The Undomestic Goddess (11 page)

And health care, adds Trish.

Theyre both gazing at me with a kind of eager hope.

I glance over at Nathaniel, who cocks his head as though to say, Why not?

The strangest feeling is coming over me. Three people. All telling me they want me within
the space often minutes.

I could stay. Its as simple as that. For however long it takes to... work myself out. Im
miles away fromLondon . No one knows Im here. Ill be safe.

I cant cook, a little voice reminds me . I cant clean. Im not a housekeeper . But I could learn. I could learn it all. The silence is growing in tension. Even
Nathaniel is watching me closely from the door.

Well... OK. I feel a smile coming to my lips. OK. If you want me to... Ill stay.

Later that night, after weve all eaten a Chinese take-away, I take out my mobile phone,
call my mothers office, and wait till Im put through to voice mail.

Its all right, Mum, I say. You dont need to call in any favors. Ive got a job. And I click
the mobile shut.

The only thing is, now I actually have to be a housekeeper.

The next morning my alarm goes off at six fifteen and I arrive downstairs in the kitchen
before seven, in my uniform. The garden is misty and there are no sounds, except a couple
of magpies chacking at each other on the lawn. I feel as though Im the only person awake
in the world.

As quietly as I can, I empty the dishwasher and put everything away in the cupboards. I
straighten the chairs under the table. I make a cup of coffee. Then I look around at the
gleaming granite counters.

My domain.

It doesnt feel like my domain. It feels like someone elses scary kitchen.

So... what do I do now? I feel twitchy, just standing here. I should be occupied. My mind
flashes back toLondon before I can stop it, to my regular routine. If I were still at
Carter Spink, I would be queuing for a cappuccino by now. Or maybe on the tube, answering
e-mails. I wonder how many e-mails are stacked up, unanswered, in my Blackberry? The
thought makes me feel slightly ill.

No. Dont think about it. Theres an old copy of The Economist in the magazine rack by the table and I pick it up. I flip through and start reading a
piece on international monetary controls, sipping my coffee.

Then, as I hear a sound from upstairs, I hastily put it down again. Housekeepers arent
supposed to read articles on international monetary controls. Theyre supposed to be making
breakfast. But how can I do that until I know what the Geigers want?

Then all of a sudden I remember yesterday morning. Trish made me a cup of tea.

Maybe today Im supposed to make her a cup of tea. Maybe theyre waiting upstairs, tapping their fingers impatiently, saying
Wheres the damn tea?

Quickly I boil the kettle and make a teapot full. I put it on a tray with cups and saucers
and after a moments thought add a couple of biscuits. Then I head upstairs, venture along
the silent corridor to Trish and Eddies bedroom... and stop outside the door.

Now what?

What if theyre asleep and I wake them up?

I lift a hand to knockbut the trays too heavy to hold in one hand and theres an alarming
chinking as the whole thing starts tilting sideways. In horror, I grab it just before the
teapot slides off. Sweating, I put the whole lot on the ground, raise a hand, and knock
very quietly, then pick up the tray again.

Theres no answer.

Hesitantly I tap again.

Eddie! Stop that! Trishs raised voice filters faintly through the door.

Oh, God. Why cant they hear me?

Im hot all over. This tray is bloody heavy. I cant stand outside their room with a cup of
tea all morning. Shall I just... retreat?

Im about to turn round and creep away. Then determination comes over me. No. Dont be so
feeble. Ive made the tea. They can always tell me to leave.

I grip the tray tightly and bang the corner hard against the door. They have to have heard that.

After a moment, Trishs voice rises up. Come in!

I feel a swell of relief. Theyre expecting me. I knew they would be. Somehow I turn the
doorknob while balancing the tray against the door. I push the door open and walk into the
room.

Trish looks up from the canopied mahogany bed, where shes sprawled on a pile of lace
pillows, alone. Shes wearing a silky nightie, her hair is disheveled, and makeup is
smudged about her eyes. For a moment she looks startled to see me.

Samantha, she says sharply. What do you want? Is everything all right?

I have an immediate, horrible feeling Ive done the wrong thing. My gaze doesnt move from
hers, but my peripheral vision starts to register a few details in the room. I can see a
book called Sensual Enjoyment on the floor. And a bottle of musk-scented massage oil. And...

A well-worn copy of The Joy of Sex . Right by the bed. Open at Turkish Style.

OK. So they werent expecting tea.

I swallow, trying to keep my composure, desperately pretending I havent seen anything.

I... brought you a cup of tea, I say, my voice cracking with nerves. I thought you
might... like one.

Do not look at The Joy of Sex . Keep your eyes up . Trishs face relaxes. Samantha! You treasure! Put it down! She waves an arm vaguely

at a bedside table.

Im just starting to move toward it when the bathroom door opens and Eddie emerges, naked
except for a pair of too-tight boxer shorts, displaying a quite staggeringly hairy chest.

Somehow I manage not to drop the entire tray on the floor.

Im... Im sorry, I stammer, backing away. I didnt realize...

Dont be silly! Come in! exclaims Trish gaily. She now seems completely reconciled to me
being in her bedroom. Were not prudish !

OK, Im really wishing they were. Cautiously I edge further toward the bed, stepping over a
mauve lace bra. I find a place for the tray on Trishs bedside cabinet by pushing aside a
photo of her and Eddie sitting in a Jacuzzi, holding up glasses of champagne.

I pour out the tea as fast as I can and hand a cup to each of them. I cannot look Eddie in
the eye. In what other job do you see your boss naked?

Only one other occupation springs immediately to mind. Which isnt that encouraging.

Well... Ill go now, I mumble, head down.

Dont rush off! Trish sips her tea with relish. Mmm. Now youre here, I wanted to have a
little chat! See where we are with things.

Er... right. Her nightie is gaping and I can see the edge of her nipple. I hastily look

away and find myself catching the eye of the bearded guy in The Joy of Sex as he contorts himself.

I can feel my face flaming with embarrassment. What kind of surreal weirdness is this,
that I am standing in the bedroom of two people, pretty much strangers to me, being
practically shown how they have sex? And they dont seem remotely bothered...

And then it comes to me. Of course. Im staff. I dont count.

So, is everything all right, Samantha? Trish puts her cup down and gives me a beady look.
Youve got your routine sorted? All under control?

Absolutely. I grope for a competent-sounding phrase. Im pretty much... on top of
everything. Aaargh. I mean... getting to grips with it all.

Aaaargh.

She takes a sip of tea. I expect youll be tackling the laundry today.

The laundry. I hadnt even thought about the laundry.

Only Id like you to change the sheets when you make the beds, she adds.

Make the beds?

I feel a slight twinge of panic.

Obviously I have my own... er... established routine, I say, trying to sound casual. But
it might be an idea if you give me a list of duties.

Oh. Trish looks a little irritated. Well... if you really think you need it...

And I, Samantha, must go through your terms and conditions later on, says Eddie. Hes
standing in front of the mirror, holding a dumbbell. Let you know what youve got yourself
into. He guffaws, then with a slight grunt lifts the weight above his head. His stomach is
rippling with the effort. And not in a good way.

So... Ill get on with... things. I start backing toward the door.

See you later, then, at breakfast. Trish gives me a cheery little wave from the bed. Ciao
ciao!

I cannot keep up with Trishs mood shifts. We seemed to have lurched straight from
employer-employee to people-enjoying-a-luxury-cruise-together.

Er...bye then! I say, matching her chirpy tone. I bob a curtsy, step over her bra again,

and exit the room as quickly as I can.

Breakfast is a bit of a nightmare. It takes me three failed attempts before I realize how
youre supposed to cut a grapefruit in half. Youd think theyd make it clearer. They could
draw guidelines round them, or have perforations, or something. Meanwhile the milk for the
coffee boils overand when I plunge down the cafetiere, the coffee explodes everywhere.
Luckily Trish and Eddie are so busy arguing about where to go on their next holiday, they
dont seem to notice whats going on in the kitchen.

When theyve finished, I stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and am desperately trying
to remember how I made it work yesterday, when Trish comes into the kitchen.

Samantha, Mr. Geiger would like to see you in his study, she says. To discuss your pay and
conditions. Dont keep him waiting!

Er... very good, madam. I curtsy, then smooth down my uniform and head out into the hall.
I approach the door of Eddies study and knock twice.

Come in! replies a jovial voice. I walk in to find Eddie sitting behind his deska huge
affair of mahogany and tooled leatherwith an expensive-looking laptop in front of him. Hes
fully clothed by now, thank God, in tan trousers and a sports shirt.

Ah, Samantha. Ready for our little meeting? Eddie gestures to an upright wooden chair, and
I sit down. Here we are! The document youve been waiting for!

With a self-important air he hands me a folder marked //sc housekeepers contract. I open
it up to find a title sheet on cream vellum paper.

CONTRACT OF AGREEMENT

Between Samantha Sweeting and Mr. and Mrs. Edward Geiger, this first day of July in the
year of our Lord two thousand and four.

Wow, I say in surprise. Did a lawyer draw this up?

I didnt need a lawyer. Eddie chuckles knowingly. Downloaded it from the Internet. And
obviously amended it slightly. All you need is a bit of common sense.

I turn over the title sheet and run my eyes down the printed clauses. I have to bite my
lip as I take in phrases here and there, presumably Eddies amendments.

Now, I know it looks frightening! says Eddie, misinterpreting my silence. But dont be
intimidated by all these long words. Did you have a chance to look at the pay?

My eye flicks to the figure quoted in bold under Weekly Salary . Its slightly less than I charged per hour as a lawyer.

It seems extremely generous, I say after a pause. Thank you very much, sir.

Is there anything you dont understand? He beams jovially. Just say!

Um... this bit. I point to Clause 7: Hours . Does this mean I have the whole weekend off? Every weekend?

Unless were entertaining. Eddie nods. In which case youll have two days off in lieu...
Youll see in clause nine...

Im not listening. Every weekend free. I cant get my head around this idea. I dont think
Ive had a totally free weekend since I was about twelve.

Thats great. I look up, unable to stop myself smiling. Thanks very much!

Didnt your previous employers give you weekends off? Eddie looks taken aback.

Well, no, I say truthfully. Not really.

They sound like slave drivers! He beams. Now, Ill leave you alone for a while to study the
agreement before you sign.

Ive pretty much read it I halt as Eddie raises a hand in reproof.

Samantha, Samantha, Samantha, he says in avuncular tones, shaking his head. Im going to
give you a little tip that will stand you in good stead in life. Always read legal
documents very carefully .

Yes, sir, I say, my nose twitching with the effort of staying deadpan. Ill try to remember
that.

As Eddie disappears from the room, I look down at the contract again, rolling my eyes. I
pick up a pencil and automatically start correcting the text, rephrasing, scoring out, and
adding queries in the margin.

What am I doing?

I grab an eraser and hastily erase all my amendments. I reach for a Biro and turn to the
bottom of the page.

Name: Samantha Sweeting. Occupation:

I hesitate for a moment... then put Domestic Help . Im really doing this. Im really committing to this job, miles away from my former life

in every sense. And no one knows what Im doing.

I have a sudden flash on my mothers face, on the expression shed have if she knew where I
was right now... if she could see me in my uniform... her reaction... It would be as
though some seismic world catastrophe had occurred. Im almost tempted to call her up and
tell her what Im doing.

But Im not going to. And I havent got time to think about her. I have laundry to do.

It takes me two trips to bring down all the washing to the laundry room, just off the
kitchen. I dump the overflowing baskets on the tiled floor and look at the hi-tech washing
machine. This should be simple enough. Experimentally, I open the door of the machine and
at once an electronic display starts flashing at me. WASH? WASH ?

Immediately I feel flustered. Obviously I want you to wash, I feel like snapping back. Just give me a chance to get the bloody
clothes in.

Stay calm. One thing at a time. First step: sort the clothes. Feeling pleased with myself
for having thought of this, I start sorting out the dirty clothes into piles on the floor,
consulting the labels as I go. As Im peering at one marked Wash with GREAT CARE , I hear Trish coming into the kitchen, clearly on the phone.

Youre right, shes saying, her voice trembling. Youre right! But he doesnt see it like that! And let me tell you, Ive tried!

I freeze in embarrassment. Does Trish know Im in here? Should I cough?

I dont want to play golf! Is there nothing else we can do together? I glance out of the laundry door into the kitchen and to my horror see
Trish at the table, dabbing at her eyes with a pink tissue. Its all right for him! He has
no idea what its like for me!

Hastily I duck back into the laundry and start busily shoving clothes into the drum at
random. If Trish comes in, shell see me dutifully at work, impervious to her conversation.
I shake some washing powder into the little tray at the top and close the door firmly. Now
what?

WASH? the machine is still flashing at me. WASH ? Er...yes! I mutter. Wash them. I jab randomly at a button.

ENTER PROGRAM? it flashes back.

My eyes dart about for clues, and I spot a manual tucked behind a spray bottle. I grab it
and start leafing through.

The half-load option for small washes is only available for pre-wash programs A3-E2 and
superrinse programs G2-L7 not including H4.