She could start again, of course. Erase the last year of work history and pretend she had just taken a break after her college course. But it was a tough job market and there was a part of her that felt soured by the whole experience. How could they treat her so badly? She’d been part of their family and she hadn’t done anything wrong. What would stop another family from doing the same? Bex’s eyes felt hot and she blinked away the feeling.
If anyone had been in the wrong, it was Alistair Farrier, but she’d given him the benefit of the doubt, given him a second chance. Bex knew how easy it was to make a mistake, to do something stupid which you instantly regretted. When she’d turned her face away from Mr Farrier’s with a firm ‘none of that’, channelling her strict nanny alter-ego with all her being, his face had flushed bright red with embarrassment. She’d patted his arm and told him to think nothing of it, letting him know that she wouldn’t think – or say – anything about it, either. Bex had been given a second chance and she felt it was the least she could do to extend the same courtesy to others.
Much as it went against the grain, Bex decided that it would be better to ask Iris for help one more time. She had definitely reacted to the name Farrier, and Bex felt there was more to it than simply recognising the name. If Iris knew the family, she might be able to step in on Bex’s behalf. Besides, Jon seemed to think highly of the old bat, and that was more than enough of a recommendation for Bex.
At End House, she waited at the front door for a long time. She didn’t want to get caught in Iris’s garden again and she thought the polite, knocking-on-the-front-door method would be the best way to melt her heart of stone.
After ten minutes, however, Bex gave up and walked through the lavender bushes to the back door. She caught sight of Iris’s face at the window and waved before knocking on the peeling paint of the back door.
‘I heard you round the front,’ Iris said as soon as she opened the door. ‘Couldn’t get that far, though. My back has gone.’
‘Aren’t you a healer?’ The words popped out before Bex could censor herself.
‘Sort of,’ Iris said crossly. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Of course,’ Bex said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
‘Less of your cheek, child.’
Evidently she’d failed.
Iris was moving towards the table, very slowly. She lowered herself carefully into a chair and Bex felt guilty for having got her out of it. ‘Can I do anything to help?’
‘I’d offer you a cup of tea,’ Iris said, ignoring her. ‘But I just had one.’
Bex glanced around the kitchen. There was no used mug on the table, the counter or hiding in the sink. She touched the kettle. It was cold.
When she turned back, Iris was watching her with more interest than Bex had seen her exhibit before.
‘Did you want to something?’ Iris said, her head tilted. ‘Or is this bob-a-job week?’
‘What?’ Bex didn’t know why teens were always getting it in the neck for being incomprehensible; it was old people who spoke a different language.
‘Never mind,’ Iris said. Her face was paler than the day before and there was a layer of sweat on her forehead.
‘You’re in pain,’ Bex said. ‘Let me get you something.’
‘I’ve taken all the drugs I’m allowed,’ Iris said, grimacing. ‘Just need to let them work.’
‘What about a hot water bottle?’ Bex thought about how soothing that was when she had period cramps.
Iris started to shake her head then paused. ‘All right, then. If you insist. It’s on my bed. Third door on your left at the top of the stairs.’
Bex walked out of the kitchen to the sound of Iris telling her not to touch anything else. Bex was used to being in other people’s houses; she’d had cleaning and babysitting jobs before she’d started nannying, and she took the responsibility that the position conferred very seriously. She didn’t glance around any more than was necessary to locate the old pink hot water bottle, but she couldn’t help noticing that the whole place needed a good scrub. Iris seemed like the old school kind of woman, the type who would’ve counted cleanliness as next to godliness, but perhaps it was all getting a bit much for her in her old age. At the entrance to the kitchen, Bex almost stood in something that looked suspiciously like animal droppings.
‘Do you have family nearby?’ Bex said, filling the kettle.
‘Don’t you use that tone with me,’ Iris said.
‘What tone?’
‘The social worker tone. I’m not a pity case.’
‘I didn’t say you were.’ Bex filled a glass with water from the tap and put it in front of Iris.
‘I don’t like plain water,’ Iris said.
‘You don’t have to like it. It’s to take your next lot of tablets. So you don’t have to get up. Unless you’d prefer me to help you upstairs to bed.’
‘No!’
‘Or to the sofa, perhaps. You don’t look very comfortable there.’
‘I’m perfectly all right, young lady.’
‘Hey, I’m getting older,’ Bex said, hand on one hip. ‘That’s a good sign, right?’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Young lady. Older than “child”. That means you’re warming to me.’
Iris smiled without any humour. ‘You are a very irritating child.’
‘Fine,’ Bex said, giving up. ‘I’ll get out of your hair.’ She went to find the telephone so that she could put it next to Iris. There was one in the hallway, but it was
