CLEANER: Chapter Four - Part Nine

MELISSA

Cash Exchange billed itself on the outside as something modern and gaudy but on the inside it was just as shabby as everything else in Barton.

The aisles inside were too narrow. The vacant people milling around inside, looking for bargains couldn’t easily move past one another. It led to awkward bottle necks that were even harder to navigate considering my girth. I passed one elderly man who looked like his soul had been literally torn out of his chest leaving only shreds behind to animate his emaciated greyish flesh. He wore an expression of mild revulsion when he let me go first but even then we had to squeeze past one another. He recoiled from me like I was a freak, desperate not to touch me. It made me sick.

When I got to the counter I waited in line behind the young mother and child in front. The child had dirty clothes, ripped in several places. Its mother wore a wrinkled dress, mottled with over-wear, that barely concealed anything of her reed-thin legs. She was trading in three mobile phones. She made no mention of where she’d got them and the man stationed there didn’t ask. She looked like she slept rough and the phones looked brand new.

Though who was I to judge? I was about to sell something stolen myself.

I took a moment to examine my heart in regard to that, curious if I’d find any guilt, but there wasn’t any really. I didn’t see why I should feel guilty. It wasn’t my fault I didn’t have a lot of money. I didn’t choose the life I led and I worked bloody hard for the scraps I did live on. People like Dahlia Western and the Stanwicks only got their wealth by happenstance. They didn’t deserve it any more than I did. They could share it from time to time.

And it was only an old ring that was gathering dust. It was a flipping waste when people were starving in the world.

I gave it to the man on the counter when I reached the front. He gave it a look over then scrutinised me oddly, examining my face and chest; my shoulders, my hair. I thought initially that he thought I’d stolen it but it wasn’t that kind of look. He made me an offer that was twenty pounds lower than I’d hoped for but I shrugged inwardly and took it. It was money for old rope as far as I was concerned and he’d sell it on to someone who might actually find a use for it. I was effectively doing a good deed.

My mobile started ringing as I left the shop. I frowned when I saw Dahlia Western’s name on the screen. I think she’d only ever rung me once and that was to ask me to do some extra cleaning after a big party. I only kept the money in case I had to call in sick and I tended to work then anyway. I hadn’t had a sick day off for four years or more.

I accepted the call and gave a very guarded, “Hello?”

“Melissa. It’s me. Dahlia.”

“Uh, hi. Is there a problem?”

“Not at all. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve got some new ideas for our swap tomorrow.”

“Huh?” I didn’t believe I was hearing this after the crap she’d pulled yesterday.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it and... Well, it’s so much fun, I’d like to do it again. And more often. Maybe every time you come over.”

I had no idea what to say. I’d decided to encourage her every chance I got but this was so unexpected I couldn’t tell the best way to manage it. Should I sound reluctant or well up for it?

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about it though. We don’t need to.”

“No,” I said. “I’d like to.”

There was a silence. I worried that willingness might paradoxically knock the wind from her sails.

“Great” she said finally. “That’s wonderful.”

Awkward pause.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

“Okay.”

“And Melissa...?”

“Yes?”

“Do you own a spare pair of glasses?”