Someone Else's Shoes(116)

“But why is Cat staying with Andrea? Is the house not secure? It’s very worrying. I told your father ages ago we should get an alarm.”

His voice echoes from the living room, where he is completing a 2,000-piece jigsaw that may or may not have been contaminated with pieces from the box above it. “You said not to get an alarm as you didn’t want it going off and making a racket.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wanted an alarm. You were too tight to pay for one.”

Her mother had thrown her hands to her face when Sam told her about the burglary, her apparent delinquency in not cleaning for weeks briefly forgotten while her mother considered this greater transgression. She had wanted to know everything: what they had taken (nothing), whether any of her neighbors’ houses had suffered the same fate (no), whether the police were doing anything about it (they still hadn’t come) and appeared vaguely disappointed at all the answers.

“But if the house is secure again, why is Cat at Andrea’s?”

Sam wrings out the dirty cloth in the sink. “Because Phil’s not at home just now and I didn’t want her being alone there while I’m out.” It had actually been Nisha’s idea. They should both stay away for now, she said. Ari knew bad people. She had looked vaguely apologetic as she said it.

“Well, where’s Phil? Oh, my goodness, they didn’t hurt him, did they? Is he in the hospital?”

“No, Mum.” She pulls a face when she moves a jar and finds a large lump of moldering Cheddar behind it. “He—he’s gone away for a bit.”

Even when distracted by the prospect of violent crime her mother possesses the laser instincts of a homing pigeon. “Are you two still having problems?”

Sam puts the cheese into the bin and washes her hands under the tap, keeping her face turned away. “He just needs to clear his head.”

“I told you, Tom. Didn’t I tell you? This is the problem when a woman works like you do. It is no good for a marriage. A man has to have a little pride, and by being the sole breadwinner you have taken it away from him. Look what happened to Judy Garland.”

Sam puts down the cloth. She rests her hands on the edge of the sink. “You’re thinking of A Star Is Born. And, actually, Mum, he left because he thought I was having an affair with a work colleague.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Did you just throw that cheese into the bin? That’s a waste. We could cut the ends off it.”

Sam stays very still for a moment. Then she opens the bin, pulls it out from the rubbish and places it in her mother’s hand.

“Mum,” she says, pulling off her apron. “This is the last time I am cleaning for you. I love you and Dad very much, but I am about to start a new job, which will be very demanding. In the limited time I have left to myself, I need to focus on my family, or at least what remains of it. Just as you advise. I have called three cleaning agencies, all of which have capacity, and now that the house is straight I’m sure they’ll be very happy to help you. Here are the numbers. The second, by the way, is the cheapest. It’s possible they use indentured labor. Possibly Afghan. Maybe check with the union. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She kisses her mother’s stunned face, squeezes her father’s arm, and picks up her coat from the chair, where one of them had dropped it on her arrival.

“Lovely to see you both. Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Still a little shaken, and frankly exhausted. Very, very sad about the end of my marriage. But nothing four hours of unpaid cleaning can’t fix. Right! I’m off. I’ll let you know how the new job goes.”

She closes the door with a vigorous slam that she knows will annoy them, and doesn’t look back as she leaves.



* * *



? ? ?

Joel is already waiting in the café when she gets there. She sees his head, dipped over his phone, and when it lifts at the sound of the door opening his smile is tentative and gorgeous. She hesitates for a minute, then walks in and takes a seat at the wooden table opposite him.

“I got you a cappuccino,” he says, pushing it toward her. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

She smiles and takes a sip. Joel watches her and drums his fingers lightly on the table top. He has beautiful nails, even, neat and spotlessly clean. She wonders absently whether he files them. Maybe he gets manicures, like Cat’s friend Ben. She knows nothing about him, really. She could have projected all sorts of ideas onto him. For all she knows, he may have a passion for Byzantine lute music, or a collection of antique dolls in his spare room. The thought makes her giggle and it turns into a sort of odd hiccup. What do they know about each other anyway?

“You okay?”

She straightens her face and swallows. “I think so. You?”

“Fine. Fine.”

She takes another sip.

“So I had a talk with Marina,” he begins. “And we think we can get you your job back. She got some guidance from a mate in HR and apparently Simon should have given you a formal warning and because we can prove you didn’t actually steal those shoes, if we get that woman to write—”

“Joel, I’m not coming back,” she says. And then: “I got the job. With Miriam Price.”

Joel’s eyes widen a fraction. “Harlon and Lewis. Woah.” He leans back in his chair, taking this in. He is wearing a shirt she hasn’t seen before and it stretches over his shoulders as he moves.