The School Gate Survival Guide by Kerry Fisher Page B

children. I’ve done everything, given the top floor a good clean for your guests, but I’m afraid I haven’t managed to mop the kitchen floor. I have hoovered it though, so it just needs a quick flick over.’
    I said it as an aside, pulling off my work slippers and turning towards the door. But the idea of sullying herself with a bottle of Flash seemed to wind Cecilia up. It was like those rubbish seventies shipwreck films Mum loved, where a light wind starts to ruffle the trees gently and before you know it, the waves are tossing people over the side and sails are ripping in two when a few minutes earlier there wasn’t even a ripple in the water.
    She sat up very straight on the settee, her dark bob rigid like a tin helmet. ‘Maia, I’m sorry, but doing half a job doesn’t work for me, not when I’m so terribly busy. So I’d be really grateful if you could finish off properly?’
    I tried again. ‘I’m sorry but if I don’t go now, I’ll have to pay an extra £16 for the children to go into after-school club which I can’t afford at the moment. I have managed a lot of extra things today.’ I smiled to show that I wasn’t offended.
    ‘I’m sorry but if you can’t stay on for a few more minutes or organise yourself better to fit in a couple of tiny extras, I probably need to think about employing someone more flexible.’
    ‘What do you mean? I am flexible. I come in at short notice, I do one-off special cleans when you have people to stay. I pop in on Sundays to tidy up when you’ve had a dinner party. And they weren’t tiny extras, I’ve cleaned a whole floor from top to bottom.’
    ‘I don’t want to lose you, but if your other commitments mean that you aren’t able to maintain a satisfactory standard, then I think it’s better that you seek alternative employment.’
    I stood, I think the prof used to call it, nonplussed. The beautician’s hands slathered and smoothed cream. The spa bath bubbled gently. I couldn’t afford to lose another £60 a week. Harley was already clamouring to do guitar lessons at £160 a term. Unfortunately my mouth opened before I got going with the humble pie.
    ‘I’m sorry you feel like that. By the way, I popped your vibrator back in the bathroom cupboard in case you’re looking for it.’
    I saw the beautician’s hands slow, then stop. I tossed a ‘nice working for you’ over my shoulder and took a second to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing Cecilia’s arched eyebrows disappear into her hairline before the reality of being even worse off depressed the shit out of me.
    I decided not to tell Colin about getting the sack. He’d grumped enough when a corpse had made me redundant. I knew he’d somehow bring this latest trouble back to the fact that the kids were at Stirling Hall.
    That evening, as soon as he disappeared off down the Working Men’s Club for a game of pool – I never dared point out the irony of his choice of venue – I grabbed my bottle of Malibu and headed to Sandy’s. I’d lived next door to her for eleven years since the council gave me a house when I was expecting Harley. Colin had disappeared for a few months as soon as the words ‘I’m pregnant’ left my mouth but he reappeared, broke and full of soppy promises when Harley was about four months old. In the meantime, Sandy helped me through the new baby fog, taking Harley next door to give me a break from the crying, and passing on clothes that her son, Denim, had grown out of.
    Sandy and I knew details about each other that adults weren’t supposed to share. We’d laughed till bubbles came out our noses about the noises men made during sex. Once, after too much Malibu, I’d told her that Colin shouted, ‘Goal’ when he came, so now she always called him the striker. Sometimes she’d ask him, ‘Played much football lately?’ when she knew I could hear. Guilt took the edge off my laughter.
    Sandy, on the other hand, took information oversharing to uncomfortable extremes.