‘Right, that could be tricky.’ The girl chewed on the end of her pen, scrunching her eyes as she clicked her mouse. ‘I think the only thing that might meet your requirements is this.’ She turned her computer screen around so I could study the advertisement. My heart sank. It was the cleaning job at the football club I’d seen when Rob first left me. But, as my mum used to say,beggars can’t be choosers.
‘What are the hours?’
‘Four a.m. till six a.m. six days a week. We’ve been advertising this job for a while now, but not many people like the idea of an early start. The pay goes some way to compensate for the antisocial hours.’
‘How much is it?’
‘Twenty pounds an hour. Unheard of for this type of job.’
‘And why is it six days a week? I thought matches were only once or twice a week?’
‘The football ground is used for a range of events. They hold concerts there, school groups rent it out, businesses. All sorts really.’
‘And it’s an immediate start?’
‘Yes. If you’re interested, I could arrange an interview, possibly as early as this afternoon if you’re free.’
‘Thank you.’
The girl directed me to a purple armchair, where I filled out an application form. Two hundred and forty pounds a week wouldn’t go far when it came to fighting Marion, but it was a start, and better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, another of my mum’s favourite sayings. Given I was starting from zero, it felt like a step in the right direction.
Chapter Forty-Six
Isat fully clothed on the toilet, taking deep breaths. I couldn’t afford to let my mask slip and had to keep pretending to be content with a life I hated. Marion had taken to dropping round on a whim, usually when Rob was at work. Goodness knows what she hoped to catch me doing, but every time she appeared she seemed disappointed to find me engaged in a mindless housework chore.
A couple of times over the past week, I’d felt as though I was being followed. As much as I resented the intrusion, it gave me some pleasure knowing my stalker would be just as bored as I was. And my stalker was not an early riser. Clearly, whoever Marion had hired didn’t think it was worth watching the house before eight a.m. which was just as well.
I stifled a yawn with the back of my hand, flushed the toilet, and ran my hands under the tap. Marion probably thought I had something wrong with my bowels, the amount of times I hid in the toilet during her visits.
When I emerged from the bathroom, I found Marion nosing around the living room. That was fine by me. She’d find nothingof any interest there. I doubted she’d start rooting through the understairs cupboard, and even if she did, it was a logical place to store camping equipment and sleeping bags, given we had no garage or attic space.
‘How is Albert getting on at school?’
‘Fine.’ A lie. He was miserable.
‘And the extra tuition?’
‘Fine.’
‘No luck with finding a job?’
‘No.’ Another lie. ‘I went to the job centre, but they tried to sign me up to training courses and I wouldn’t be able to fit those around Bertie.’
‘Quite right. A mother’s place is in the home looking after her family.’
‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘No, I must be on my way. I just wanted to check in, see how you were getting on.’
I showed Marion to the door. At least she never went upstairs. If she did, she’d see one wall of Bertie’s bedroom covered in black chalk paint. He’d decorated it with a range of colourful faces, all with their mouths turned down at the corners. My son was not exactly subtle.
Once Marion’s car disappeared from view, I lay down on the sofa and flicked on the TV. There was only half an hour before I’d need to leave on the school run, not enough time to risk a nap. My early starts left me zombie-like for most of the day. Sleepless nights followed by three a.m. starts were playing havoc with my health. My skin was covered in pimples, my hair had lost all its shine, and no amount of makeup could hide the bags beneath my eyes. I suffered from brain fog, forgetting where I’d left my keys, what day it was. One day I’d even tried to let myself into my old house, confused why my keys weren’t working.
I pulled out my phone and flicked on the messages. This was a daily form of torture I subjected myself to. It was guaranteed to make me cry, but I feared that without it, I’d forget my true self. As I scrolled through the messages from Seb, I let the tears flow freely. There had been no communication from him since I’d left Lowen Farm and I couldn’t blame him. I turned my attention to my photos, reminding me of faces which had grown so familiar and who I now missed so much it physically hurt.
My alarm went off, and I picked up my bag and car keys. Bertie was struggling enough without me being late. I’d promised him a trip to Cass’s house on the way home hoping to cheer him up, but even the thought of seeing his cousins hadn’t raised a smile.
Outside the school, I waited a safe distance from the other parents. It only took a few days before Cressida realised I wouldn’t divulge any secrets and went back to her familiar barbed comments and laughing behind my back. At Bertie’s last school, there had been a mixture of mums, dads, and grandparents at the school gates. At this school, the waiting parents were almost exclusively female, either mothers or nannies (as in the au pair variety, not the grandparent or goat sort).
