He’s always out these days. Bankruptcy does not make for a happy marriage.’

  ‘It’s just all a bit stressful at the minute,’ said Julie. ‘Once everything’s calmed down, you two will be all right.’

  ‘How soon do you think you’ll have to move out?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘About a month, I think.’ Charley looked around the room. ‘Not that there’ll be much to take with us.’

  ‘They won’t take all your clothes, will they?’ Samantha felt horrified as she thought of Charley’s fabulous shoe collection.

  She shook her head. ‘We’re allowed to keep clothing, bedding, a bed and important kitchen stuff like the kettle and plates. Beyond that, it’s all up for grabs.’

  The front doorbell rang and didn’t stop. They all looked at her. Someone was leaning on the bell.

  Charley stood up.

  ‘It’s gone eight o’clock,’ said Julie, tutting.

  Bailiffs were only supposed to visit between dawn and dusk. It was dark when Charley opened the front door.

  ‘Steve Mills live here?’

  These men were different. They weren’t the sort of people she had become used to dealing with. These were hard men dressed in black. These men were more certifiable than official.

  Charley nodded, too terrified to speak.

  ‘He owes us three grand,’ said the larger of the men, pushing past her into the hall.

  Charley meekly followed as they peered into each room.

  ‘I see we’re not the first,’ said the other man. ‘What’s left?’

  They went into the kitchen, ignoring the women sitting on the floor. Charley opened up one of the cupboards, where she had kept some appliances ready for the next visit from the bailiffs. The men took a smoothie maker, cappuccino machine, juice extractor, bread maker and food processor.

  Before leaving, one of them did a last scout around the kitchen and picked up the Gaggia ice-cream maker.

  ‘B-But . . .’ Charley stammered, before her voice trailed off.

  What was the use? She didn’t even have a freezer any more.

  The men slammed the front door behind them. Charley disintegrated into tears.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Caroline, giving her a hug. ‘You’ll get through this.’

  ‘Who the hell wants to bake their own bread anyway?’ said Julie, raising a small smile from everyone.

  ‘You’d better hide your shoe collection, though,’ said Samantha. ‘You don’t want all those lovely Gina heels disappearing out the door.’

  Julie glared at Samantha. Who cared about shoes at a time like this?

  Charley was still trying to rein in her tears.

  ‘So what now?’ asked Caroline, gently.

  Charley sniffed. ‘I’m going to try and get a job. Though God knows, the employment market isn’t exactly buzzing at the minute.’

  ‘Perhaps you could try some of the shops on the high street,’ said Julie. ‘You’ve got experience from working in Steve’s all those years ago.’

  Charley smiled, but shook her head. ‘Already tried. Nobody’s taking on any more staff.’

  It had been one of the most humiliating days of her life when she had walked into each of her favourite shops and asked about employment. After all, previously she had spent most of her time in these places, buying glittering tea lights, retro storage boxes and cute cushions. So much money wasted on such fripperies. If only she had saved, instead of squandered, her money. If only she had put a bit of cash aside for a rainy day. If only she hadn’t been so stupid, she told herself. So greedy. So spoilt.

  Hindsight would have been Charley’s preferred superpower of choice at the moment.

  She gave them a small smile through her tears. ‘But Aunty Peggy knows someone who is taking on new staff.’

  Her friends stared expectantly at her, even a little excited.

  ‘It’s a cleaning job.’

  ‘A what?’ said Samantha, beginning to laugh before swiftly turning it into a cough.

  ‘I need a job,’ said Charley. ‘And it’s cash in hand.’

  ‘Cleaning houses?’ prompted Caroline.

  Charley nodded.

  ‘Well, you’ve always kept your home lovely,’ said Caroline brightly.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Julie, nodding frantically.

  But Samantha couldn’t keep her horror hidden. ‘I think we’d better open this other bottle of wine, don’t you?’ she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  CHARLEY WOKE UP with a throbbing headache. She blamed the bottle of wine that she had finished drinking by herself after the girls had left.

  She also blamed it for the massive row she’d had with Steve when he finally came home, equally drunk. To her surprise, he had gone off in a strop and slept in the spare bedroom. She was less surprised to find the house empty when she woke up late in the morning.
Now she needed to struggle up and get dressed, because she had a job interview.

  She had hoped that Steve would give her a lift but there was no reply to her apoplectic text message, so she gave up and began the long walk to her parents’ house to pick up a car which Aunty Peggy was lending her.

  Seeing her parents filled Charley with guilt once more. But a new job would certainly help in repaying them and so would a car. Besides, a car meant freedom, a touch of normality in this bizarre new world in which she suddenly found herself.

  She glanced at Julie’s house as she walked past. To her utmost inner shame, she had always looked down her nose at it. Secretly she could not believe that Julie had never wanted to smarten up the place. Now she was beginning to realise that perhaps Julie had never had enough money. Perhaps living within her means was what mattered to her and, after all, it was Charley’s house with the Sold sign outside, not Julie’s.

  A steady drizzle began, compounding Charley’s misery. Pounding the pavements in frustration, she eventually found herself walking up the driveway towards her parents’ front door. But her path was blocked by a small car. Charley’s mouth dropped open at the sight of it. It looked like the survivor of a demolition derby masquerading as a blue Mini. But the numerous dents had obviously not stopped it from being roadworthy as Aunty Peggy had told her that it was taxed and with an MOT for the next ten months.

  Charley gave the vehicle a wide berth before letting herself into her parents’ house. But all was quiet. A note told her that they had gone food shopping and that the keys to the Mini were, of course, in the green bowl on the hall table. With a heavy heart, Charley realised it wasn’t some cosmic mistake. The car outside was her only means of transport – temporarily, she prayed.

  Back outside, she walked slowly around the battered car before putting the key in the driver’s door. No remote locking. No smart leather upholstery, she thought, as she gingerly sat down on the heavily stained beige velour seat. She swiftly wound down a window to bring some much needed fresh air to the stale interior. Then she remained seated, wondering what she had possibly done in a former life to deserve such misery in her current one.

  She was still sitting there a couple of minutes later when her parents drew up.

  ‘Oh, good,’ said her mother, getting out of her car and waving. ‘You found the keys.’

  Charley nodded dumbly in response, watching Maureen pick up a couple of Lidl bags. That was new too, she realised. They had always shopped at Waitrose before.

  Her father headed over to the Mini, sucking on the pipe he had just retrieved from his shirt pocket.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, apparently.’ He tried not to smirk as he leant in through the open window.

  ‘Nothing is as bad as this car looks,’ muttered Charley.

  ‘Lord knows what Peggy’s nephew did with it whilst he was at university. She says you can have it as long as you want. He’s on a gap year travelling around South America.’

  Charley knew she had no choice. There was no point being snobbish about these things. It was a car, wasn’t it? Her parents were shopping in Lidl, for God’s sake. She owed them £40,000. She was about to be interviewed as a cleaner. It was time to get over herself.

  She turned the key in the ignition and the car spluttered into life. With her parents calling out good luck, Charley found first gear and proceeded to bunny-hop down the driveway. The car gave a shudder every minute or so, accompanied by a questionable knocking sound. But at least it would get her as far as her interview without breaking down. Or at least she hoped so.

  Peggy’s friend Patricia, the head of the cleaning business, had sounded terribly posh when Charley called her. She wasn’t sure how Aunty Peggy had come to mix in those kind of circles.

  Patricia lived in a detached cottage on the outskirts of Little Grove, with a beautiful country garden at the front. The cleaning business was obviously flourishing.

  ‘Do come in,’ she said, in a cut-glass accent.

  Patricia Chalcot was a stout woman in her early fifties. She was wearing a blue silk blouse, matching pencil skirt and court shoes. She led Charley into the lounge, which was all floral fabrics and sparkling white net curtains.

  ‘So, my dear.’ Patricia gestured for her to sit down. ‘You want to join my team of happy cleaners?’

  Charley managed a fake smile. ‘Yes, I do.’

  No, I don’t, she wanted to shout. I want to run away from here as fast as I possibly can.

  ‘Well, you look smart enough. All my girls must be trustworthy, reliable and neat. I won’t have untidy cleaners. A messy cleaner is a reflection on Grove Cleaners, which is a reflection on me.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘My customers want to come home at the end of their working day to a spotless home. My girls see to it that their dream comes true.’

  Charley had thought that the job only required her to dust and clean.

  ‘As a rule, my customers require a weekly service. Normally either a whole morning or afternoon. It can take up to four hours to achieve the dream look.’

  The telephone rang.

  ‘Grove Cleaners. Patricia Chalcot speaking. Yes, Mrs Palmer. I saw your application. How are you? Wonderful. Well, you’re in luck, my dear. I have a lovely girl called Charlotte who will be available to start attending to your home next week.’

  Charley’s eyebrows shot up. This was all going a bit too fast. She hadn’t even agreed to take the job yet.

  ‘Nine o’clock sharp on Thursday,’ carried on Patricia. ‘Super. So nice to talk to you again. Goodbye.’ She put down the phone and turned back to Charley. ‘Your first customer.’

  ‘Really?’

  The phone rang again.

  ‘Gosh, it’s busy today.’ Patricia picked up the phone. ‘Grove Cleaners, how may I help you? . . . I beg your pardon? . . . Fanny, is that you? Calm down, dear.’

  She rolled her eyes and sighed in an exaggerated manner.

  ‘I can’t understand you. Stop shouting. Fanny . . . can you hear me?’

  Then Patricia lost her temper.

  ‘Fanny! What the bleeding ’ell is going on there?’ All traces of the cut-glass accent had gone. In its place was pure cockney. ‘Well, what do you want me to do about it? Empty the bloody Hoover bag, you silly mare! If the blasted guinea pig’s not in there, then you’re in the clear. If it is, nip down the pet shop and get another. What? I dunno. A tenner? No, of course I’m not going to pay for it. You Hoover up the family pet, you bloody pay for it!’

  Patricia slammed down the phone and turned back to face Charley.

  ‘These bloody girls! Some of them are so thick . . .’ She caught Charley’s wide-eyed stare. ‘The customers like the posh accent, sweetheart. Makes them think they’re not going to get some deadbeat like Fanny cleaning their homes. So, whaddya think? You game for this cleaning lark or what?’

  That was it. Interview over. Charley had a job.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘NO WIFE OF mine is going to be a bloody cleaner!’ shouted Steve.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ screamed Charley. ‘I will not have this row over and over with you. It’s a job!’ She put her hands on her hips and scowled at her husband. ‘Which is more than you’ve got at the minute.’

  He stomped out of the lounge, leaving Charley to finish packing the box in front of her. She had stuck a few photographs on the walls to keep up the impression of normality but with the house now almost devoid of furniture, they looked ridiculous. She plucked the last of the photographs down from the wall and stared at the picture of a happy couple getting married. Steve was looking uncomfortable in his suit; Charley was swamped by a meringue of cheap ivory silk. But they were grinning like idiots, young and in love.

  It had been a happy day, if perhaps a little soon after the beginning of their relationship. If you could call six months of sex in the back of his Fiat a relationship.

  At the age of eighteen, Steve still lived with his tyrant of a mother. Sh
e was a scary religious nut who went even nuttier when he’d told her that Charley had accidentally become pregnant. One row followed another. By the time she miscarried at eleven weeks, the church had been booked and there was no going back. So they said their vows and got married.

  Steve’s meteoric rise in the local fashion trade took them both by surprise. On the advice of a mate, he had borrowed some money from the bank and set up a small shop selling knock-off clothing. By some kind of miracle, the clothes were popular and people started to come into the shop in droves. The bottom had begun to drop out of the housing market and customers were looking for cheap ways of staying fashionable.

  In those days Charley helped out in the shop at the weekends and it had been fun . . . certainly different from the boring office work she was used to. Steve made all the business deals and she worked the till. Then they had become ambitious and decided to open a second shop. She gratefully gave up her office job as the money began to roll in. Two more shops were added to their empire in as many years.

  But when had their ambition turned to greed? Was that when it had all begun to slip away from them? Now they had nothing, she thought as she dropped the last photograph into the box. Nothing but each other. They were back to where they had started.

  She carried the box into the kitchen and set it on the floor, next to the counter top. Glancing at the clock on the oven, she realised it was time to leave for her first cleaning job. Patricia had told her that it would take a week or so to build up to a full complement of customers but had already arranged a three-hour clean for that Monday morning.

  Charley found herself unexpectedly grateful. The money would give her a chance to top the car up with petrol, and the work would get her out of the house, away from Steve and the risk of yet another row.

  The customer lived down a country lane beyond the green in Little Grove. It was a small farmhouse with a stable block tagged on to one side. A large pond curved around the front and one side of the house. It was a beautiful setting with rabbits on the grass, ducks by the pond and birdsong filling the air.