‘And … um … I’d like a new challenge.’
‘You do understand that this is a live-in position?’ she says. ‘You’d have your own bedroom. I would need you on Saturdays but you get Wednesdays and Sundays off. We really would prefer someone without any … commitments.’
‘Commitments?’
‘Husband. Children. That kind of thing.’
‘No. I’ve no commitments.’
‘Family in the area? Boyfriend?’
I glance towards Kathryn, who is staring at her hands in her lap but something I can’t read passes over her face. Are they worried I’ll be bringing men back to the room?
‘No. No boyfriend or family. It was just me and my mum but she … well, she died. Last November.’ I can feel my cheeks grow hot. I didn’t want to mention Mum. When I tell people about her their expressions change, their voices soften and they look at me with pity, not knowing what to say.
Although that’s not the case with Mrs McKenzie. ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ she says crisply, not sounding particularly sorry. ‘So,’ she continues, after a beat of awkward silence, ‘a little bit about me.’ She sits up straighter. ‘I’m eighty next year …’ she pauses, presumably for me to tell her that she looks good for her age, which of course I do ‘… but have suffered from ill health since a fall two years ago.’ She looks in great health to me. ‘I’m not as agile as I once was,’ she continues, and Kathryn gives a little harrumph from across the room. Elspeth ignores her. ‘So, I need someone to help me dress, bathe, et cetera. To accompany me to events – I go to lots of events and I want to continue with that. Trips to the theatre, shopping. Anything, really.’
Excitement bubbles inside me. It sounds so much more interesting than my current job, where the highlight of my day is accompanying one of the residents out into the small garden, weather permitting.
‘Does that sound acceptable to you?’
I nod. ‘It sounds perfect. What … um, what about cooking? I’m a terrible cook – I even burn cheese on toast.’ My cheeks flame as I realize I said that out loud.
She laughs. A proper laugh this time. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t have to worry about that. I have a cook. And a cleaner. No, it’s just a companion I need. You’re probably thinking I have a daughter for that. My one and only child.’ She glances at Kathryn sitting mutely in the chair, then fixes her eyes on me again. It’s an odd thing to say. ‘But Kathryn has a family and two very demanding boys. She doesn’t have the time.’
‘You know I have the time,’ mutters Kathryn, still staring at her hands, and I sense tension between them.
‘Nonsense.’ She turns her attention back to me. ‘I like to be surrounded by youth. It keeps me young.’
I’m sure I hear Kathryn make a derisive sound through her nose, but either Mrs McKenzie doesn’t hear or she chooses to ignore it. ‘I think you’ll find the salary is competitive,’ she says, and tells me a figure twice my current salary – which isn’t hard considering that’s barely minimum wage, but still. With no rent or bills to worry about I can begin to pay back my credit card, which has reached its limit, thanks to my ex, Vince. My dream of travelling actually has a chance of being realized. She stands up. Kathryn and I follow suit.
‘I’ll be in touch. Kathryn will show you out.’
‘Thank you, Mrs McKenzie. It was lovely to meet you.’ I extend a hand and she takes it with a little jolt of surprise, as though she hadn’t expected me to have any manners. I want this job so badly, despite Kathryn’s brooding presence.
‘Please,’ she says, holding on to my hand. ‘Call me Elspeth.’
It’s dark by the time I get home. I had to take two buses from Clifton to Horfield, where I live. Thankfully, the main roads are mostly free of snow now, but even so the journey took over an hour.
The flat I share with Courtney is above a chemist and consists of a poky kitchenette/lounge/diner, two small bedrooms and a bathroom. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said the whole flat could fit into Elspeth McKenzie’s hallway. But it’s all we can afford on our wages. Courtney likes to tell people she works in fashion, but really she’s a hairdresser at a salon on Gloucester Road. I already know she won’t be home yet. She works late every other Friday.
The alleyway that leads around the back of the chemist to our flat is dark and thick with ice and, for a fleeting moment, I think of Vince. If we were still going out he’d have cleared the snow for us. But we haven’t spoken since our huge row on New Year’s Eve, eighteen days ago – not that I’m counting. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want him back. Not after what he did.
I climb the concrete staircase that always smells of piss, my heart heavy. Usually, after a day like today, I’d ring my mum. I’d tell her all about Elspeth McKenzie and her posh house and her uptight daughter. Or we’d get together and laugh about it over tea and biscuits – Mum loved her tea: she drank at least ten cups a day – and then she’d advise me gently not to judge a book by its cover, that they might not be what they seem. Grief washes over me, as it often does, that she’s not at the end of the phone or a few streets away, that she’s gone for ever. I have to swallow the lump in my throat. It’s not yet been three months. I’ve been through a Christmas and a New Year since she died and it’s still so fresh and raw, and I can’t see an end to it. I know I’ll always feel this way. I’ll miss her for the rest of my life.