The House Mate

by Nina Manning

  I felt the gloomy sensation that something terrible was about to happen, and I needed to do something to ease it. I had the journey home to get through and so once I was on the train, I opened up Instagram to see what Mrs Clean had been doing. It no longer felt like a want, but more like a need as I took in the seamlessness of her grid; I felt the dismal sensation melt away and a calmness fell over me. Within these boxes, I had begun to feel a strange sort of safety, as though I were in an alternative world.

  Mrs Clean had posted again, and this time she was running a competition in association with a cleaning brand to win some top-of-the-range cleaning gadgets and equipment. The image accompanying the words was of her hallway again. I could see those three black-and-white prints on the wall on the left, and the floor was gleaming. Right at the end of the hallway was an image of the products she was giving away and a mop and bucket. All I could think was that it was a little sad, that a woman would be staying in on a Friday night and I felt a little sorry for her. I wondered how old she was. In my mind, she was my age. For a moment I imagined a world where I would go to her house on a Friday night and we would have a drink and compare cleaning tips. I thought about what I had planned for the evening. Drying my sheets, tidying my room.

  I had more in common with Mrs Clean than I thought.

  I just love it, were her signing off words.

  ‘I just love it.’ I mouthed the words to myself to see if I could conjure up any more love associated with cleaning. I was certainly enjoying it, but did I love it?

  Back at the house there didn’t seem to be any sense of urgency over a party that was happening tomorrow night, and, by the evening, everyone had gathered to hang out in the lounge, including Steve. Bowls of nuts and crisps were out on the coffee table alongside glasses of wine and bottles of beer; there was word of ordering a Mexican takeaway. I joined them as I did most evenings for a little while, mainly as the nights by myself in my bedroom were too long to be alone with my own thoughts.

  I took the chair opposite the sofa where Mini and Karen were sprawled out at opposite ends. The conversations were easy to listen to, never really wavering from magazine or TV topics: who wore what to the Oscars, would there be another series of Friends, what were the best night creams currently on the market? Steve had arrived about half an hour ago. He now sat contentedly in a tub chair in the corner of the room, listening, nodding in the appropriate places. I couldn’t help seeing someone else whenever I looked at him, and my body would occasionally give an involuntary shudder like it did now.

  ‘You okay, Regi?’ Sophia asked. Her curly hair was piled high in a bun and she was wearing her glasses. She peered over them and looked at me.

  ‘Just felt a slight chill.’ I tried to shake off Sophia’s concern, but she was already pulling the throw from the back of the chair and holding it out for me. I gave an insipid smile, sat forward and gingerly pulled it over my legs, trying not to think about the last time it had seen a wash.

  ‘So, I’m thinking balloons, confetti, candles, the lot tomorrow. I’ll pop over to that party shop in the morning and grab some stuff.’ Mini chatted away.

  ‘You’re not supposed to go and buy your own decorations for your party,’ Karen said.

  ‘No, you’re thinking of not seeing the bride before the wedding,’ Mini said deadpan, and Sophia and Karen exchanged a look and a smirk.

  ‘No, I just don’t think it’s fair that you should be the one to put your own decorations out on your birthday,’ Karen said, dabbing her nose with one hand and smoothing the stray hairs across her head with the other.

  ‘Oh right, so you’re gonna do it then? You don’t drive for a start,’ Mini said, grabbing a handful of nuts from the table and putting them in her mouth.

  ‘I’ll drive you, babes,’ Steve said from across the room.

  I felt my eyes half close as I looked across at Steve. His delivery of the word babe had seemed somewhat disingenuous.

  ‘Oh, thank you, darlin’.’ Karen blew him a kiss.

  I saw Sophia raise her head and flash a look over towards Steve, who looked up at her with a neutral expression at the same time. I wondered if Sophia felt the same way about Steve as I did. I made a mental note to ask her when we were alone.

  ‘Right, I’ll order the takeaway.’ Sophia began tapping away at her phone. Everyone, including me, started shouting their orders at her. Steve and Karen got up and left the room.

  I saw Sophia glance over at them as they left. She then caught my eye and quickly stuck two fingers in her mouth. I smiled.

  Half an hour later, when the doorbell went, Sophia looked at me.

  ‘Would you mind? The money’s there.’ She pointed at the table and leant back over Mini’s phone where they were scrolling through Pinterest, getting party ideas. I grabbed the kitty from the table as I felt the monster building up inside me. I took long, slow breaths as I walked to the front door. No, Regi, you don’t need to open and close the door six times before you greet the Deliveroo man. You could just be a normal member of society and open the door and then sit down and enjoy the meal with everyone else. But I couldn’t. I knew I first needed to feed the monster, and then I could feed myself.

  I performed my ritual and I was greeted by the young delivery guy. He didn’t bat an eyelid at the disjointed sounds of me trying to open the door. I could have been drunk out of my mind for all he knew. I thanked him, paid with the kitty and took the delivery back into the lounge.

  Karen and Steve appeared, looking a little ruffled. When I got back into the lounge, I could see Karen was diving straight into the takeaway, but Steve seemed to linger in the doorway as I was trying to edge my way through.

  ‘Need any help?’ He held out his hand to relieve me of the plates and cutlery.

  ‘Nope. I’m fine,’ I said as I tried to edge my way past. I was sure I felt his foot reach out and touch mine. ‘Right, you animals, let’s have a little civilisation here, everyone grab a plate,’ I called to the room. Steve suddenly shot me another one of his neutral looks and to me it felt as if it was carrying some kind of warning.

  Instagram post: 4th May 2019

  Good morning, my lovely cleaners. I hope you’re all having a wonderful day. Nothing beats the smell of freshly washed and line-dried linen on a bed. I love the feeling of those ‘just washed’ sheets when I get into bed at night. These sheets were gifted to me by the lovely @fredalinen and I love how white they come up every time I wash them. I use a brand called @fresh. Not gifted, I just absolutely adore the fragrance of their products. Next thing will be to redesign this bedroom altogether and get some fitted wardrobes, but for now, I am enjoying the sunshine. Hope you are too.

  Mrs Clean x

  #spring #linen #fabric #Lovinglife #MrsClean #Cleansheets #instaclean

  256,673 likes

  forgetmenots This is bloody gorgeous as it is. Fitted wardrobes would ruin the authentic look you’ve got going on there.

  Poole4030 @mrsclean your posts keep me sane.

  beckybooloopa Love Love Love.

  lucybest65 How do you keep your house so clean? Obviously, no kids.

  anthonyr.smith Defo no kids. No one can keep their house that tidy and have kids.

  lucybest65 And you say ‘not gifted’ but let’s see how long it takes before she’s collaborating with Fresh. It’s like you only have to mention them once and boom, sponsorship.

  everythingispink You sound jealous @lucybest65

  lucybest65 Not jealous, just annoyed at how easy these Instagrammers have it these days.

  10

  Now

  I woke up on the morning of the party with a raging headache. I needed to find pain relief straightaway.

  I opened and closed the window six times, even though I craved a slight breeze. I looked out through the window to the empty courtyard next door, with the small stretch of grass beyond. No child today.

  I thought back to the days I knew and loved best; when a child that age would want to be outside in this
weather, running, discovering, so full of curiosities. To witness it was like sunshine flooding my soul. Nothing made me happier.

  I opened and closed my door six times, counted the steps down to the kitchen where I knew there was some ibuprofen in a drawer.

  I had promised to get the summerhouse finished before the party, but I needed to take my usual trip to the coffee shop first before the furniture would arrive later. I was sure, as much as I didn’t care to, it would appear rude if I shirked away from decorating the lounge once Karen and Steve got back from the party shop. I took two ibuprofens from the packet and swallowed them down with water.

  Back up in my bedroom, I couldn’t rest. I found I was pacing the room and wringing my hands. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and went into Mrs Clean’s most recent Instagram post. It seemed her followers were arguing over her using the names of brands. I looked again at a post she had put up yesterday. It was just a shot of a pile of freshly washed sheets and her feet up on a footstool in a pair of pink fluffy slippers. Amongst the wording accompanying the post she had written, Even clean queens need a break – feet-up time.

  She had used the hashtag #fridayyvibes. Everything in the background was out of focus. It now had 167,546 likes and endless comments.

  I felt a wave of relief wash over me, my stomach no longer felt tense. I was happy in this little world. I had come to feel safe in smaller spaces, having spent a year confined to just one small area.

  I found myself scrolling through a few of yesterday’s comments. The majority of them were positive responses, wishing her a happy day and to not overdo it, or that they were doing something similar themselves. I felt an overwhelming urge to comment, to be a part of this community, but I would not know what to say. A few of the really negative comments stood out amongst the sea of positivity and love for Mrs Clean.

  lucybest65 I’m sure a rest is just what you need after all that ‘self-promotion’ #itsallrightforsome

  Underneath that were a stream of responses to lucybest65 and her negativity.

  singstheword What’s your problem?

  milofortune43 Who rattled yours?

  ifieverask Give the woman a break. She’s having a cup of tea for five minutes.

  Lucybest65 hadn’t responded to any of them. I grew up in an era when trolls didn’t exist because we used to talk face to face. It amazed me how people found it so easy to post something so negative just because they weren’t looking the person in the eye? I had begun to feel some sort of affiliation with Mrs Clean; I found her posts soothing and inspiring all at once, and now I knew I would be keeping my eye on lucybest65’s comments.

  I could see Heather the moment I walked through the door of the coffee shop and so already I felt as though this day was going to be okay. It was reasonably quiet for a Saturday morning. I had even beat the Boden mums and dads, and I couldn’t hear any child sounds.

  A thought occurred to me. What would happen if I swapped drinking out for drinking in? I asked Heather if that would be possible.

  ‘Of course it is. But I’ll put it in a takeaway cup, just in case you change your mind.’ She gave me a knowing look, and I wasn’t sure whether I should have felt embarrassed or thankful.

  I chose a seat next to the window, where I could appreciate the view of the mews with its curtains of trees framing the street like a little stage.

  I took a sip of my coffee from the takeaway cup, thankful the ibuprofen had done its job of numbing my headache. I gazed around the mews, trying to relax into the moment; to normalise this novel sensation of just being. I fiddled with a napkin, folding it and unfolding it several times until the seams met just perfectly. There was a general hum of the coffee machine behind me as milk was frothed and beans were blended. I found it almost melodic and momentarily closed my eyes.

  I opened them slowly.

  My eyeline was automatically drawn to the huge oak tree in the centre of the mews, opposite where I was sat.

  I almost didn’t see him.

  He blended into the tree at first, in his khaki trousers and green bomber jacket. But it was the black baseball cap that caught my eye and held my gaze. His head was cast downwards, a mobile phone in his hand. I felt the familiar pang of panic, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of anger that coursed through my body. I still wasn’t ready to face him. I stood up quickly and my chair scraped backwards. A few diners turned to look at the commotion I had caused. I turned to the counter, aware of the ruckus and saw Heather look up from behind the counter.

  I mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ and headed for the door. If he was engaged in something on his phone, then I might manage to get out without being noticed.

  I yanked the door and stepped out into the street. A family of four kids and three dogs walked past me, blocking any view in front of me. When they had passed, I could see the oak tree again. The space where he had stood was now empty.

  I looked around the mews, trying to catch a glimpse of the baseball cap. But it was as if he was never there.

  I arrived back at the house just as everyone was getting up. Karen and Steve were in the lounge writing up a list of what to buy. I bypassed them and went straight upstairs, where I locked and unlocked the door six times. I went over to the window and repeated the same there. Visions of his face were still fresh in my mind. His stance, his posture. The very essence of his being was not something I would forget in a hurry. Instinctively, I touched my wrists. I could hear the voices of the house rising up the stairway and filtering into the bedroom. The excitement for the evening was building. I should have been downstairs, revelling in excitement and offering my services on Mini’s ever-growing to-do list. The loud trill of the doorbell made me jump and my heart skipped. Then I blew out a long breath and remembered that the chairs were arriving today and that it was probably the delivery guys with the furniture for the summerhouse. I opened and closed the door six times before finally letting myself out and down the stairs.

  Karen had already opened the front door and the delivery team were at their van unloading a sofa and chair.

  ‘It’s probably best to bring them round the back.’ I gestured to them with my hand.

  I walked back through the house and unlocked the side gate. I looked around and as no one was about I opened and shut it several more times, I’m not sure how many I was up to when the gate began to move and one of two of the two delivery guys was pushing his way through. He shot me a frustrated look and so I stepped back and allowed him through. He was carrying just the bucket chair. I skipped ahead of him and opened the door to the summerhouse.

  ‘Just chuck it anywhere.’ I motioned to the empty space.

  ‘Chuck it? You’ll be suing us for all we got.’

  ‘Well, then… Place it just here.’ I pointed to a corner I had prepped with a large green sprouting pot plant. I had seen a small table in a retro preloved store a few streets away, and I thought the combo of the three would look smart and classy in the corner. The sofa would sit bang in the middle of the larger window with a long coffee table in front. I felt a hint of pride that I had been able to do something for the house and the girls, as well as putting my stamp on a small area of the vast house we shared. They had all offered to give me something towards it, but I felt I wanted to contribute something to compensate for what I lacked in house mate skills; to make up for my odd and erratic behaviour.

  Whilst the delivery guy headed back to the front to bring through the sofa, I took a moment to stand in the garden. The sun had been out all morning, but only now could I feel a little warmth spreading across the garden, and I took a moment to bask in it. Suddenly, my ears were alerted to a commotion, raised voices fuelled with heightened tension. A style of conversation I was so familiar with it was almost as though I was listening to my past, except this conversation was happening in another language. I moved closer to the fence; I was already certain I knew where it was coming from. The stepladder was still perched next to the fence and I took a moment to decide if I fancied ventur
ing up there, but the temptation was too much and the desire to put faces to voices was bordering on obsession.

  I quickly scooted up the ladder and crouched down on the third step, so only my head was peeking above the fence. I couldn’t see anyone, but the back door leading onto the patio was wide open. A gruff male voice spurted words in his native language. The voice became raised and agitated until it was punctuated by the high-pitched protests of a female. They were both talking very fast. Suddenly, a man stepped out of the door with his right hand on the door handle to pull it closed. As he stepped out, he looked upwards and made direct eye contact with me. Just before I ducked my head down, I was met with a scowl as he muttered something else in his language and slammed the door. I stepped down the ladder, shrouded in guilt. I was familiar with rows that attracted the attention of others, but those arguments had been drenched in emotions too raw, too painful, so it never sat well with me when I heard the screams of others.

  I looked down the garden as the delivery guys were bringing the sofa through. It looked so much better than it did online. It had a soft linen grey cover. I had bought a selection of cushions in greys, yellows and greens, some with geometric designs to stand boldly against the plain sofa fabric.

  I spent the rest of the morning organising the summerhouse, removing the cellophane from the chair, putting down a couple of rugs, bringing in a portable heater and adding some of the knick-knacks I had bought. I would head down to the preloved store later to collect the table.

  Then I decided the time had come to take a photo and post it on Instagram. I tried out the diagonal angle from the doorway, managing to get in two chairs and the plant pot, and it seemed to work.

  I posted it with the words, Summerhouse renovation complete. I tagged Mrs Clean in it and then felt a flutter of panic. My profile name and picture didn’t give anything away about who I was, so I wasn’t worried about anyone tracking me down and finding me. But I was still putting something of mine out into the world, and it made me feel slightly exposed. Yet wasn’t this the norm now? People posting their entire lives online?