Chapter 4 #2
Cora’s cleaner before Elisavet was Mrs Roberts. Talk about opposites! Mrs Roberts was a gossip, friendly, gave her all the latest lowdown on the slovenly habits of the other people she cleaned for and never vacuumed under Cora’s bed where the dust lay thick as felt.
You couldn’t exactly describe her as diligent.
In the kitchen, a teaspoon that Cora accidentally dropped lay on the floor untouched through a series of weekly visits as Mrs Roberts respectfully cleaned around it as if it was a holy relic.
Cora didn’t move it either, not out of stubbornness but more as an experiment, to see how long it would stay there.
Probably it would still be there now if Mrs Roberts hadn’t found a packet of ribbed condoms in Gladdie’s bedside drawer when she was ‘doing’ for her, which was nobody’s business but Gladdie’s (although to be honest, Gladdie had never married and was well past the menopause), and then told her other clients about it.
Well! That was it! Two questions bounced around the town from woman to woman until everyone knew about this intriguing discovery, but only one of the questions was askable: what on earth was Mrs Roberts doing going through Gladdie’s drawers in the first place?
Gladdie confronted Mrs Roberts in the Spar shop, and to save face in the ensuing counter-accusations Mrs Roberts handed in her notice on lined paper in purple felt-tip.
No, sorry. She didn’t actually hand it in, she pushed it through Gladdie’s door with the written explanation that she was moving to Spain for her arthritis.
They still saw her in Bridgend sometimes.
So there it was, one cleaner would talk too much and the other didn’t talk enough.
Sometimes Cora toyed vaguely with the idea of doing her own cleaning, but it was so nice not having to do it. The worst part of living alone was being totally responsible for yourself and she was all for subcontracting things if she could.
From the doorway, she watched Elisavet spray the mantelpiece, polish it vigorously, dust the pieces and replace them carefully one by one.
She left the lump of clay until last, almost as if she’d taken Cora’s advice to heart not to dust it.
But then she picked it up, balanced it in her hand, and turned to look at Cora over her shoulder. She caught her eye for a moment.
What kind of look was that?
A spark of interest, that’s what it was, as if something meaningful passed between them, a mutual understanding of some unspoken knowledge shared between friends.
Still no smile, of course, but her holy features softened slightly.
Elisavet replaced the lump of clay in line with the other treasures, positioning it with such exaggerated care that it almost bordered on mockery.
I’m definitely going shopping next time she comes, Cora vowed, and went for her handbag. She put Elisavet’s cash discreetly in a white envelope, left it on the kitchen table and opened the front door to see if the rain had stopped.
It had, so she put her coat on and went to tell Elisavet that she was going out, said it with a smile.
She saw a slight horizontal crease above the bridge of Elisavet’s nose, as if she was displeased.
Cora’s smile drooped. The woman was a mystery.
She wished they could have a decent conversation just once and get to know each other, but really – why did it matter?
Why did she have to know anything about Elisavet at all, she wondered.
She was there to do a job, and that was it.
She didn’t have to befriend her or bond with her, she just had to pay her.
She could appreciate her hard work without knowing anything about her at all.
On the other hand, she wanted Elisavet to like her. That’s what a smile was all about, it was an exchange of good feeling, the shortest distance between two people.
Wanting Elisavet to like her gave Cora a feeling of anxious uncertainty, like the early days of courtship.
Their relationship was wholly unbalanced.
She knew nothing whatsoever about Elisavet but Elisavet knew all about her, her house, her possessions, her general character, her discretion in putting the cash payment in an envelope – whether she appreciated that nicety or considered it pointless, Cora didn’t know because she took the cash and left the envelope to be reused next time.
But she had eradicated the fluff under the bed, and whenever a beam of sunlight came in through the window it shone bright and pure, dust free.
Elisavet was a sort of cleansing religious experience, an angel.
Cora buttoned her coat. ‘I’m off. I’ve left your envelope on the table.’
‘Okay.’
On the way out, Cora looked at herself in the hall mirror to see herself through Elisavet’s eyes.
The hall mirror was particularly kind to her wrinkles.
She had an inoffensive face and honey-blonde hair from the hairdressers.
There was nothing to particularly dislike except for the irregularity of her arched left eyebrow, which made her look sceptical or quizzical at times, through no fault of her own.
She stared at herself ironically for a moment, and sighed. ‘Well, there we are,’ she said aloud.