Cleaner - Chapter One - Part Three

MELISSA

I rung out the mop and sighed heavily, looking back across the damp hall floor. I hated this house.

It was too big by far – too big for one woman living by herself. What was it with rich people that they had to flaunt it? She could have managed fine with a little cottage in the country, doing her own sodding cleaning. This kind of splendour was obscene when there were children starving in the world. The entranceway alone was bigger than the living room in my flat in Barton. It might have been double the size.

And like many of these fancy houses there was no soul to it. The decor was minimalistic and pretentious, the furniture arty and preposterously luxurious. Her TV set was almost the size of my bed at home. It was disgusting.

I slapped the damp mop down and ran it over the tiles, picking up the bulk of the remaining moisture. I’d only been here forty five minutes but my arms were already getting tired and an itching line of sweat was emerging between my shoulder blades. It was because of all the weight I was carrying, I knew that, and I’d put on the better part of a stone since before Christmas.

I hated how obese I was now but there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing worked to get rid of it and I wasn’t about to give up the only thing that made life bearable; my snacks.

I sighed again and worked harder. There was no point dwelling on it.

Instead I thought about that dishy agent of my boss’s and smirked a little. That woman was blind if she didn’t see the doe-eyes he made at her, but she was too busy living her life of luxury. She didn’t deserve him. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed if I got the chance. Not that he’d have me. I wasn’t much older than “Her” but I wasn’t the type men went for.

Too fat. Too plain. Glasses. Poor.

That was all it was. The money. That was all she had going for her really. He wouldn’t have looked twice if she had my income.

I stopped, resting on the end of my mop handle.

Who was I trying to fool? She was gorgeous. She would always be gorgeous.

Some people had more luck than they deserved, that was the problem. When God was dolling luck out he kept getting it wrong and Dahlia had obviously been given all of mine.

I looked down the corridor to the pool room (another preposterous extravagance that she’d had added herself apparently). Dahlia was sitting on her sun lounger and she was looking right at me. I hadn’t known I was being watched and I felt my cheeks flush, checking myself and what I was doing. Nothing basically. I had to look busy. I couldn’t risk losing this job.

But before I could turn away and get mopping, Dahlia looked away herself with an odd expression on her face, almost as if she were the one feeling caught out.

Strange. But then, she was rich. They’re all kooks.

I finished off the hall tiles and carried the mop and bucket back to my cleaning cupboard. It was more room than cupboard, a windowless cavity under the staircase with room for a little chair and table where I could eat my lunch. The rest of the space was crammed with the accoutrements of my position: vacuum, dusters, detergent, drain cleaner, furniture polish, different brooms for inside and out. The list went on. Between the shelves a clock hung on the wall. There were hours left to go. I wondered if it was too early for a coffee break. Probably.

Instead I got a dust cloth and a can of furniture polish and set out to get going.

The lounge was near the back of the house, sharing a wall with the pool room. That was as good a place to start as any. The house was so big that it was like painting the Fourth Bridge. By the time I got finished I had to start all over again. It was never fully “clean.”

Dahlia was flicking through a magazine as I moved up the corridor. There was still something off about her look; something intangible but still noticeable. I wasn’t renowned for my observational skills, but still, I had the sense that she wasn’t really reading.

She looked my way when I still had a dozen yards to go and this time there was no break in eye contact. She just watched me as I came closer, approaching the lounge door. It was weird. I didn’t like it. She never looked at me and now she was staring like she fancied me or something. I turned my eyes away; flicked them back – still looking – turned them away; flicked them back. She was still watching me so I gave her a slight nod and smile.

Then just as I reached the door she sat forward and said, “Melissa?”

I stopped, feeling awkward, waiting for her to tell me what a terrible job I was doing.

“I was just wondering if...” She stopped, leaving the question incomplete.

“Yes?”

She looked down at my feet and then up my body to my face then I swore she blushed. “Actually never mind. Forget it.”

I waited, unsure whether to go on into the lounge or stay.

She smiled her aloof “I’m better than you” smile. “Sorry to have interrupted you. It doesn’t matter,” she said.

I frowned, perplexed by the odd way she was acting, then I gave her another little curt smile and went through to get on with the dusting.