Just Like the Other Girls(11)

The only time I have a small reprieve is when she asks me to go down to the kitchen and fetch her some tea. Then I can have a chat with Aggie, but not for too long or she comes to find me. I’ve not had a chance to ask about Jemima or Matilde again.

Luckily Elspeth is in bed by nine thirty so I can escape to my room, watch TV, while munching junk food, and take the smile off my face, as Mum would say. I never knew how emotionally draining it would be living and working in the same place. It’s like I’m never off duty.

Elspeth is an early riser so she expects me to get her up at six thirty. She likes to shower every morning, with my help. She doesn’t mind standing naked in front of me, not like some of the residents at the care home, who tried to hide themselves behind a towel. No, Elspeth is happy to walk around in the buff. I imagined she was like that as a younger woman, never worrying about her nakedness. I didn’t grow up in a household like that. My mum and I were much more prudish, even though it was just the two of us. And I’m expected to be by Elspeth’s side at all times. It’s only when she’s in bed that I can truly relax. I imagine this is what it must have been like over a hundred years ago being a lady’s maid.

This morning, because it’s my day off, I have a lie-in until nine o’clock. But even though the sleigh bed is large and comfortable, I can’t relax as I stare up at the beads of light dancing on the sloping ceiling, from the weak sun filtering through the cream curtains. I can hear traffic, the shriek of a child, a faraway police siren. What am I supposed to do all day? I can’t hang around in my room watching TV, and if I go downstairs I’ll feel like I’m working. I half expect Elspeth to be calling for me now, in her pinched, clipped tone.

I sit up and peer through the gap in the curtains. The sunshine glints off the suspension bridge, and the sky beyond is white, as if a screen has been pulled over the sun. In spite of my reservations about this job, I feel a rumble of excitement rippling through me that I’m living in such a stunning location. And, okay, my role might not be that exciting, yet – although Elspeth did promise me a theatre trip on Friday night, and talked about visiting an arcade she funds (I’m pretty sure she’s not talking about the sort of arcades I used to go to in Weston-super-Mare as a teenager) so at least I have those things to look forward to – but I’m right here, in the heart of this gorgeous city. In what my mum called ‘the posh part’, living in a house that I could only imagine existing. I’m so lucky to have landed this job. It’s an adjustment, that’s all.

I reach for my phone and text Courtney. It would be great to see her. It’s strange not living with her. She texts back straight away and we arrange to have lunch in Clifton. I shower, more energized now that I have a plan, and pull on jeans and a jumper in my en-suite bathroom – my en-suite. I still can’t get over it! I feel awkward when I get downstairs. It’s my day off, I remind myself. You’re not supposed to be working. So why do I feel as if I’m skiving? Elspeth keeps telling me to treat the house like my home, that even on my days off I can help myself to food and Aggie will cook for me if I want it. But I still feel uncomfortable because I don’t know if she’s just being polite. Sometimes I feel I need to read between the lines with Elspeth. Yesterday, for example, I left a scarf and a dog-eared paperback of Agatha Christie’s The Moving Finger on the coffee-table in the lounge (Elspeth always corrects me when I call it that – ‘It’s a sitting room, dear’) and she told me, curtly, that my things must stay in my room.

On Sunday, my first morning waking up in the house, I helped Elspeth dress, as she’d instructed me to do on my first day (I was shocked to see her wardrobe was filled with identical twinsets, just in different colours, not a pair of trousers in sight) and then we went down to the kitchen for breakfast. Elspeth had to cling to my arm because she was worried about losing her footing on the stairs (although that didn’t seem to be an issue on the occasions she’s come looking for me). Sunday, I was informed, was sausage, bacon and eggs day. Today is salmon and avocado on toast.

The house is eerily silent as I descend the stairs. Where is Elspeth? She told me yesterday that Kathryn would come over to look after her today but there’s no sign of either of them. I carry on down to the kitchen, hoping to bump into Aggie. But she’s not there either. Instead there’s a tray with a floral tea-towel laid over it. As I step closer I can see a note that reads: For Una. My heart swells. How lovely of Aggie to think of saving some breakfast for me. I remove the tea-towel, like a magician about to reveal a trick, expecting to see avocado on toast, but instead there is nothing. Just a large empty plate with a few crumbs and a chunk of tomato. I stare down at it in shock. I can’t believe someone has eaten the breakfast that was meant for me. Who would do that? I shrug it off. There must be some mistake, although I’m desperate for coffee.

I stare at the Aga hob. I have no idea how to use it. The kettle is one of those heavy orange affairs that you don’t have to plug into a socket. I’ve never used one of those, either. I suddenly feel like a Neanderthal. I place my hand against the side of the kettle and discover that it’s still warm. Then I open all the wall cupboards, trying to remember where Aggie kept the mugs, until I find one as well as a jar of coffee. I sit at the kitchen table with my freshly made coffee trying not to feel as though I’m trespassing.

‘Made yourself at home, I see.’