The Undomestic Goddess
Page 41
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“Ah … Samantha.” Eddie clears his throat awkwardly. “We’d be very happy if you would consider staying with us. We’ve been delighted with your performance, and whatever your salary expectations are … we’ll match them.” Trish digs him in the ribs again. “Exceed them.”
“And health care,” adds Trish.
They’re both gazing at me with a kind of eager hope.
I glance over at Nathaniel, who cocks his head as though to say, “Why not?”
The strangest feeling is coming over me. Three people. All telling me they want me within the space of ten minutes.
I could stay. It’s as simple as that. For however long it takes to … work myself out. I’m miles away from London. No one knows I’m here. I’ll be safe.
I can’t cook, a little voice reminds me. I can’t clean. I’m not a housekeeper.
But I could learn. I could learn it all.
The silence is growing in tension. Even Nathaniel is watching me closely from the door.
“Well … OK.” I feel a smile coming to my lips. “OK. If you want me to … I’ll stay.”
Later that night, after we’ve all eaten a Chinese take-away, I take out my mobile phone, call my mother’s office, and wait till I’m put through to voice mail.
“It’s all right, Mum,” I say. “You don’t need to call in any favors. I’ve got a job.” And I click the mobile shut.
Ten
The only thing is, now I actually have to be a housekeeper.
The next morning my alarm goes off at six fifteen and I arrive downstairs in the kitchen before seven, in my uniform. The garden is misty and there are no sounds, except a couple of magpies chacking at each other on the lawn. I feel as though I’m the only person awake in the world.
As quietly as I can, I empty the dishwasher and put everything away in the cupboards. I straighten the chairs under the table. I make a cup of coffee. Then I look around at the gleaming granite counters.
My domain.
It doesn’t feel like my domain. It feels like someone else’s scary kitchen.
So … what do I do now? I feel twitchy, just standing here. I should be occupied. My mind flashes back to London before I can stop it, to my regular routine. If I were still at Carter Spink, I would be queuing for a cappuccino by now. Or maybe on the tube, answering e-mails. I wonder how many e-mails are stacked up, unanswered, in my BlackBerry? The thought makes me feel slightly ill.
No. Don’t think about it. There’s an old copy of The Economist in the magazine rack by the table and I pick it up. I flip through and start reading a piece on international monetary controls, sipping my coffee.
Then, as I hear a sound from upstairs, I hastily put it down again. Housekeepers aren’t supposed to read articles on international monetary controls. They’re supposed to be making breakfast. But how can I do that until I know what the Geigers want?
Then all of a sudden I remember yesterday morning. Trish made me a cup of tea.
Maybe today I’m supposed to make her a cup of tea. Maybe they’re waiting upstairs, tapping their fingers impatiently, saying “Where’s the damn tea?”
Quickly I boil the kettle and make a teapot full. I put it on a tray with cups and saucers and after a moment’s thought add a couple of biscuits. Then I head upstairs, venture along the silent corridor to Trish and Eddie’s bedroom … and stop outside the door.
Now what?
What if they’re asleep and I wake them up?
I lift a hand to knock—but the tray’s too heavy to hold in one hand and there’s an alarming chinking as the whole thing starts tilting sideways. In horror, I grab it just before the teapot slides off. Sweating, I put the whole lot on the ground, raise a hand, and knock very quietly, then pick up the tray again.
There’s no answer.
Hesitantly I tap again.
“Eddie! Stop that!” Trish’s raised voice filters faintly through the door.
Oh, God. Why can’t they hear me?
I’m hot all over. This tray is bloody heavy. I can’t stand outside their room with a cup of tea all morning. Shall I just … retreat?
I’m about to turn round and creep away. Then determination comes over me. No. Don’t be so feeble. I’ve made the tea. They can always tell me to leave.
I grip the tray tightly and bang the corner hard against the door. They have to have heard that.
After a moment, Trish’s voice rises up. “Come in!”
I feel a swell of relief. They’re expecting me. I knew they would be. Somehow I turn the doorknob while balancing the tray against the door. I push the door open and walk into the room.
“And health care,” adds Trish.
They’re both gazing at me with a kind of eager hope.
I glance over at Nathaniel, who cocks his head as though to say, “Why not?”
The strangest feeling is coming over me. Three people. All telling me they want me within the space of ten minutes.
I could stay. It’s as simple as that. For however long it takes to … work myself out. I’m miles away from London. No one knows I’m here. I’ll be safe.
I can’t cook, a little voice reminds me. I can’t clean. I’m not a housekeeper.
But I could learn. I could learn it all.
The silence is growing in tension. Even Nathaniel is watching me closely from the door.
“Well … OK.” I feel a smile coming to my lips. “OK. If you want me to … I’ll stay.”
Later that night, after we’ve all eaten a Chinese take-away, I take out my mobile phone, call my mother’s office, and wait till I’m put through to voice mail.
“It’s all right, Mum,” I say. “You don’t need to call in any favors. I’ve got a job.” And I click the mobile shut.
Ten
The only thing is, now I actually have to be a housekeeper.
The next morning my alarm goes off at six fifteen and I arrive downstairs in the kitchen before seven, in my uniform. The garden is misty and there are no sounds, except a couple of magpies chacking at each other on the lawn. I feel as though I’m the only person awake in the world.
As quietly as I can, I empty the dishwasher and put everything away in the cupboards. I straighten the chairs under the table. I make a cup of coffee. Then I look around at the gleaming granite counters.
My domain.
It doesn’t feel like my domain. It feels like someone else’s scary kitchen.
So … what do I do now? I feel twitchy, just standing here. I should be occupied. My mind flashes back to London before I can stop it, to my regular routine. If I were still at Carter Spink, I would be queuing for a cappuccino by now. Or maybe on the tube, answering e-mails. I wonder how many e-mails are stacked up, unanswered, in my BlackBerry? The thought makes me feel slightly ill.
No. Don’t think about it. There’s an old copy of The Economist in the magazine rack by the table and I pick it up. I flip through and start reading a piece on international monetary controls, sipping my coffee.
Then, as I hear a sound from upstairs, I hastily put it down again. Housekeepers aren’t supposed to read articles on international monetary controls. They’re supposed to be making breakfast. But how can I do that until I know what the Geigers want?
Then all of a sudden I remember yesterday morning. Trish made me a cup of tea.
Maybe today I’m supposed to make her a cup of tea. Maybe they’re waiting upstairs, tapping their fingers impatiently, saying “Where’s the damn tea?”
Quickly I boil the kettle and make a teapot full. I put it on a tray with cups and saucers and after a moment’s thought add a couple of biscuits. Then I head upstairs, venture along the silent corridor to Trish and Eddie’s bedroom … and stop outside the door.
Now what?
What if they’re asleep and I wake them up?
I lift a hand to knock—but the tray’s too heavy to hold in one hand and there’s an alarming chinking as the whole thing starts tilting sideways. In horror, I grab it just before the teapot slides off. Sweating, I put the whole lot on the ground, raise a hand, and knock very quietly, then pick up the tray again.
There’s no answer.
Hesitantly I tap again.
“Eddie! Stop that!” Trish’s raised voice filters faintly through the door.
Oh, God. Why can’t they hear me?
I’m hot all over. This tray is bloody heavy. I can’t stand outside their room with a cup of tea all morning. Shall I just … retreat?
I’m about to turn round and creep away. Then determination comes over me. No. Don’t be so feeble. I’ve made the tea. They can always tell me to leave.
I grip the tray tightly and bang the corner hard against the door. They have to have heard that.
After a moment, Trish’s voice rises up. “Come in!”
I feel a swell of relief. They’re expecting me. I knew they would be. Somehow I turn the doorknob while balancing the tray against the door. I push the door open and walk into the room.
