Pulling it free, she looked at the screen:The agency.
“Hello, this is Sloan Slater,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even and not let her words run away with themselves in a garbled plea for help.
“Ms Slater,” he said before he cleared his throat, “this is Gabor. I’ve just got into the office and picked up Patsy’s report—”
“Yes, of course. And I know it all sounds very—I know. It’s appalling. I do appreciate that.”
“Indeed,” Gabor agreed, with just the hint of judgement in his voice. “The thing is, Ms Slater, we’ve got no one left.”
She slumped down into a chair. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, there are no more carers on our books who are willing to take on your mother.”
“That can’t be,” Sloan said. Heat rushed through her as her free hand clenched and released. “There has to be someone.”
“I’m afraid not. Mrs Slater is...difficult, to say the least, but—”
“This is ridiculous. You care for people with far more complex needs than hers.” Sloan’s voice was raised and people in the seats beside her began to stare.
“Your mother’s needs are not the issue. Your mother is,” he said firmly. “And I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of a very long tether.”
“And what am I supposed to do now?”
“I appreciate this is a difficult—”
“Difficult? You have no idea what difficult is. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll pay double the going rate.”
Gabor sighed. “I’m afraid it isn’t about the money, Ms Slater. Your mother is incorrigible, and in all honesty, I’ve had several workers threaten to walk out if they’re forced to work with her. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“Well, thanks for nothing.” She closed the call. Furious, she stood up and turned straight into someone carrying a tray. Leftover tea, coffee, bread crusts, and crumbs flew up, then came down all over Sloan’s clothes.
“For God’s sake! Look what you’ve done, you idiot!” she shouted as everyone round her scrambled backwards. She stared down at her jumper, seeing the cashmere smeared with brown muck. “It’s ruined.”
“I’m so sorry...I... You walked straight into me. I couldn’t—”
“I don’t care!” Sloan snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut as she stared down at herself. “Look at this! Do you have any idea how much this cost?”
Lawrence appeared, his hands already raised in appeasement. “I assure you, we’ll cover the cleaning costs,” he began. “Matty, apologise. Now.”
Matty blinked, still holding the empty tray, her cheeks flushed. “It was an accident. You stood up and turned right into me—”
“Matty.” Lawrence’s voice was tight, urgent. “Just apologise.”
“No.” Matty straightened, her jaw set. “I’m not apologising for something I didn’t do. It was an accident.”
Sloan’s eyes snapped to her face and properly scanned her features.
Wait.
The delivery girl. The woman from the bar last night.
But the recognition didn’t soften her. If anything, it made the humiliation worse. This woman had just ruined her favourite jumper in the midst of a public meltdown. And now this attractive woman was staring at her in a way she didn’t enjoy.
“This jumper is cashmere,” Sloan said coldly, Joan scratching beneath her skin to get out. “It cost over £200. If it can’t be cleaned, someone’s replacing it.”
“I assure you, we’ll cover the costs,” Lawrence began. “Matty…” Lawrence turned back to her, desperation creeping into his voice. “Please. Just apologise so we can move on.”
Matty stared at him, then at Sloan, then back at Lawrence.
