Chapter 2
ELIZABETH
“Arthur, it's me!” I shout, having knocked lightly on my neighbors' door.
I've got two bags of groceries in one arm and my laptop knapsack in the other.
Arthur opens the door. He’s always smartly dressed. Tall, and slim, with a full head of white hair and thick rimmed spectacles. There’s nothing frail about him, despite him being almost eighty years old.
“Lizzie,” he says, his tone admonishing as he sees my full arms. “You didn't have to.” He opens the door wider and I charge in as usual, like it's my place and I live here all the time, which isn't completely wrong. I spend a lot of time here, even though my apartment is directly across from his and Irene’s, his wife.
He shakes his head as he sees the groceries I've bought for them. “You've got a big day tomorrow, and you didn’t need to do this when you should be preparing.”
I take my rucksack off and set it on the floor, then walk into the kitchen and start unloading the groceries. “I'm not going to let you both starve on account of me.”
He starts helping me, even though he's got something cooking on the hob. “We can order groceries online.”
“You can, but you don't like doing that,” I remind him. “And I don't mind. It's on the way, and I managed to get a few things for me.” I start putting items into the fridge. “I got everything on your list.”
“I didn't give you a list!”
He didn’t, but I took a screenshot on my phone of the list he’d scrawled on a corner of his newspaper and bought everything on it. I smile at him and he returns to the hob and starts stirring.
“I also picked up a few other things for you.” I pull out bananas, apples and some small bags of vegetables.
I no longer feel like I’m overstepping here because I consider Arthur and Irene as family.
With these two in my life, I’ve finally found a sense of real belonging.
I love being able to do things for them, taking care of them, looking out for them in ways I’ve longed to do.
They filled a hole in my life and in my heart that I wasn’t aware of until now.
I grew up in foster care from the age of nine, and I don't remember my real parents much, and I’m an only child, too.
“You do too much for us.” Arthur's smile, shy, coy, soft and gentle, is the smile that makes my insides warm.
The kind of smile that lifts me. That is genuine and straight from his heart.
I love these two. I found Arthur and Irene when I moved into this apartment block a couple of years ago, across the hallway from them.
I could hear them sometimes, but that wasn't how we met. One evening I saw Irene wandering out onto the street in her nightdress, and Arthur chasing after her. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I rushed out to help.
Later, once we got Irene back home and helped her back into her bed, Arthur told me that Irene has Alzheimer's. They’ve been together for most of their lives and married for fifty-eight years.
He's devoted to her, and completely in love, but he's also exhausted.
Ever since then I can't help but keep an eye out for them and I help them whenever I can. They have a son who lives in Canada, and a teenage granddaughter called Tillie, but I've never seen them visit. Sometimes Irene thinks I’m Tillie.
“As if you don’t do anything for me,” I throw back. He keeps an eye on me. Watches if anyone he doesn’t know comes to my door. I get a lot of parcels and deliveries, and Arthur always takes them in for me if I’m not around.
“That's so good of you, Lizzie. Honestly, kiddo, I don’t know how we’d cope without you.”
I kiss him on the cheek. This is love, and he makes me feel special.
I adore this man. I adore Irene, too. But she often has a lost and faraway look in her eyes, and I don't know if she really knows me. It’s obvious that something isn't right. She’s often sitting at the table, folding napkins, or doodling, or just vacantly staring out of the window. Sometimes she knits.
“How has she been today?” I ask quietly, skirting around him as I offload the final groceries and put them away.
“She's been okay.”
“And how are you?”
“I've been good.”
I see the exhaustion in his eyes and the way it edges out in the wrinkles lining his face. He's not young himself. He's seventy-eight, and he's looking after his wife.
Seeing the way Arthur cares for Irene, I realized something. Nobody has ever done that for me.
My parents did, but that was a long time ago. After I was moved into care, I was constantly shuffled around foster homes, and felt like I wasn't a part of anything. I never had a sense of belonging. What I have with Arthur and Irene is as close to permanence as I have.
Arthur waggles his finger at me. “You will have dinner with us today because of this. I won't have you going home after a busy day at work.”
“I'm not even going to say no. Of course I'd love to have dinner with you.”
I often have dinner with them a couple of times a week.
It depends on how busy my workload is. This week is especially busy.
I've got an interview tomorrow at Knight Enterprises. It's the third and final one, and it’s a big deal for me, but I'm also slightly conflicted. I’ve managed to get through to the final round of interviews and I’m surprised that I’ve gotten so far.
Which means, they haven’t dug deep enough to know of my past.
I start taking out plates and cutlery. “What’s for dinner?”
“Roast chicken. It’s Irene’s favorite. With all the vegetables.”
I make an approving noise. “I’m starving. You cooked, so I’ll wash up.”
“No, you won’t, Lizzie.” Arthur starts to carve the chicken, and I start plating the veg. “I want you to eat. Then I need you to go and focus for your big interview tomorrow.”
“I’ve got it under control.” I start chopping Irene’s vegetables into little pieces, to save Arthur doing it.
“Sweetheart.” He gives me a pointed look. “This is important to you. I heard you howl with delight from here, you got the interview.”
That's true. I screamed with joy, then rushed over to tell them. To tell Arthur mostly. He was so happy for me.
Irene appears, looking agitated. “Artie, it’s not working!
It’s still not working.” She wrings her hands together.
Immediately, he stops, and takes her hands in his.
“I’ll fix it. Lizzie’s here. We’ll do it after dinner.
” His voice turns soft. He tells her to get ready to eat, and asks her to put out the tablemates.
Then he turns to me. “Sorry to ask you, but—”
“I’ll fix it,” I say. “Won’t take long.” I fix all their problems. I've set up their tablet, fixed every tech issue they have, and I'm always on call for them. I've helped them with their online forms, too.
He smiles. “You're the daughter we never had.”
Those words, along with his smile, make me go all soft and gooey inside. Like I could burst into tears. I always smile back, because those words choke me.
“I love you both.”
“We know you do.”
This is a family I never had.
Arthur and Irene are old enough to be my grandparents, but they're really my parents and grandparents all rolled into one.
They're my family now and I love them with all my heart.
After dinner I head back to my apartment and start pulling out smart outfits I own.
I’m so comfortable in my jeans, T-shirts and sweatshirts, but for Knight Enterprises I’ve had to take things to another level.
I bought myself an expensive bottle of perfume because I was so freaked out when I found out that I had an interview there.
I told myself I fit into that company, even though I didn’t look the part with my nose-ring and lilac streaked hair.
I managed to hide the streaks, after much trial and error, with the way I put my hair up into a bun. I never have my hair up in a bun. But it worked. I took off the nose-ring. I also bought a pair of high heels just so that I could fit in with the type of person that works there.
I suddenly realize that for this last interview, a presentation, I don’t want to have my hair up.
I find it uncomfortable. I run a hand through my bangs and the rest of my hair, then groan.
The lilac streaks are still visible. I was supposed to dye them over the weekend, but I got busy.
There’s no way I’m walking into a corporate boardroom looking like this. I’ll have to deal with it tonight.
My insides sink with dismay. I’ve been busy preparing for the presentation tomorrow, and I was hoping to go over it a few more times so that it was perfectly polished.
I need this job so much, and my desperation terrifies me.
But clearly, Paul Knight, the guy at the top, is interested in my skillset because I’ve made it through to this round of interviews.
I’m not sure I like him. I find him intimidating in the way powerful men often are, as though he’s spent his entire life getting exactly what he wants.
But I’ve gotten this far, and it’s obvious that nothing’s been flagged.