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.