CLEANER: Chapter Two - Part Seven

THE ORIGINAL MELISSA

I spent most of the afternoon relishing the wealth and privilege I now possessed, lounging by the pool in an expensive swimsuit I bought in the hotel shop.

It was wonderful to say the least. I had never been any further abroad than France and that had been on a particularly dull and wet school trip. Robert had never had the money nor inclination to finance something in a hot country and we could never in a million years have managed such a lavish hotel as this.

The drinks were complimentary and I got a mite tipsy, reading another purchase from the hotel shop: a racy little book about a gypsy falling in love with a wealthy merchant, only to find he was really only another gypsy in disguise. I couldn’t stop smiling.

When I got very hot I went for a dip in the pool. I wasn’t a great swimmer - my body wasn’t especially buoyant – but I managed to get across and back before I got out. That was enough for one day. I knew it was possible to pull all sorts of muscles if one went too far.

I also knew an excuse when I saw it and I grumbled to myself as I returned to my recliner because I had given myself the mission to do better; to get slim; and I was determined not to allow my normal proclivities limit that. This was the new me now – I was a new Dahlia – and one of the qualities I was going to possess wholeheartedly was an uncompromising resolve to achieve my ends.

I lay there for ten more minutes, thinking about the notice board I’d seen in reception advertising personal trainers, then I gathered my things and went inside.

I checked the poster and then went to the receptionist.

“Hi. I’d like to hire a personal trainer to work with me while I’m staying here,” I said.

The receptionist tried to maintain her demeanour but I caught the smirk that slid quickly on and off her lips. I narrowed my eyes, my initial impulse goading me to demand an apology, but I managed to retain my decorum.

She gave me some more details and took my information, telling me she’d set one up for the next morning. We agreed on a time and I walked away, feeling as though I’d made a terrible mistake.

It was fine. I could always drop out if I didn’t like it and what if he really could work some magic?

I imagined a scenario where I got bullied and harassed all day, every day, by the trainer but where I quickly showed results and in no time had a beautiful athletic body.

It would be so wonderful to do that and maybe, just maybe, it was possible. It was unlikely, surely, but it was like buying a lottery ticket. You know the chances are miniscule but that doesn't stop you hoping and dreaming.

I returned to my sun lounger but I felt better now; more virtuous. It was true that procrastinating only leads to self-imposed pressure and stress. Getting things done was the real path to lasting happiness.

I got settled and thought about Dahlia, giggling to myself about the trick I’d played on her. It had been expensive to convince the hotel to take her on as a cleaner without meeting her first when I’d found and responded to their advertisement, but money greases all sorts of wheels if there’s enough of it. Once it was explained to them that she had previous experience and they understood just what I was willing to pay so they would give her a chance, fleshing out the details was simple and very enjoyable.

Had they told her right away when she got there or had she sauntered round thinking she was a guest? Had she had her rude awakening yet? It was hilarious to imagine all the possibilities.

Just wait until she learned what it was like to work a real job – not pretending anymore but stuck in it all day long; at least twice the length of time she had played at it back in Nockton Vale.

Of course there was a risk she’d hate it and coming crying to me to swap back, but I had a feeling she was a big enough glutton for punishment to want to push through with it regardless. Maybe she was angry with herself for screwing up her modelling career. Maybe she hated herself for her brother’s death. Whatever it was I could see a vein of self-destruction in her; a desire to pay penance for some real or imagined act on her part.

Maybe when this was all done with she would have worked that guilt, whatever it was, out of her system and go on being a happier person. But she was going to be a fat happier person if I had my way. When this ended and we swapped back, the very least I wanted to get out of it was a fit slim body and to be able to laugh at the ruin she’d made of hers.