wasn’t some cosmic mistake. The car outside was her only means of transport – temporarily, she prayed.
Back outside, she walked slowly around the battered car before putting the key in the driver’s door. No remote locking.No smart leather upholstery, she thought, as she gingerly sat down on the heavily stained beige velour seat. She swiftly wound down a window to bring some much needed fresh air to the stale interior. Then she remained seated, wondering what she had possibly done in a former life to deserve such misery in her current one.
She was still sitting there a couple of minutes later when her parents drewup.
‘Oh, good,’ said her mother, getting out of her car and waving. ‘You found the keys.’
Charley nodded dumbly in response, watching Maureen pick up a couple of Lidl bags. That was new too, she realised. They had always shopped at Waitrose before.
Her father headed over to the Mini, sucking on the pipe he had just retrieved from his shirt pocket.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks, apparently.’He tried not to smirk as he leant in through the open window.
‘Nothing is as bad as this car looks,’ muttered Charley.
‘Lord knows what Peggy’s nephew did with it whilst he was at university. She says you can have it as long as you want. He’s on a gap year travelling around South America.’
Charley knew she had no choice. There was no point being snobbish about these things. It was a car, wasn’tit? Her parents were shopping in Lidl, for God’s sake. She owed them £40,000. She was about to be interviewed as a cleaner. It was time to get over herself.
She turned the key in the ignition and the car spluttered into life. With her parents calling out good luck, Charley found first gear and proceeded to bunny-hop down the driveway. The car gave a shudder every minute or so, accompanied bya questionable knocking sound. But at least it would get her as far as her interview without breaking down. Or at least she hoped so.
Peggy’s friend Patricia, the head of the cleaning business, had sounded terribly posh when Charley called her. She wasn’t sure how Aunty Peggy had come to mix in those kind of circles.
Patricia lived in a detached cottage on the outskirts of Little Grove, witha beautiful country garden at the front. The cleaning business was obviously flourishing.
‘Do come in,’ she said, in a cut-glass accent.
Patricia Chalcot was a stout woman in her early fifties. She was wearing a blue silk blouse, matching pencil skirt and court shoes. She led Charley into the lounge, which was all floral fabrics and sparkling white net curtains.
‘So, my dear.’ Patricia gesturedfor her to sit down. ‘You want to join my team of happy cleaners?’
Charley managed a fake smile. ‘Yes, I do.’
No, I don’t, she wanted to shout. I want to run away from here as fast as I possibly can.
‘Well, you look smart enough. All my girls must be trustworthy, reliable and neat. I won’t have untidy cleaners. A messy cleaner is a reflection on Grove Cleaners, which is a reflection on me.’
‘I understand.’
‘My customers want to come home at the end of their working day to a spotless home. My girls see to it that their dream comes true.’
Charley had thought that the job only required her to dust and clean.
‘As a rule, my customers require a weekly service. Normally either a whole morning or afternoon. It can take up to four hours to achieve the dream look.’
The telephone rang.
‘Grove Cleaners. Patricia Chalcot speaking. Yes, Mrs Palmer. I saw your application. How are you? Wonderful. Well, you’re in luck, my dear. I have a lovely girl called Charlotte who will be available to start attending to your home next week.’
Charley’s eyebrows shot up. This was all going a bit too fast. She hadn’t even agreed to take the job yet.
‘Nine o’clock sharp on Thursday,’ carried onPatricia. ‘Super. So nice to talk to you again. Goodbye.’ She put down the phone and turned back to
Back outside, she walked slowly around the battered car before putting the key in the driver’s door. No remote locking.No smart leather upholstery, she thought, as she gingerly sat down on the heavily stained beige velour seat. She swiftly wound down a window to bring some much needed fresh air to the stale interior. Then she remained seated, wondering what she had possibly done in a former life to deserve such misery in her current one.
She was still sitting there a couple of minutes later when her parents drewup.
‘Oh, good,’ said her mother, getting out of her car and waving. ‘You found the keys.’
Charley nodded dumbly in response, watching Maureen pick up a couple of Lidl bags. That was new too, she realised. They had always shopped at Waitrose before.
Her father headed over to the Mini, sucking on the pipe he had just retrieved from his shirt pocket.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks, apparently.’He tried not to smirk as he leant in through the open window.
‘Nothing is as bad as this car looks,’ muttered Charley.
‘Lord knows what Peggy’s nephew did with it whilst he was at university. She says you can have it as long as you want. He’s on a gap year travelling around South America.’
Charley knew she had no choice. There was no point being snobbish about these things. It was a car, wasn’tit? Her parents were shopping in Lidl, for God’s sake. She owed them £40,000. She was about to be interviewed as a cleaner. It was time to get over herself.
She turned the key in the ignition and the car spluttered into life. With her parents calling out good luck, Charley found first gear and proceeded to bunny-hop down the driveway. The car gave a shudder every minute or so, accompanied bya questionable knocking sound. But at least it would get her as far as her interview without breaking down. Or at least she hoped so.
Peggy’s friend Patricia, the head of the cleaning business, had sounded terribly posh when Charley called her. She wasn’t sure how Aunty Peggy had come to mix in those kind of circles.
Patricia lived in a detached cottage on the outskirts of Little Grove, witha beautiful country garden at the front. The cleaning business was obviously flourishing.
‘Do come in,’ she said, in a cut-glass accent.
Patricia Chalcot was a stout woman in her early fifties. She was wearing a blue silk blouse, matching pencil skirt and court shoes. She led Charley into the lounge, which was all floral fabrics and sparkling white net curtains.
‘So, my dear.’ Patricia gesturedfor her to sit down. ‘You want to join my team of happy cleaners?’
Charley managed a fake smile. ‘Yes, I do.’
No, I don’t, she wanted to shout. I want to run away from here as fast as I possibly can.
‘Well, you look smart enough. All my girls must be trustworthy, reliable and neat. I won’t have untidy cleaners. A messy cleaner is a reflection on Grove Cleaners, which is a reflection on me.’
‘I understand.’
‘My customers want to come home at the end of their working day to a spotless home. My girls see to it that their dream comes true.’
Charley had thought that the job only required her to dust and clean.
‘As a rule, my customers require a weekly service. Normally either a whole morning or afternoon. It can take up to four hours to achieve the dream look.’
The telephone rang.
‘Grove Cleaners. Patricia Chalcot speaking. Yes, Mrs Palmer. I saw your application. How are you? Wonderful. Well, you’re in luck, my dear. I have a lovely girl called Charlotte who will be available to start attending to your home next week.’
Charley’s eyebrows shot up. This was all going a bit too fast. She hadn’t even agreed to take the job yet.
‘Nine o’clock sharp on Thursday,’ carried onPatricia. ‘Super. So nice to talk to you again. Goodbye.’ She put down the phone and turned back to
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