Page 37 of The Stolen Child

A few hours later, after a supper of Fray Bentos steak-and-kidney pie in a tin, served with a large scoop of Smash potato, Sally and Elsie walked into a tall office block. A stocky man operated a floor cleaner, moving it slowly in circular movements over the marbled floor. He nodded a hello at Elsie, who waved back. Sally’s eyes took in the plush building. She’d never been anywhere like this before. As she passed the glossy receptionist’s desk, Sally glanced at Elsie, her heart sinking a little. Elsie had always dreamed of taking her secretarial exams once she’d left school.

‘It wasn’t meant to be like this, I know,’ Elsie said, reading Sally’s mind, ‘but no point dwelling on that.’

Elsie moved through double grey doors and then took a right into a long corridor. They passed a men’s and a ladies’ toilets, then Elsie opened another door, that led into a small room with lockers on one wall and cupboards and shelves filled with cleaning products on the other. Three women were putting on light-grey overalls over their clothes. They glanced at Sally with interest as they said hello to Elsie.

‘Where’s the gaffer?’ Elsie asked.

‘Ask, and he shall appear,’ a small round man replied as he walked into the room. He removed his glasses and began cleaning them with the edge of his shirt, which had come untucked from his brown trousers.

‘Hey, Cyril,’ Elsie said, moving closer. ‘Have you got a replacement yet for Mary?’

‘The agency is to send someone over next week,’ Cyril said, looking over Elsie’s shoulder at Sally, who nervously bit her lip as he took her in.

‘I’ve saved them the bother. Sally is here, ready to start now.’

‘That’s not how this works, Elsie,’ Cyril said, putting his glasses back on, pulling a packet of Embassy cigarettes from his shirt pocket, and tapping one out.

‘I know. But she’s a tough one – a hard worker – and ready to do a shift on trial. If you like what she does, you pay her. If you don’t, she’ll go home, no questions asked.’

‘Can’t say fairer than that gaffer,’ one of the women called out as she filled a steel mop bucket with water.

Cyril moved closer to Sally and walked around her, inspecting her like a piece of meat in a market. ‘Scrawny. I’ve seen more fat on a stray cat.’

‘I’m strong, sir,’ Sally said. She guessed the man would like to be addressed formally, and she was right. His gratified expression suggested that he liked the respect.

‘You can start with the toilets. Mind you, I want to eat my dinner off the floors,’ Cyril told Sally.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she quickly said, half curtseying to him, making him laugh out loud.

Elsie sorted her out with an overall, and they both buttoned their uniforms over their clothes. Then, with her own bucket, mop and a plastic basket of cleaning products, Elsie ushered her into the men’s toilet and left her there.

The smell hit her first of all. The stench of urine made her gag. But she didn’t have time for that. She had a job to do. One hour later, she had bleached and scrubbed every cubicle and urinal and washed down the sinks, skirtings and mirrors before mopping the tiled floor. Cyril poked his head in several times, but didn’t say a word to her. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign. Once Sally determined she couldn’t do any more, she moved to the ladies’ toilet and did the same again. She had a moment of satisfaction when she’d completed the second room, which was dashed when Elsie told her that she had to repeat the same thing on every floor of the office block. Twenty floors in total.

At the end of her shift, a little after four thirty in the morning, she returned to the cleaning room. There, she found Elsie sitting on a bench, rubbing her feet, beside the other three cleaning ladies – Carys, Sandra and Noreen – who’d introduced themselves at their tea break at midnight.

‘You look done in, treacle,’ Elsie said in sympathy, taking in Sally’s flushed and sweating face.

Sally’s shoulders ached as muscles that had never been used before complained. ‘I’m okay.’

Cyril walked in, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and walked over to Sally. ‘We’ll make a charwoman of you yet. You did well tonight.’

Sally’s pains disappeared at that compliment. ‘Do I get the job?’

Cyril regarded her for a moment. ‘What age are you?’

‘Eighteen.’

He shook his head with a deep sigh. ‘I’ve a daughter a year younger than you.’ He looked over to Elsie and back again to Sally. ‘Five nights a week, Monday to Friday. Seven thirty p.m. on the button. If you’re late, you get one strike. Two strikes, you’re out. Eight pounds per shift. You can start Monday.’

‘Thank you,’ Sally said, relief making her shoulders sag.

Cyril reached into his jacket’s inside pocket, pulled out four envelopes, and then handed one to Elsie, Carys, Sandra and Noreen. ‘Right, let’s lock up and get out of here. Thank Christ it’s the weekend.’

Elsie stood up and placed her hands on her hips as she regarded Cyril. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Sally worked hard tonight. So she’ll need paying. Cash.’

‘Don’t push it, Elsie.’ His voice hardened in warning. ‘Like the rest of them, you’re a charlady, not a gaffer. You don’t tell me what to do.’

Carys, Sandra and Noreen busied themselves at the lockers, pulling on their coats, then walking out with their heads down. Sally got it. They didn’t want to get involved in any trouble. And she didn’t want Elsie to get into strife either, not on her behalf.