I fill my bottom drawer with the snacks I’d bought on the way here. All my favourites: Cheddars, Oreos, a packet of Penguins and a couple of cans of Sprite. I know my meals are catered for, but I do love my snacks. And I don’t feel comfortable helping myself to whatever Elspeth has in her cupboards.
I take my sponge-bag into the bathroom. It’s small but well equipped, although I can’t help the little thud ofdisappointment that there’s only a walk-in shower and no bath. It’s my way of relaxing, although it used to drive Mum mad when I was a teenager and my bath bombs left a coloured ring. Still, a shower is good and, more importantly, I won’t have to share this bathroom with anyone else. Courtney could spend hours in the morning faffing with her hair extensions and her fake eyelashes and self-tanning cream. I finger one of the plush grey towels. Everything has been thought of, right down to the White Company room spray sitting neatly on top of the cistern.
I open the cupboard under the sink and shove my cosmetics bag on the lower shelf. I’m about to close it again when something glints in the corner, catching my eye. It looks like a balled-up chain. I reach for it. It’s old, tarnished, the chain in knots, but at the end is an oval locket. I try to open it, but age has made it stick together and I almost break one of my fingernails trying to prise it apart. I place it on my bedside table instead. I’ll ask Kathryn about it later. It must have belonged to the girl who was here before.
I can hear footsteps outside my room and Kathryn calls through the door. ‘Are you ready? Mother is asking for you.’
‘The room is lovely, thank you,’ I say, as I follow her along the landing.
‘That’s down to Mother. She likes everything to be just so. You’ll learn that about her.’
‘Right.’
‘And you’ve got the floor to yourself so at least it warrants some privacy,’ she says, walking down the stairs. She keeps talking about privacy as though the house is full of people, but as far as I’m aware it will be just me andElspeth at night. We reach the next floor where I assume the other bedrooms are. It looks like there are four off the wide landing, but I don’t get the chance to be nosy before I’m ushered down the next flight of stairs.
Elspeth is perched upright in a high-backed chair in what Kathryn calls the sitting room but I call a lounge. She gets up when she sees me and rushes over, embracing me like she would a long-lost daughter. She has to bend down quite a bit. She’s at least four inches taller than I am. ‘Una! It’s so lovely to see you! I do hope you’ve settled into your rooms okay.’
My rooms.I want to giggle. I feel like I’m inDownton Abbey.
And then she turns to Kathryn, as if noticing her for the first time, and her expression darkens. ‘What are you still doing here? You can go now.’
I can’t help but flinch at her cutting tone. I can tell Kathryn’s hurt, although she’s doing her best to hide it. Her shoulders are pulled back and her chin juts as though to ward off unkind words. She stalks off, without saying goodbye to either of us, and closes the door firmly behind her.
‘Thank goodness she’s gone. She’s such a kill-joy,’ says Elspeth, straight-faced but with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes. I want to laugh at her forthrightness, while also feeling slightly appalled that she is speaking about her daughter in that way. My mum would never have talked about me like that behind my back. ‘Right, come on, let me show you around.’ She takes my arm and leads me through the house. She’s surprisingly sprightly for an older lady who needs a companion and carer, and I wonder again why she’s hired me. Is she just lonely? But how can she be, with Kathryn always hanging around?
She shows me the library at the back of the house, with built-in floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with books, mostly classics – there’s not a Danielle Steele or a John Grisham in sight – large French windows and a terrace with steep steps that lead down to the garden; the snug – a small, square room with squashy sofas where her grandsons usually spend their time when they come over; and the kitchen, which is down another flight of stairs, and takes up most of the lower ground floor, apart from a small room that Elspeth calls her ‘study’. I notice none of the rooms has a TV and I’m grateful for the one in my bedroom.
‘The kitchen is a recent addition,’ Elspeth says, staring at the units lovingly. They are beautiful, hand-crafted, according to Elspeth, and painted in dove greys and soft beiges, with a limestone-tiled floor and doors leading on to the garden.
I wish my mum could see all this. She’d hardly have been able to believe it. The only thing that strikes me as a bit strange is the lack of photographs. The house I grew up in was full of family shots of me, Mum and Gran, of me in all my stages of growing up, Mum and her closest friends, holiday snaps. Even in the flat I shared with Courtney we had photos on the walls and in frames on the sideboard, strips of silly ones taken in booths stuck to the fridge. Here, there’s artwork on the walls, painted landscapes and a few line sketches, one of which looks familiar, but nothing to show the family. Not even her grandsons.
We’re just about to leave the kitchen when we hear a cheery ‘Hello!’ behind us and a large woman in her late sixties with tight grey curls and the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen is bustling over to us. ‘Just had to pop out forsome eggs,’ she says. ‘Still want quiche for lunch, Elspeth?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer as her gaze sweeps over me. ‘You must be the new girl! I’m Agatha. Everyone calls me Aggie. I’m the cook.’
I just have time to introduce myself before she’s talking again. ‘Now, shoo, out of my kitchen. I’ve got lunch to prepare.’ She turns away from us and starts washing her hands at the huge Belfast sink.
Elspeth links arms again. ‘Let’s get our coats and explore the garden,’ she says gleefully, as though she’s just announced we’re off on a cruise.
‘Just be back in time for midday,’ Aggie calls over her shoulder, like we’re two kids.
We go upstairs to fetch our coats and then I follow her through the library – marvelling again at the bookshelves: my mum, an avid reader, would have loved them – and out of the French windows. The lawn is crisp with dew and our breath steams in front of us, but Elspeth huddles against me.
‘The girls used to love playing out here,’ she says, as we stroll along the lawn. The wind whips at our hair and the hem of my coat. ‘My late husband built that tree house, God rest his soul.’
‘Do you have other children then, apart from Kathryn?’ I ask.
Immediately I sense I’ve asked the wrong question: her arm stiffens against mine and she doesn’t speak for a few seconds. Eventually, ‘No. It’s just Kathryn.’
I’m puzzled. Who was she talking about, then? What girls?
She’s still clutching my arm as we circle the garden butshe’s silent now. I wait it out, not wanting to put my foot in it again. Despite myself, I can’t help but scan the garden for Lewis. There’s no sign of him now, although there is a wheelbarrow by the side gate filled with bracken.
Elspeth doesn’t begin talking again until we’re back inside the house. ‘Would you mind making me a cup of tea?’ she asks, as she settles herself into her favourite armchair in the lounge and picks up a book from the side table. The curtains are open, highlighting the views of the suspension bridge. From here I can see a young couple on the bench overlooking the Avon Gorge. They must be cold, I think. ‘And please make one for yourself. You must treat this place as your home now.’
I smile and leave the room, happy to be away from her and her silent mood, even for the briefest of moments. Maybe this isn’t the right job for me after all. But then I think of the money – it’s the best-paid job I’ll be getting any time soon. And I need it if I’m to travel. It’s the one thing I promised Mum before she died, that I’d fulfil my dream to see the world. That was her dream, too, but she never got the chance to do it. We used to sit together while she was going through chemo, on those horrible plastic armchairs while the drugs pumped into her veins, and talk about the countries we’d visit, the food we’d eat, the clothes we’d wear, the playlists we’d make. We imagined the smells of the beach – coconut sun-cream and sand – trying to distract ourselves from the stench of disinfectant in the ward. We planned our route for South East Asia: Thailand followed by Laos and Vietnam. And then, when she knew she was dying, she made me promise I’d see it all for the two of us. When I took this job I vowed to myselfI’d stay just until September, not that I’ll admit to Elspeth that I see this job as temporary, a way to earn enough to fund my dream.
I swallow the golf ball in my throat. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to, this job, but it’s only my first day. I can do this.
The smell of pastry hits me as I enter the kitchen. Aggie is sitting on one of the bar stools flicking through recipes, her large frame spilling over the seat. She looks up when I come in. ‘She’ll be wanting her mid-morning cuppa,’ she says, shifting herself from the stool and going to the Aga.
