Bonus.
I deep-clean the kitchen—not that it needs it—empty the refrigerator and clean it out, marinade the meat for the evening meal, peel and slice vegetables, and sort out the kitchen cupboards, discarding the out-of-date non-perishables right at the back.
Then I start on the wooden floors.
It takes me a while, two cups of coffee, and a handful of Orla’s flapjacks, to get to grips with the machine that polishes the floors, but once I find my rhythm, it’s quite therapeutic.
I allow my thoughts to drift while I make my way through the kitchen, the conservatory, the living rooms—plural—and back to the foyer.
I’m about to switch the machine back on when I hear voices coming from Declan’s study. He’s with Orla. I know I shouldn’t listen. Getting caught outside the boss’s study listening to a private conversation won’t exactly bode well for the rest of my time here. But Orla’s voice is raised, and she doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would yell, even in anger.
“I think you should speak to her first.”
“I’ve made up my mind.”
“But this isn’t about you, Declan. That young lady has come all this way?—”
“Ye think I don’t know that?” His accent is thicker when he’s angry.
Only I don’t know what he’s angry about. I haven’t done anything wrong. Unless this is about me asking too many questions. I’ve tried to keep out of his way. I’ve thrown myself into my new position. And what did Orla mean when she said, ‘That young lady has come all this way…’
They must be talking about me.
“What is it about then?” Orla asks behind the closed door.
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t be changing my mind.”
“It matters to me. It’s going to matter a whole lot more to that young lady who flew halfway around the world to work for ye.” Pause.
My heart is thudding. I can’t go back home. Not yet. I’m not ready…
“I’ll give her a good reference,” Declan says.
Fuck!
Whatever it is he thinks I’ve done, he’s letting me go.
The door handle moves, and I abandon the floor polisher and dart into the kitchen.
My pulse is skipping. My thoughts are so frantic I spill coffee all over the side when I try to fill my mug. I’m mopping the spillage with a paper towel when Orla comes in.
“There you are,” she says. “That machine beats me every time too.” Her voice is upbeat, but her expression is cloudy. Whatever Declan has decided, she didn’t change his mind.
“Just grabbing a coffee.” I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t. If I see pity in them, it will tip me over the edge, and I’m struggling to hold it together. “I’ll get straight back to work.”
But Orla is shrewd. “Is everything okay, Amelia?”
Your son-in-law wants to fire me on my first day, but sure, everything is fine.
“Yes, of course.” I smile and shrug. “Jet lag sucks.”
Orla’s lips twitch. She looks as if she wants to say more, but then she must realize that it isn’t her place. Declan hired me. He chooses whether I stay or go.
I leave my coffee on the counter and wander back to the foyer.
Fuck that!
Why does he get to decide my fate without even discussing it with me first?
