CLEANER: Chapter Six - Part Two

It wasn’t until I reached my fourth optician that I found someone who would do what I wanted without asking too many questions.

Every optician in Nockton town centre started enquiring too deeply; passing comments about the wisdom of what I was suggesting. I wasn’t interested in any of that. I wanted what I wanted and I was willing to pay to get it. What was money to me compared to the choices I desired?

The shop that was prepared to give me what I wanted was a place called Vision Factory on Barton High Street. It was kind of funny that I was back in that town again so soon after a lifetime of avoiding it but needs must and I was determined not to give up.

The man behind the counter obviously had some reservations about what I was asking but he knew how much commission he was going to get from the amount of stuff I was ordering and that allowed him to sidestep any consideration of ethics.

I gave him Melissa’s glasses first and he took them over to a device that allowed the prescription to be measured. When he returned he listened carefully to my instructions, making notes and offering a couple of suggestions on how to do it better. He didn’t question the flimsy reasoning I gave him for wanting to do it: for a part in a play I was in. He really didn’t care.

I paid him the money then left the shop.

With a couple of hours to kill I toyed with my options, looking round at the swarming people. As on my previous visit, it was clear to me: the gulf between their lives and mine. Their standard of living had to be precipitously lower than mine; the needs of their day to day life far more convoluted. Could any of them spend such time and money as I was doing on such silly trifles? Or did their stunted wealth press every minute into the need to survive and then seek solace from the trials that provided that survival?

Did any of these people have a void to fill of magnitude similar to mine?

What would it be like to actually become one of them, rather than pretending for a morning here and there? What would it be like if I’d never been born into this body and lifestyle? Or if I could really truly transform? As a child growing up I’d heard fairy stories about people changing shape. It was a shame I didn’t know the secret of how to do it.

I chuckled to myself.

I went on watching the moving people, all so intent on their destinations; absorbed in their day-to-day needs. Then I sauntered on, no hurry in my own footsteps, no imperative of time.

I walked along the high street a way then took the narrow side road on the right and worked my way through to Barton Workwear again, stopping to peer in through the window.

It was such a den of possibilities – not just related to the swaps I was making with Melissa. There were loads of different outfits, each the brand of a different lifestyle. I wished could experiment with them all. Waitress; nurse; beautician; dental hygienist; retail assistant; even workman or paramedic. If all possibilities were available, it would be lovely to explore them all. I imagined trading places with a man and doing a physical job, smiling mischievously.

I sighed happily and went inside.

This time I looked closer at the work wear related to cleaning. There were tabards with pockets sewn into the front as well as full uniforms in various colours. I fingered the fabrics, working my way along, finding it impossible to decide. If I bought a uniform... what would Melissa’s reaction be? She wore her own clothes when cleaning. How would she react if she had to wear a uniform instead?

But of course it wouldn’t be her wearing it. I hadn’t considered timescales or anything even medium term for our different relationship but I saw no reason to stop in the near future. I was having far too much fun!

So I picked out one of each of the uniforms and a couple of tabards too. I chose them one size larger than my usual size in case I wanted to use padding again... or in case I actually put on weight.

I chewed my bottom lip, zoning out as I imagined that, my lower region sizzling silently away.

Then I picked up one of the uniforms two sizes higher and carried them all to the counter. The man must have thought I was stocking up to start a new cleaning business. I sniggered to myself as he rung it up.

By the time I got outside I was fantasising about what I would get up to next day. I just wished there was more mess so I could really be pushed; or if there were more duties to be done. Thinking on that, I took out my phone, checked my contacts list, trying to remember the name of the person I wanted, and dialled.

My gardener picked up after eleven rings, just as I was about to terminate.

“Y’ello?”

“Hello Martin. It’s Dahlia... Western. From Summertop.”

“Arr, good afternoon miss. What can I do you for?”

I faltered, unsure suddenly how to put it. “I’ve been thinking about it and I... won't be needing a gardener anymore Martin.”

“Oh. I see.”

“You’ve been wonderful to have but I’m afraid I won’t be needing you anymore.”

“Right. Well...”

“I will give you a generous severance payment though, don’t worry,” I added quickly. “And one of my neighbours was asking after you; wondering if you were available to help them. If I have a word with them I’m sure they’ll take you on immediately.”

“Oh. Right. Well that’s alright then.” He brightened.

“Thank you for being so understanding Martin,” I said, then I went over some final arrangements and said goodbye.

I stood on the pavement, breathing a little heavily, and a slow smile came to my lips.

Follow my whim and see where it took me.

That was the journey I was on now.

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Six - Part Two

Hattie walked back inside through the kitchen and further through the servant areas until she reached the main hall.

There she stopped, her movement failing without decision, her thoughts stealing the momentum to fuel themselves. But even her thoughts were weak and scattered. She remained there for a long time, her brain ticking at a low level, in a state not far from dreaming.

Then she reached into the fold of her dress where she had secreted the pendant in its handkerchief wrapping and lifted it up. She folded back the layers of curled fabric until the trinket itself was visible. It was a delicate little thing with its intricately spiralling gold setting, a feminine counterpoint to the carved pebble that formed the main teardrop section of the necklace.

Hattie raised her other hand to touch it but stopped herself before she made contact, asking herself three words in sudden flutter of fear-tinged emotion.

Do I believe?

Did she really believe it possessed magical properties? That it could exchange the life of one person for another?

Was Mavis, the local barmaid, really in possession of her sister’s body?

Was Ann trapped in the body of Mavis?

Was that even Ann? Or was it Burt? Was her real sister nothing more now than the bumbling idiot stable hand who mucked out the horses and dug ditches; who fed the pigs and did manual labour all across the estate?

Yes. Hattie did believe all those things, despite all her twenty years of mundane life. She believed it all. And that meant that she possessed the power now. Only she could choose to release the others from their fleshly prisons and she could choose to transform others… or even herself.

It was idiotic to consider such a thing, bearing in mind the fate of her sister, but the very idea of governing such enchantment and not using it seemed equally preposterous.

How would it feel… to become another person? In a mirror it would be their face looking back at her instead of her own. She would have their name; their voice. She would be treated by all as though she were really them.

Idiotic, yes; but also incredibly delightful. The most spectacular adventure.

But she wasn’t a fool. Oh no. Not like Ann. Ann had always been the impulsive one. She had been the planner. She didn’t do anything lightly. And this pendant would give her the power to really change things around.

She grinned and went closer with her other hand to touch it. Still she refrained, afraid that it would affect her somehow. Could the charm transform her if someone else wasn’t present? She didn’t think so.

It was exciting to think that she didn’t really know its limitations but might recklessly touch it anyway. But she calmed herself. She wasn’t her sister. She wasn’t impulsive.

She lowered her fingers to it and touched the cool stone, half expecting some bright light or electrical charge, some blinding insight. But there was nothing. Or perhaps… a brief subtle tingle. Nothing more. It was… disappointing.

She took it in her hand properly and examined it from all sides. What had Mavis said? That it required to be touched by two people at the same time for an exchange of bodies to occur.

Two people…

But what two people? And would she dare to involve herself in a trade?

And how would she protect herself from losing control as the other practitioners had?

Hattie sat on the bottom of the stairs and propped her cheeks on her fists, the pendant dangling from her right hand.

Such incredible power and now she suddenly found herself in possession of it, she really wasn’t sure what to do – how to use it – who to use it on. But what she did know was that she was tired of the abuse she’d suffered for so long as the youngest daughter of the Neville family. She had been mistreated her whole life by her sister; by her mother and father. It had been far worse since the debacle with Burt’s trial but really her life had been awful for as long as she could remember and she was tired of it.

After being disrespected for so long; dismissed on a daily basis by everyone around her; she was determined to finally do something to get the respect she deserved.

And the people who had made her feel this way deserved to be punished too. She was glad that Ann was trapped as Mavis… or Burt – whoever she was now. She could stay that way for another day or two at least until she’d well and truly learned her lesson.

Hattie was angry and sullen; vindictive, yes; but she wasn’t wicked. She had no intention of trapping anyone in her family in another life forever. She wasn’t crazed. But for a while? Until they had well and truly learned their lesson? That was something she was coming round to seeing as the perfect solution for her lifetime of resentment.

Yes.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do or how she was going to do it, but she did know exactly who she wasn’t to pay for their crimes. All she had to do now was watch and wait until an opportunity presented itself and inspiration struck. When that time came, she was going to take full advantage of it and enjoy every single minute of her revenge.

CLEANER: Chapter Six - Part One

Outside Influence

DAHLIA

After Melissa left I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.

I loitered round feeling edgy and irritable, thinking about Tommy’s phone call; his allegation that I wasn’t giving my all to the comeback. I didn’t know how he had to cheek to imply such a thing. Of course I was giving my all. I wanted to go all the way! I wanted to get back to where I had been. It had been my idea to make the comeback bid in the first place.

I fumed quietly, going through to the kitchen and getting a pack of egg custards out. I set one on a plate and glared at it, throwing little stabs of gaze at the other one still in the packet.

It would serve Tommy right if I put on a couple of stone. He’d be sneering on the other side of his face then. That would shut him up quick enough.

I phased out for a minute, imagining that; really imagining piling on the pounds; picturing my stomach swelling and my arms, my ass. I tried to picture my face in the mirror being fatter but it was hard. I closed my eyes and imagined Melissa’s face looking back at me from the mirror instead. That was actually easier: her eyes made bigger by her glasses; her straight dark hair; her hanging chin and round cheeks.

I went to take the plate but paused, looking mournfully at the other egg custard, my irritation building. What did it matter if I put a bit of weight on? I was so sick of having to worry about it.

I took the other egg custard out of its packet and marched grumpily through to the lounge.

Doing these swaps with Melissa were the best thing in my life right now. It was time to really stop holding back. I wasn’t going to worry about it anymore. I was just going to follow my whim and see where it took me.

What harm could come of that?

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Six - Part One

No Turning Back

Burt wandered through the village, thinking again about the wedding ring that he wanted to buy, still wishing he had a little more money than he did.

He had put all his brain power to the task of coming up with a plan to achieve this goal but so far he hadn’t got anywhere. His mind kept wandering all over the place whenever he tried to get it under control and he was reaching the conclusion that he should just accept the need to ask the advice of one of his betters.

There was no shame in doing that. He knew how dim he could be and somebody like old Harry would know what to do. He was married. He knew a thing or two about living life – certainly more than Burt did.

He chuckled to himself, thinking how it was his own stupid fault after all. A month earlier he’d been an extremely intelligent woman with the finest education money could buy. He’d chosen to trade places with a simple-minded stable hand and he’d encouraged the transformation to go on developing, enjoying the fact that he was taking on more and more traits of the original Burt.

Losing his intelligence had been horrifying at first but it had quickly become just part of the lure – the excitement of giving up everything that used to be his as Lady Ann and taking on every quality of the lower class servant. In the end it had given him great pleasure to wallow in the limited brain power of his new role, even as it had frightened him.

And of course he’d pushed the transformation past the point of the original Burt’s limited intellect. He knew that he was little more than a slavering idiot now with nothing in the way of manners or book learning and the need for constant instruction.

But did he regret it now?

No. Not at all. Why would he? He knew he was a simple man but he enjoyed his place in the pecking order. He liked not having to make decisions. Making decisions made his head hurt. It was far better to do as he was told and just enjoy life and enjoying life was what he did best.

It gave him a glow in his chest to think about the night before with Mavis. She was a right bewer; a right raunchy bit of fluff. That was why he had to do the right thing and marry that girl as soon as he could – start a proper life together.

He was a man now and he always would be. He was going to live this servant’s life until the day he died and Mavis was the same. He wanted nothing more now than to make a declaration of that – to make the statement that he was going to live this life with Mavis until the end of their days and do everything he could to make her the happiest woman on Earth.

There was a little commotion in the village square up ahead and Burt slowed to see what was going on.

Bessie, the whore from up the valley, was looking perturbed, a semi-circle of villagers pointing at her and laughing.

“There’s the whore,” said one of the men. “Look at her, flaunting herself about the place like she has a right to live ere.”

The woman with him snickered but Bessie railed back. “I’ve got as much right to live here as anyone else! You mind your own business!”

Burt hadn’t seen her since he’d been locked in the gaol but she looked every bit as rough as she had then: tossed blond hair and flesh on display everywhere it could be. She didn’t do herself any favours if she wanted respect from her neighbours.

The villagers laughed at her. “Why don’t you get thee gone over to Blacklake?” called one woman. “Somewhere you might be wanted!”

“Yeah. You ain’t wanted here and that’s for certain!”

Burt stepped forward. “Ere, leave off.” Everyone fell silent and he glared back at them. “It ain’t er fault how she is. Let er alone.”

Bessie lowered her head but looked gratefully at Burt. She glared at the other villagers for a long moment then walked on. A couple of the women whispered some further nastiness but Burt gave them a glare and they stopped.

He didn’t know Bessie and he didn’t have any desire to, but he hated to see a woman being run down.

The little cluster of people started to disperse and Burt loitered for a minute, watching them. As he did so he caught the eye of Joan Landon, the vicar’s wife. She was watching the debacle from further back, on her way from the church if her direction of travel was anything to go by.

Their eyes met and a clear recollection of the night of the boxing match came back to Burt; of guiding her into the garden at the rear of the vicarage and taking her down onto the soft grass; having his way with her like any common strumpet.

Joan was clearly thinking of the same thing as the colour rose up her neck and into her cheeks. She swallowed and looked at him a moment longer. There was a shift in her expression that changed the aloofness to something that almost reached a smile, then she put her mask of civility back up again and hurried on.

Burt watched her go, smiling smugly to himself, then he went on his own way, thinking how great it was to be a man.