The family is okay. The rich are never normal (!) but these are good people. Minimal drama.
You’d have your own room and bathroom. We’d share a kitchen with the housekeeper. She’s all right. Bit older. Keeps herself to herself.
Hours regular. Eight – at worst ten – a day. You get time off in lieu. You might want to learn a bit of Polish!
I finally fell asleep as it grew light, my mind full of Manhattan duplexes and bustling streets. And when I woke up, an email was waiting for me.
Dear Ms Clark,
Nathan tells me you might be interested in coming to work in our household. Would you be available for a Skype interview on Tuesday evening at 5 p.m. GMT (midday EST)?
Yours sincerely,
Leonard M. Gopnik
I stared at it for a full twenty minutes, proof that I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. And then I got up and showered, made myself a strong mug of coffee and typed my reply. It wouldn’t hurt to have the interview, I told myself. I wouldn’t get the job, if there were lots of highly professional New York candidates. But it was good practice, if nothing else. And it would make me feel as if I were finally doing something, moving forward.
Before I left for work, I took Will’s letter carefully from the bedside table. I pressed my lips to it, then folded it carefully and put it back in the drawer.
Thank you, I told him silently.
It was a slightly thinned-out version of the Moving On Circle that week. Natasha was on holiday, as was Jake, for which I was mostly relieved and a tiny bit put out in a way I couldn’t reconcile. The evening’s topic was ‘If I could turn back time’, which meant that William and Sunil hummed or whistled the Cher song unconsciously at intervals for the entire hour and a half.
I listened to Fred wishing he had spent less time at work, then Sunil wishing he’d got to know his brother better (‘You just think they’re always going to be there, you know? And then one day they’re not’), and wondered if it really had been worth coming.
There had been a couple of times when I’d thought the group might actually be helping. But for an awful lot of the time I was sitting among people I felt I had nothing in common with, droning on for the few hours they had company. I felt grumpy and tired, my hip ached on the hard plastic chair, and I thought I might have got just as much enlightenment about my mental state if I had been watching EastEnders. Plus the biscuits were rubbish.
Leanne, a single mother, was talking about how she and her older sister had argued about a pair of tracksuit bottoms two days before her sister had died. ‘I accused her of taking them, because she was always nicking my stuff. She said she hadn’t, but then she always said she hadn’t.’
Marc waited. I wondered if I had any painkillers in my handbag.
‘And then, you know, she got hit by the bus and the next time I got to see her was at the morgue. And when I was looking for dark clothes to wear to her funeral, you know what was in my wardrobe?’
‘The tracksuit bottoms,’ said Fred.
‘It’s difficult when things are unresolved,’ said Marc. ‘Sometimes for our own sanity we just have to look at the bigger picture.’
‘You can love someone and also call them a prat for nicking your tracksuit bottoms,’ said William.
That day I didn’t want to speak. I was only there because I couldn’t face the silence of my little flat. I had a sudden sneaking suspicion I could easily become one of those people who so crave human contact that they talk inappropriately to other passengers on trains or spend ten minutes picking things in a shop so they can chat to the assistant. I was so busy wondering whether it was symptomatic that I had just discussed my new physio support bandage with Samir at the mini-mart that I tuned out Daphne wishing she’d come back from work an hour earlier that particular day, then found she had dissolved, quietly, into tears.
‘Daphne?’
‘I’m sorry, everyone. But I’ve spent so long thinking in “if onlys”. If only I hadn’t stopped off for a chat with the lady at the flower stall. If only I’d left that stupid bought ledger and come home from work earlier. If only I’d just got back in time … maybe I could have persuaded him not to do what he did. Maybe I could have done one thing that persuaded him life was worth living.’
Marc leaned forward with the box of tissues and I placed it gently on Daphne’s lap. ‘Had Alan tried to end his life before, Daphne?’
She nodded and blew her nose. ‘Oh, yes. Several times. He used to get what we called “the blues” from quite a young age. And I didn’t like to leave him when they came because it was like … it was like he couldn’t hear you. Didn’t matter what you said. So quite often I would call in sick just to stay with him and jolly him along, you know? Make his favourite sandwiches. Sit with him on the sofa. Anything, really, just to let him know I was there. I always think that’s why I never got a promotion at work when all the other girls did. I had to keep taking time off, you see.’
‘Depression can be very hard. And not just on the sufferer.’
‘Was he on medication?’
‘Oh, no. But, then, it wasn’t … you know … chemical.’
‘Are you sure? I mean depression was under-diagnosed back in –’
Daphne lifted her head. ‘He was a homosexual.’ She said the word with its five full, clearly defined syllables, and looked directly at us, a little flushed, as if daring us to say anything in return. ‘I’ve never told anyone that. But he was a homosexual, and I think he was sad because he was a homosexual. And he was ever such a good man and he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt me, so he wouldn’t have … you know … gone off and done things. He would have felt I’d be shamed.’
‘What makes you think he was gay, Daphne?’
‘I found things when I was looking for one of his ties. Those magazines. Men doing things to other men. In his drawer. I don’t suppose you would have those magazines if you weren’t.’
Fred stiffened slightly. ‘Certainly not,’ he said.
‘I never mentioned them,’ said Daphne. ‘I just tucked them back where I found them. But it all started to click into place. He was never very keen on that side of things. But I thought I was lucky, you see, because I wasn’t either. It’s the nuns. They made you feel dirty for just about everything. So when I married a nice man who wasn’t jumping on top of me every five minutes, I thought I was the luckiest woman on earth. I mean, I would have liked children. That would have been nice. But …’ she sighed ‘… we never really talked about such things. You didn’t in those days. Now I wish we had. Looking back, I keep thinking, What a waste.’
‘You think if you’d talked honestly, it might have made a difference?’
‘Well, times are different now, aren’t they? It’s fine to be homosexual. My dry cleaner is and he talks about his boyfriend to every Tom, Dick and Harry that walks in. I would have been sad to lose my husband, but if he was unhappy because of being trapped, then I would have let him go. I would have done. I never wanted to trap anyone. I only wanted him to be a bit happier.’
Her face crumpled, and I put my arm around her. Her hair smelt of lacquer and lamb stew.
‘There, there, old girl,’ said Fred, and stood up to pat her on the shoulder a little awkwardly. ‘I’m sure he knew you only ever wanted the best for him.’
You’d have your own room and bathroom. We’d share a kitchen with the housekeeper. She’s all right. Bit older. Keeps herself to herself.
Hours regular. Eight – at worst ten – a day. You get time off in lieu. You might want to learn a bit of Polish!
I finally fell asleep as it grew light, my mind full of Manhattan duplexes and bustling streets. And when I woke up, an email was waiting for me.
Dear Ms Clark,
Nathan tells me you might be interested in coming to work in our household. Would you be available for a Skype interview on Tuesday evening at 5 p.m. GMT (midday EST)?
Yours sincerely,
Leonard M. Gopnik
I stared at it for a full twenty minutes, proof that I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. And then I got up and showered, made myself a strong mug of coffee and typed my reply. It wouldn’t hurt to have the interview, I told myself. I wouldn’t get the job, if there were lots of highly professional New York candidates. But it was good practice, if nothing else. And it would make me feel as if I were finally doing something, moving forward.
Before I left for work, I took Will’s letter carefully from the bedside table. I pressed my lips to it, then folded it carefully and put it back in the drawer.
Thank you, I told him silently.
It was a slightly thinned-out version of the Moving On Circle that week. Natasha was on holiday, as was Jake, for which I was mostly relieved and a tiny bit put out in a way I couldn’t reconcile. The evening’s topic was ‘If I could turn back time’, which meant that William and Sunil hummed or whistled the Cher song unconsciously at intervals for the entire hour and a half.
I listened to Fred wishing he had spent less time at work, then Sunil wishing he’d got to know his brother better (‘You just think they’re always going to be there, you know? And then one day they’re not’), and wondered if it really had been worth coming.
There had been a couple of times when I’d thought the group might actually be helping. But for an awful lot of the time I was sitting among people I felt I had nothing in common with, droning on for the few hours they had company. I felt grumpy and tired, my hip ached on the hard plastic chair, and I thought I might have got just as much enlightenment about my mental state if I had been watching EastEnders. Plus the biscuits were rubbish.
Leanne, a single mother, was talking about how she and her older sister had argued about a pair of tracksuit bottoms two days before her sister had died. ‘I accused her of taking them, because she was always nicking my stuff. She said she hadn’t, but then she always said she hadn’t.’
Marc waited. I wondered if I had any painkillers in my handbag.
‘And then, you know, she got hit by the bus and the next time I got to see her was at the morgue. And when I was looking for dark clothes to wear to her funeral, you know what was in my wardrobe?’
‘The tracksuit bottoms,’ said Fred.
‘It’s difficult when things are unresolved,’ said Marc. ‘Sometimes for our own sanity we just have to look at the bigger picture.’
‘You can love someone and also call them a prat for nicking your tracksuit bottoms,’ said William.
That day I didn’t want to speak. I was only there because I couldn’t face the silence of my little flat. I had a sudden sneaking suspicion I could easily become one of those people who so crave human contact that they talk inappropriately to other passengers on trains or spend ten minutes picking things in a shop so they can chat to the assistant. I was so busy wondering whether it was symptomatic that I had just discussed my new physio support bandage with Samir at the mini-mart that I tuned out Daphne wishing she’d come back from work an hour earlier that particular day, then found she had dissolved, quietly, into tears.
‘Daphne?’
‘I’m sorry, everyone. But I’ve spent so long thinking in “if onlys”. If only I hadn’t stopped off for a chat with the lady at the flower stall. If only I’d left that stupid bought ledger and come home from work earlier. If only I’d just got back in time … maybe I could have persuaded him not to do what he did. Maybe I could have done one thing that persuaded him life was worth living.’
Marc leaned forward with the box of tissues and I placed it gently on Daphne’s lap. ‘Had Alan tried to end his life before, Daphne?’
She nodded and blew her nose. ‘Oh, yes. Several times. He used to get what we called “the blues” from quite a young age. And I didn’t like to leave him when they came because it was like … it was like he couldn’t hear you. Didn’t matter what you said. So quite often I would call in sick just to stay with him and jolly him along, you know? Make his favourite sandwiches. Sit with him on the sofa. Anything, really, just to let him know I was there. I always think that’s why I never got a promotion at work when all the other girls did. I had to keep taking time off, you see.’
‘Depression can be very hard. And not just on the sufferer.’
‘Was he on medication?’
‘Oh, no. But, then, it wasn’t … you know … chemical.’
‘Are you sure? I mean depression was under-diagnosed back in –’
Daphne lifted her head. ‘He was a homosexual.’ She said the word with its five full, clearly defined syllables, and looked directly at us, a little flushed, as if daring us to say anything in return. ‘I’ve never told anyone that. But he was a homosexual, and I think he was sad because he was a homosexual. And he was ever such a good man and he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt me, so he wouldn’t have … you know … gone off and done things. He would have felt I’d be shamed.’
‘What makes you think he was gay, Daphne?’
‘I found things when I was looking for one of his ties. Those magazines. Men doing things to other men. In his drawer. I don’t suppose you would have those magazines if you weren’t.’
Fred stiffened slightly. ‘Certainly not,’ he said.
‘I never mentioned them,’ said Daphne. ‘I just tucked them back where I found them. But it all started to click into place. He was never very keen on that side of things. But I thought I was lucky, you see, because I wasn’t either. It’s the nuns. They made you feel dirty for just about everything. So when I married a nice man who wasn’t jumping on top of me every five minutes, I thought I was the luckiest woman on earth. I mean, I would have liked children. That would have been nice. But …’ she sighed ‘… we never really talked about such things. You didn’t in those days. Now I wish we had. Looking back, I keep thinking, What a waste.’
‘You think if you’d talked honestly, it might have made a difference?’
‘Well, times are different now, aren’t they? It’s fine to be homosexual. My dry cleaner is and he talks about his boyfriend to every Tom, Dick and Harry that walks in. I would have been sad to lose my husband, but if he was unhappy because of being trapped, then I would have let him go. I would have done. I never wanted to trap anyone. I only wanted him to be a bit happier.’
Her face crumpled, and I put my arm around her. Her hair smelt of lacquer and lamb stew.
‘There, there, old girl,’ said Fred, and stood up to pat her on the shoulder a little awkwardly. ‘I’m sure he knew you only ever wanted the best for him.’
