Terror on Tuesday

“Mrs Murphy,” she said firmly, “there’s no way I’d take you on as a cleaner.” She turned slowly around in a circle. “Just look at it…”

As Lois moved out of the room, Joanne Murphy got angrily to her feet, stubbing out her cigarette on a child’s eggy plate left on the floor. “What d’ya mean?” she said loudly. “You got no right to come ‘ere and bloody criticize! You can get out and stick your bloody job!” She pushed Lois towards the door.

This was a mistake. Up to now, Lois had kept professionally cool, but nobody pushed her around. Nobody. She whipped round and glared at the woman. “If you dare touch me again,” she spat out, “I’ll have the law round here quicker than you can shove a fag into your foul mouth.”

The woman backed off, and Lois walked rapidly out to her car. Please God let it start, she prayed, her heart thumping with fury. It did, and she drove off without looking back. When her mother opened the door to her, she marched straight in, sat down in the clean, fragrant little sitting room, and sighed with relief.

An hour or so later, fortified by her mother’s calm presence and strong coffee, she set off again for Gary Needham, two o’clock at number twenty-four, Tresham Park Road. She knew it was an attractive, expensive suburb, and had no idea what to expect. She told herself firmly that nothing could be worse than the unlovely home of Joanne Murphy, and turned into the pleasant tree-lined road with her spirits rising.

¦

“What was he like, then, Mum?” said Josie.

The whole family sat around the big kitchen table that Derek had bought from a client on one of his jobs. It was Lois’s favourite piece of furniture, the thing that had made her feel most at home in this big house, and she looked round at her kids and Derek with relief. It had been a very strange day, and she reminded herself that she had a lot to be thankful for. The young ones moaned every now and then at not having anything to do in a village, forced to get lifts and beg parents to take them where they wanted to go. But Lois had noticed a brightness in their eyes, clearer skins and less tension in all of them. It was the space, she’d decided, as well as the cleanest air for miles around.

“Room to breathe,” she’d said to Derek, as they watched the boys at football practice on the pitch behind the village hall.

Now they were all getting restive. “Come on, gel!” said Derek, “we want to know how you got on with the very charming Gary.”

Lois frowned at him. “I’m warning you,” she said.

“Mum! What was he like?” said Jamie.

“Bloke doing housework?” said Douglas in his father’s voice. “Not my idea of a career…never heard of a careers session in school for boys wanting to take up housework!” He laughed a lot, and Jamie joined in loyally.

“Shut up, both of you,” said Josie, and finally it was quiet enough for Lois to speak.

“He was OK,” she said.

“Is that all? ‘OK’?” said Derek.

“Well, he was nice. I think he’ll do.” Lois told herself not to be so mean. She knew they were all bursting for some juicy details, and there had certainly been some. Well, all in good time. “Who wants more ice cream?” she said.

“Lois,” said Derek firmly, “if you don’t tell us exactly what happened, we shall tie you to your seat with the washing line and walk out!”

“Dad!” said Jamie, alarm widening his eyes.

“All right, all right,” said Lois, and put out a hand to pat her youngest on the top of his carrotty head.

She began at the beginning, when she had driven into Tresham Park Road and cruised slowly along looking for number twenty-four. It was a Tudor-style house, and two smart cars stood in the driveway. On each gatepost sat a bad-tempered stone lion, and the front door was an antiqued reproduction, with black iron studs and a ring handle. Lois had checked that she had the right number, and parked.

“I wondered what on earth I was doing,” she said to her attentive family.

“Or what that bloke was doing, more likely,” said Derek.

Lois nodded. She had had a strong feeling that it couldn’t be right. Everything in her warned against going on with it. He was playing around, doing it for a lark, wouldn’t last two weeks, would be rude to the clients, laugh at the other cleaners, and herself…

“Hello!” A bedroom window had opened, and a young man with an unfashionable mop of woolly hair leaned out. “Mrs Meade? Come on in, I’ll be down right away!”

He’d disappeared and the window shut. Seconds later the forbidding door opened, and Gary Needham, tall and thin, obviously nervous, had beckoned her in.

“Was the house bigger than ours?” said Josie, who had discovered that their own solid Victorian villa had given her quite a lift-up in the eyes of her Tresham friends.

“Not really,” said Lois, “just different. Anyway, I didn’t see much of it. We talked in the kitchen.”

“Blimey, that was a bad start,” said Derek. “Shows what he thought of you.”

But it hadn’t been like that, thought Lois. Gary had hopped from one bare foot to the other, asked her if she’d like a drink, apologized for the house being a tip, and allowed her to suggest they sat down in the kitchen, the only room that seemed to have a chair that was free from piles of books. Blimey, she’d said to herself, is there a tidy house in this town? She watched his face closely for signs of secrets and saw a twitching muscle in his cheek. Well, that could be nerves…only natural, under the circumstances?

“I must say straight away,” she’d begun, deciding firmly to take the initiative this time. “I must say that if housework is the love of your life, then you haven’t made much of a start.” She’d looked him straight in the eye, and he had grinned.

“Fair enough,” he’d said. “Good point. But it’s a lost cause in this house. Dad’s a lecturer, and Mum works in the library, and then there’s young Sam…”

“And you just recovering from a broken arm and a sprained ankle, and only getting your sight back after an operation?” Lois had stood up. “And look at you!” she’d added. “I couldn’t send a scruffy-looking bloke in a dirty T- shirt and no socks into a client’s house, not in a million years!” She had made swiftly for the front door, just in case. “No,” she’d said, turning back to look at him. “I’m wasting my time here, Gary. But best of luck with whatever it is you really want to do.”

“He didn’t look much like a cleaner,” she said now, half to herself.

“Told you so!” said Derek triumphantly.

But Josie looked at her suspiciously. “Why did you say he was OK, then?” she asked. “Surely you didn’t…”

“Well, yes, I did,” said Lois. “There was something about him. He stood there looking hopeless, and then he said I could believe or not, but he was very good at housework. He’d had his own flat, and she could ask any of his friends, it had been like something out of a magazine.” Then he had said that what he really wanted to do was play his guitar in a rock band and be a big success. But so far this hadn’t happened, and so he’d decided to try and make a living doing what he knew he was good at. And, he’d added, with a convincing emphasis she was to get to know very well, he could get his hair cut, put on a clean T-shirt and socks, and he could guarantee he’d be welcomed with open arms.

“Well,” said Derek, “so you took him on?” Lois nodded. Derek was stunned, and shook his head in disbelief.

“What about the other woman?” said Josie quickly, seeing her parents were about to start an argument. Lois gave a pithy account of her interview with Joanne Murphy, and was surprised at the silence that followed. “So?” she said, looking round the table.

“What was the difference, Mum?” said Douglas quietly. “Two dirty houses, but one with a posh address? Two dirty cleaners, but one with a posh accent?”

Derek looked at him proudly, and opened his mouth to speak, but Josie got in first: “The difference,” she said, lightly touching her mother’s hand, “is what Gran says. “Clean dirt” – that’s the difference.”

“Got it in one,” said Lois, and stood up to clear the table.