Chapter 8
EIGHT
Despite her exhaustion, Nina slept fitfully.
The misshapen mattress, the cold and damp air, the bus that stopped outside their window, all interrupted the rest she desperately needed.
The bus’s air brakes screeched at each approaching stop, making collections and drop-offs of drunken revellers, paying no heed to the fact that others might be sleeping in the middle of the night.
‘Joshy! Joshy! You dropped your scarf!’
She jumped up from the mattress at an ungodly hour to see a blond boy holding up a burgundy knitted scarf and his tall, dark-haired friend – Joshy she assumed – walking back to retrieve it with a lilt to his gait that suggested drunkenness.
‘Cheers, Liam!’ Joshy shouted. ‘See you later!’ As if it were mid-afternoon. If she thought there wasn’t the risk of waking her kids, she would have found the courage and yelled at Joshy and Liam to be quiet.
Giving up on any more sleep, she stretched her aching back and put on her slippers, not only to stave off the cold but also because she was wary of going barefoot in this strange environment, where unfamiliar bare feet had also ventured.
Softly she trod the narrow strip of carpet in the hallway.
Pulling the light switch in the bathroom, she sighed.
For some reason this room bothered her the most. She tried not to picture her luxurious mirrored bathroom at The Tynings; tried not to remember the joy at stripping off her clothes and stepping into the cavernously deep bubble bath, the room lit low, with scented candles glowing, and the promise of her fluffy, luxurious bathrobe afterwards.
One of her greatest pleasures had been soaking in a bath and then climbing into bed, with its expensive, pretty white bed linen and goose-down pillows.
Nina winced as she pulled the creaky door, her fingers flinching on the icy-cold doorknob.
She ran a bath, hoping and praying that there would be hot water and recoiling as her skin touched the scratchy plastic base of the bath.
Bath time here would be functional, a means of getting clean, all joy and luxury removed.
She sank into the tub and tried to relax, but it was no use.
She scrubbed, and pulled the plug. The moment she climbed from the warm water, her skin was instantly peppered in goosebumps.
She couldn’t pull her underwear, jeans, shirt and jersey on quick enough, cursing the cold.
After two strong coffees, from a tin of her favourite brand, brought from home and one she knew would be replaced by something cheaper when she ran out, Nina paced the kitchen, placing items on freshly wiped shelves, driven by a nervous energy.
Declan woke early, and was washed, dressed, fed and sitting on the sofa, playing on his laptop with his sweatshirt pulled over his hands by 7.
30. When Connor eventually appeared, he carried two dark circles under his listless eyes.
‘Good morning, Con.’ She tried to sound upbeat, to hide her very distress at the sight of him.
He stared at her. ‘There is absolutely nothing good about it.’
‘How did you sleep?’
‘On and off. Better once I’d got up and put my cricket jersey on and a pair of thick socks.’
She nodded. There was no denying it was cold. She pointed towards the gas fire that pumped out heat in a limited circle. He went and stood close to it.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea, a glass of juice?’
He shook his head. ‘What are we supposed to do here?’ He looked at the sofa where his brother sat.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, how are we supposed to spend our days in this tiny space, without a TV or room to move or a car to get around or any friends to call on? What exactly are we supposed to do?’ His voice had a wobble to it.
She wanted to remind him that she, like lots of people, had grown up without a car, but knew the timing wasn’t right for this life lesson.
‘Well, for a start you can have a bath and then unpack your bits and bobs and then you can walk up to the supermarket with me and we can get the groceries we need. Or you can go for a walk, explore the area.’
‘Go for a walk? Have you seen it out there? There’s homeless guys and junkies and traffic and shit everywhere!’ he spat.
‘Please don’t use that word in front of your brother, or in fact in front of anyone.
’ Still she plumbed for a neutral, appeasing tone, wanting to keep things as pleasant as possible for Declan and knowing that this was far from easy for her boys.
‘And I think you might be confusing Portswood with a war zone. You are quite safe, Connor.’ She hoped this was true.
‘And I think you might be confusing Portswood with somewhere that I might actually want to spend a second of my time in! I hate it here!’ Connor shouted, and fled the room.
Unable to think of a helpful response, Nina continued to unpack, piling crockery in the cupboard and putting the cutlery into the drawer. She silently hated having to place their lovely items into the worn units where strangers’ hands had scrabbled around for years.
‘What are we going to do today, Mum?’ Declan chewed his bottom lip.
‘We are going to unpack and I am going to start looking for a job!’ She placed her hands on her hips, trying to make it sound as much like an adventure as possible.
‘Why don’t you become a teacher? I think you’d be really good. You could teach at my new school and then I would get to see you during the day.’
Nina walked over and sat on the sofa with her boy in her arms, quashing the feelings of inadequacy and shame that washed over her.
‘I wish I could be your teacher and I would like nothing more than to see you every day, all day. My sweet boy.’ She kissed his head.
‘But I think being a teacher is a bit beyond me.’ I am sorry, Dec.
Sorry I didn’t pursue my dreams of nursing, didn’t push harder, didn’t have the courage.
Things would be a lot different for us now if I had . . .
By late morning, wrapped in jackets and scarves, the boys set off to explore the high street.
She gave them strict instructions to stick together, not to talk to any strangers and to stay on the one road that was busy.
Connor gave her a stern look that suggested her lecture was being added to the list of things he hated about her and his life.
And frankly she was at a loss how to respond.
She set open Declan’s laptop on the counter, and took a seat, looking around at job websites.
It was discouraging, to say the least. The sites burst with roles that she had no hope of attaining: Senior Brand Manager – minimum four years in similar role or recent Marketing graduate.
She swallowed and moved her finger down the screen.
Pharmacy Assistant: Qualified Pharmacist wanted for busy hospital dispensary.
Nina felt her stomach shrink: these were all so far out of her league.
The job titles continued to come at her thick and fast and she only had the vaguest idea of what some of them meant.
Switching sites, she trawled the local online paper.
This looked a bit more promising. She got to work, firing off applications for every kind of job from estate agent to traffic warden, and one about which she was most optimistic she read aloud with enthusiasm: ‘Data Entry Clerk wanted for busy hotel chain in their centralised booking office.’ If there was one thing she knew about, it was staying in hotels.
Her heart and spirit lifted, and as her eyes scanned the details – ‘twelve pounds an hour, flexible hours to suit’ – she felt her face break into a smile.
And then the line that deflated her hopes instantly: ‘Second language a must – Spanish/French/German/ Dutch/Portuguese/Polish. Contact us today!’
Nina felt her spirits sink as a response popped into her email account.
‘Dear Sir or Madam . . .’ The impersonal, automated response told her all she needed to know.
She clicked on an advert for ‘Incredible Telesales Opportunities’ but noticed this was a rolling advert with no start or end date, and the job was paid in commission only.
She needed something more concrete than possible commission.
Another advert caught her eye, a Senior Housekeeper position at a country house hotel on the outskirts of town.
Nina scanned the article, and picked up her phone before she lost her nerve; she was grateful that the boys were out and that she didn’t have an audience.
It wasn’t what she had hoped for, housekeeping, not what she would have chosen at all, washing sheets and emptying bins, but she now knew the old adage wasn’t wrong: beggars could not be choosers.
If it meant regular money, then so be it; a housekeeper she would be.
Nina placed her hand on her stomach to try to calm her butterflies.
You can do this! She spoke the words of encouragement in her mind, taking a deep breath.
‘Good morning, Winterton’s. How can I help you?’
‘Morning,’ she ventured, working to keep the anxiety from her voice. ‘I am calling about the job advertisement?’
‘Do you have a reference number? We have several vacancies.’ She heard the sigh in the man’s tone.
‘Erm . . .’ She ran her finger over the advert and gave him the long number, hoping she had got it right. There was a silence on the other end of the line.
‘Hello?’ she prompted.
‘Yes, madam, one minute please. I am trying to find it on my computer.’ He sounded irritated. She wondered if she should offer to call back at a more convenient time.
‘Senior Housekeeper, got it. And if I may ask, where are you currently employed?’
‘Oh! I’m not.’ She swallowed.
‘So if you could give me your last position in this or a similar role and tell me a little of your experience?’
‘I . . . I don’t have any experience, but I have kept my own large house and looked after my sons for the last few years, and I think I can manage as a housekeeper.’