The Undomestic Goddess
Page 120

“I’m here to persuade you to come back.”
Of course he is. I should have guessed.
“I’m not coming back. Excuse me.” I reach for the broom and dustpan and start sweeping the flour and pastry scraps off the floor. “Mind your feet!”
“Oh. Right.” Guy awkwardly moves out of the way.
I dump the pastry bits in the bin, then get my asparagus sauce out of the fridge, pour it into a pan, and set it on a gentle heat. Guy is watching me in bemusement.
“Samantha,” he says as I turn round. “We need to talk.”
“I’m busy.” The kitchen timer goes off with a shrill ring and I open the bottom oven to take out my rosemary-garlic rolls. I feel a surge of pride as I see them, all golden brown and wafting a delicious, herby scent. I can’t resist taking a nibble out of one, then offering it to Guy.
“You made these?” He looks astounded. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I couldn’t. I learned.” I reach into the fridge again for some unsalted butter and break a knob into the foaming asparagus sauce. Then I glance at Guy, who’s standing by the utensil rack. “Could you pass me a whisk?”
Guy looks helplessly at the utensils.
“Er … which one is the—”
“Don’t worry,” I say, clicking my tongue. “I’ll get it.”
“I have a job offer for you,” says Guy as I grab the whisk and start beating in the butter. “I think you should look at it.”
“I’m not interested.” I don’t even raise my head.
“You haven’t even seen it yet.” He reaches into his inside pocket and produces a white letter. “Here. Take a look.”
“I’m not interested!” I repeat in exasperation. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to be a lawyer.”
“You want to be a housekeeper instead.” His tone is so dismissive, I feel stung.
“Yes!” I thrust my whisk down. “I do! I’m happy here. I’m relaxed. You have no idea. It’s a different life!”
“Yup, I got that,” says Guy, glancing at my broom. “Samantha, you have to see sense!” He takes a phone out of his inside pocket and starts dialing. “There’s someone you really should speak to. I’ve been in contact with your mother over the situation.”
“You what?” I stare at him in horror. “How dare you!”
“Samantha, I only want the best for you. So does she. Hi, Jane,” he says into the phone. “I’m with her now. I’ll pass you over.”
I cannot believe this. For an instant I feel like throwing the phone out the window. But no. I can deal with this.
“Hi, Mum,” I say, taking the phone from Guy. “Long time.”
“Samantha.” Her voice is as icy as it was the last time we spoke. But somehow this time it doesn’t make me feel tense or anxious. She can’t tell me what to do. She has no idea about my life anymore. “What exactly do you think you’re doing? Working as some kind of domestic?”
“That’s right. I’m a housekeeper. And I suppose you want me to go back to being a lawyer? Well, I’m happy here and I’m not going to.” I taste the asparagus sauce and add some salt.
“You may think it’s funny to be flippant,” she says curtly. “This is your life, Samantha. Your career. I think you fail to understand—”
“You don’t understand! None of you do!” I glare at Guy, then turn the hob down to a simmer and lean against the counter. “Mum, I’ve learned a different way to live. I do my day’s work, and I finish—and that’s it. I’m free. I don’t need to take paperwork home. I don’t need to have my BlackBerry switched on twenty-four/seven. I can go to the pub, I can make weekend plans, I can go and sit in the garden for half an hour with my feet up—and it doesn’t matter. I don’t have that constant pressure anymore. I’m not stressed out. And it suits me.” I reach for a glass, fill it with water, and take a drink. “I’m sorry, but I’ve changed. I’ve made friends. I’ve got to know the community here. It’s like … The Waltons.”
“The Waltons?” She sounds startled. “Are there children there?”
“No!” I say in frustration. “You don’t understand! They just … care. Like, a couple of weeks ago they threw me the most amazing birthday party.”
There’s silence. I wonder if I’ve touched a sensitive spot. Maybe she’ll feel guilty … maybe she’ll understand …