The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan

by Alison Sherlock

  Charley realised this was true. With the family sprawled across the lounge, plus her suitcases and boxes beginning to fill the hallway and bedroom, it felt less empty. Less bleak.

  Her twin sisters sidled up to her.

  ‘I know we’ve given you a lot of grief about the money,’ said Victoria.

  ‘And we’re still really cross about that,’ added Elizabeth.

  ‘I know,’ said Charley, with a sigh.

  ‘But you got yourself a job,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘And this place,’ said Victoria, with a small shudder.

  ‘So we just want to say, you know, that we can see you’re doing your best and we’re proud of you.’

  ‘You are?’ Charley’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Thanks.’

  She let them embrace her, grateful for having such a supportive family. But all too soon they began to wend their way home.

  ‘I’ll be over next week to see how you’re getting on,’ said Granny, giving Charley a stiff hug. ‘Make sure you eat properly. I’ll not have you wasting away.’

  ‘Victoria’s left you a spare telephone,’ said her father, attempting to appear normal though his watery eyes betrayed him. ‘It’s plugged in and ready to go. Give us a ring tonight, so we can get the number.’

  ‘Your dad’s switched on the fridge but it’s not cold enough yet so I’ve left you some dinner in the cool bag.’ Charley’s mother kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thirty minutes in the oven should do. Drop the bag off when you’re next round. I’ll need it for the church picnic next month.’

  She squeezed the air out of Charley’s lungs with a massive hug before leaving.

  Finally, Charley was alone. She stood trembling in the hallway for a minute before getting busy. She avoided the kitchen, deciding to concentrate on the bedroom first.

  The inside of the wardrobe and chest of drawers needed wiping and then drying before she could start to unpack. She realised that she had far too many clothes for an average wardrobe, most of which were unnecessary in her new circumstances. When was she going to wear an evening gown again? Or any of her beautiful high heels?

  In the end, she unpacked her jeans, t-shirts and casual tops and left all her smarter clothes in two suitcases, which she then placed at the back of the wardrobe. She unpacked her flip-flops and trainers, leaving all her expensive heels in a black bin liner, which she placed at the bottom of the wardrobe next to the suitcases.

  She glanced at the bag which held her fancy underwear. These weren’t bras to wear under t-shirts, or sensible cotton pants. This was silky, sometimes flammable, underwear, that she had worn only for Steve. Gulping back tears, Charley carried the bag out of the flat and shoved it down the communal bin chute.

  Back in the lounge, Charley slumped into the armchair and looked around her. The flat was riddled with damp, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls and the bathroom was a kaleidoscope of yellow and black. There really was no place like home.

  But it was hers, sort of. She had sole ownership of the remote control at any rate. Later on, she could read for an hour in the bath, if she could face those mirrored tiles. She could even hog the whole of the mattress, instead of lying perched on the edge whilst her husband lay diagonally across the middle, snoring loudly.

  The thought of Steve put a stop to any further positive thoughts. What was he doing now? And with whom? Was he snuggled up with whatshername somewhere? Or down the pub, laughing with his mates, having forgotten his wife?

  Charley hugged her knees into her chest, wishing they were back in their lovely house, before all the trouble had started. The only thing she wanted to do right at that moment was to switch on her ice-cream maker and start mixing batches of strawberry sorbet or chocolate pecan mix. But that wasn’t possible. Charley suddenly felt very alone.

  Her mobile tinkled into life. She thought it would be her mother, reminding her about the cool bag. But she was wrong. It was Julie.

  Hope you’ve unpacked already! she read. Don’t forget we’re coming over on Friday night for a housewarming. Keep smiling!

  Later that evening she also received a text from Caroline, as well as one from her mother about the cool bag.

  Charley allowed herself a small smile. She wasn’t entirely alone. She still had her friends and family.

  Chapter Twenty

  AT LEAST IT had only been a short working week, thought Charley as she drove to her last cleaning job on Friday afternoon. Though that meant only four days’ wages too, which made the amount of money in her purse seem perilously paltry.

  But for now, she only had one more house to clean. Just get through the afternoon, she told herself, and then it was the weekend. Of course, that meant too much time spent in her ghastly flat. It still felt alien to her, and certainly not like ‘home’. She was scared to be living alone for the first time in her life, and frightened by the weight of responsibility that it brought.

  Charley got out of the car and hurried up to the front door of the large house. She took shelter from the April shower that had begun and tugged the old-fashioned bell pull. She waited for someone to come to the door. And then she waited some more.

  She glanced around the grounds. The driveway was bordered by an overgrown lawn. Box hedges had grown out of shape. Weeds filled the flowerbeds. Nature had run amok.

  She was about to ring the bell again when the heavy oak door began to open, revealing a tiny old lady. She was about four foot tall and her frailty was further emphasised by faux auburn hair which was obviously a wig.

  ‘Hi. I’m Charlotte. I’m your new cleaner.’

  ‘Hello, dear,’ said the pensioner. ‘I’m Mrs Wilberforce.’

  Charley stepped into the hall and straight back in time. The house was lovely. Or at least it had been eighty years ago. And that looked to be the last time anyone had dusted. If nature had run amok outside, dust and dirt had overtaken the inside of the house. Everywhere she looked, thick cobwebs stretched across from picture frames to the ceiling, from the grandfather clock to the floor. Most surfaces were thick with dust and there was a smell of mould and decay in the air.

  Charley followed Mrs Wilberforce’s slow progress through the entrance hall to the doorway at the far end.

  ‘Have you ever had a cleaner before?’ asked Charley, assuming she knew the answer to the question.

  ‘Yes, but Irene retired last month. Been with us thirty years.’

  And not done a decent day’s work in all that time, thought Charley.

  ‘Where would you like me to start?’

  ‘I thought you could do the drawing room today. And then the kitchen next week.’

  Charley frowned. ‘But that’s only one room. Are you sure you don’t want me to do more than that this week?’

  Mrs Wilberforce shook her head. ‘I don’t want to wear you out, my dear. That was all Irene could ever manage. You’re only here for two hours. Shall I show you around?’

  Charley thought it was the kind of tour they should include at Universal Studios. ‘Step right up, folks. The new haunted mansion ride has just opened. Admission includes free cobwebs and moths to take home with you. Scary chamber music for an additional charge.’

  She shook her head in dismay. How did anyone live like this? Why weren’t her family getting this nice lady into a sunny bungalow?

  ‘Have you a large family?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Since my husband Ernest passed away there’s just my son now. He’s a hairdresser living in London. Very busy, of course, so he can’t come down here very often.’

  Back in the hallway, Charley was shown the cleaning materials, such as they were. A tin of scouring powder, one of furniture wax and a couple of rags.

  As she went back into the drawing room and surveyed the damage, Charley thought that Mrs Wilberforce was really very sweet. The room was a large one overlooking the garden. Some battered sofas and armchairs were positioned around the large fireplace. Various pieces of china were on display on occasional tables. It was a good thing that th
is was the only room to be cleaned today. It would take all of two hours to get it into a reasonable state.

  Charley felt her lips press together and her back straighten. She was experiencing a feeling she hadn’t felt in any of her cleaning jobs so far: determination to do a good and thorough job. Normally she just wanted to get by without breaking down into hysterical tears, but this afternoon she was going to make a difference to someone’s life. She didn’t care how long it took. This nice little old lady was going to sit in a clean, dust-free drawing room tonight.

  Charley mentally rolled up her sleeves as she appraised the room before deciding to start on a little table by the door. She carefully removed the photo frames and pill boxes from the top and placed them on the carpet.

  She went back into the kitchen and dampened one of the rags, before wringing it almost dry. Back in the drawing room, she wiped the table top. A stripe of beautiful walnut veneer appeared. Then another. Once all the dust was clear, she buffed the table top using the furniture wax. Her arms were already beginning to ache but she kept going as the table began to gleam. Who needed aerobics and hand weights when you could tone your arms by polishing furniture instead?

  Once the ornamental frames and boxes were also cleaned, Charley placed them back on the table and looked at her handiwork. The table shone out in a room full of dust. She allowed herself a small sigh of satisfaction, before moving on to the next piece.

  An hour had flown by when Mrs Wilberforce pottered in.

  ‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘How super!’

  She beamed with delight as she stared at all the wooden furniture, now gleaming and full of colour.

  But with an hour to go, Charley still had to dust the paintings, take down the china plates from the walls and wash them, as well as vacuum the carpet. If she had enough time, she also wanted to clean the windows.

  ‘You’ve worked so hard, my dear,’ said Mrs Wilberforce. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve just made one for the new gardener.’

  Charley followed her into the kitchen and watched it being poured out of an ancient teapot.

  The back door suddenly opened and there, filling the doorway, was a figure from her past.

  Mike Shearer had been in the same year at school as Charley, from the first day at primary school right through to the age of sixteen. He hadn’t been one of the trendy boys like Steve, exuding cocky confidence and flirting with the girls. Instead Mike had chosen to stay on the periphery and quietly watch the action. Like Charley, he had also stayed in the village, carving a career for himself as a gardener.

  But she was surprised and extremely embarrassed to be discovered by him in her new role as domestic staff.

  ‘Hi,’ said Charley with a shy smile.

  ‘Hello.’ Mike looked equally surprised to find her there.

  They had occasionally bumped into each other in the village but never exchanged anything more than a passing nod and greeting. Working together would mean having whole conversations with each other.

  ‘This is my new cleaner,’ said Mrs Wilberforce, pouring out the tea. ‘It’s the first day for both of you.’

  Mike stared at Charley for a few seconds before lowering his eyes and going over to the counter to pick up his cup of tea.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. His huge hands made the cup look doll-sized, she noticed.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ Mrs Wilberforce asked him.

  He took a long swig of tea before replying. ‘You’ve lost a couple of roses but I’ve pruned the rest back hard. Should come on a treat this summer.’

  ‘Well done,’ she told him. ‘Let me fetch you a chocolate biscuit. I think I left them by the bed last night.’

  There was a silence as she began her slow journey upstairs, leaving them alone.

  Charley glanced at Mike, thinking how rarely she actually saw him, despite the fact that they both lived in the village. Mike lived in a small cottage on the outskirts, nowhere near Upper Grove and the life that she led. Or rather, used to lead.

  She had forgotten how tall he was. He had to be well over six foot. Perhaps it was all the fresh air.

  She found herself blushing as she realised he was studying her in return with his dark eyes.

  Charley shuffled from foot to foot under his scrutiny.

  ‘So you’re a cleaner?’ He was unable to hide the surprise in his deep voice.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Charley, suddenly feeling defensive. ‘Just one of many personal goals I’ve achieved so far this year.’

  ‘What are the others?’ asked Mike, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  Was he laughing at her? At the ghastly situation she had found herself in?

  ‘Bankruptcy, losing my house and finding my husband with another woman,’ she snapped in reply.

  His smile faded. ‘Really?’

  Charley sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’d only heard about the house and bankruptcy.’

  Charley waited for words of commiseration and comfort, especially about the demise of her marriage. But they didn’t come and the silence stretched out between them.

  Thankfully they were interrupted by the arrival of the chocolate biscuits. ‘Here we are,’ said Mrs Wilberforce, holding out the packet to them both.

  Charley took a couple of digestives with a smile of thanks. They were stale but chocolate was chocolate.

  ‘I’d better get on,’ said Mike, finishing his tea in one swift movement.

  He grabbed a couple of biscuits before heading back out into the garden, without so much as a backward glance in Charley’s direction.

  She felt rattled as she went back to the drawing room to finish cleaning. Okay, so she and Mike weren’t exactly close, but they had known each other since they were five years old. They used to play at each other’s house when they were very young. A little sympathy wouldn’t have gone amiss, she thought. After all, she would have done the same thing if the tables were turned. Not that she knew that much about Mike’s love life or finances.

  Enraged by his unsympathetic attitude, she cleaned furiously and an hour later her work was done. The room was a warm inviting place once more.

  ‘What a wonderful job you’ve done,’ said Mrs Wilberforce with tears in her eyes. ‘I haven’t seen the place look this good for years.’

  Charley sighed with a small sense of satisfaction. She had survived her first week at work and made someone happy. If only she could say the same of herself.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  THE GIRLS CAME over to see the flat on Friday evening, the idea being to give her new home a housewarming. Charley figured it would be better to set light to the whole place. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had prepared for a girls’ night in by purchasing expensive roses and scented candles to set the mood. It was hardly the same in her damp-ridden flat. But then, nothing was the same for her any more. The most upsetting thing was that she hadn’t been able to make any ice-cream.

  Charley had found out to her cost that wooden floorboards had been installed in the flat above. Every noise was magnified tenfold. Footsteps, furniture scraping along the floor, dropped objects.

  ‘What are they doing up there?’ asked Julie, walking into the lounge. ‘Auditioning for Riverdance?’

  ‘You get used to it,’ lied Charley, turning up the radio for some background noise.

  ‘This is, er . . .’ Samantha stopped and looked around her. She was unable to disguise the horror on her face as she took in the flat. Finally she broke into a smile. ‘Let’s unscrew that wine, eh?’

  Once poured, they clinked their wine glasses together and tried to act normal.

  ‘To the future,’ said Caroline.

  ‘And may Steve’s be absolutely rotten,’ said Julie.

  Charley sighed.

  ‘It must have been horrible for you, finding them together like that?’ said Caroline.

  Charley shrugged her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t a Kodak moment, that’s for sure.’

 
‘I hear the Caribbean is rubbish this time of year anyway,’ said Samantha.

  ‘Start of the hurricane season, isn’t it?’ said Julie. ‘The hotel will probably be as flat as a pancake by now.’

  ‘And real tans are out,’ said Caroline, whose pale skin never went dark, thanks to Factor 50. ‘Better to fake it anyway.’

  Samantha just managed to stop herself from telling them about the long weekend in Ibiza that she’d booked with some of her female work colleagues.

  ‘So how’s the cleaning?’ asked Julie.

  Charley rolled her eyes. ‘Exhausting.’

  The others shook their heads in sympathy.

  ‘With the added joy of bumping into old school chums,’ she said with a groan.

  Caroline frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Mike Shearer, of all people.’

  ‘Aww!’ cooed Caroline. ‘He was always so sweet at school. You were too busy getting off with Steve behind the bike shed to notice.’

  Charley’s reply caught in her throat at the mention of her husband’s name.

  ‘Mike went to agricultural college, I think,’ said Caroline. ‘Got his own business now. Doing really well, from what I hear.’

  ‘He must be the same Mike I know at the gardening club,’ said Julie. ‘Tall and dark-haired?’

  Caroline nodded. ‘And with a great body!’

  ‘Oooh,’ said Samantha, her eyes lighting up. ‘Handsome?’

  ‘No,’ said Charley at the same time as Caroline and Julie said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come on,’ urged Caroline. ‘You must at least admit he’s good-looking?’

  Charley shrugged her shoulders. ‘He doesn’t really compare with Steve.’

  The others exchanged glances before looking at Charley sympathetically.

  ‘You’ll get over him,’ said Julie in a gentle tone. ‘In time.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ replied Charley.

  ‘Ice-cream will help,’ said Caroline. ‘Have you made any?’

  Charley shook her head. ‘Too tired, too broke, and the freezer section at the top of the fridge is too small.’