Make Me Clean, page 24
Del is annoyed when the cats push their way around the walking frame trying to get to Elsie’s legs as soon as she steps into the hall.
‘Get them buggers away. They’ll be having me over as well as her and that’s all we bloody need!’ he grumbles.
‘What’s that?’ demands Elsie, spotting the newly installed child-gate in front of the stairs.
‘It’s to stop Sweetie going upstairs until her belly fully recovers,’ improvises Maria. A little white lie. As if a gate would stop a cat going anywhere it liked.
Maria shuts all four cats in the kitchen, then helps Del bring Elsie through to the bedroom, now with the added commode.
‘Oh, please! Let them in!’ pleads Elsie, but as Maria and Del help her to sit, Sweetie is already in the room, jumping on the bed, having headbutted the kitchen door open.
‘They’ll hurt you!’ says Del, trying to keep the cat from jumping on Elsie’s lap.
‘He has a point,’ says Maria, but Elsie won’t hear of the cats being kept away from her. The compromise is each animal is allowed in for an individual supervised audience, and then removed to the kitchen with a treat. They don’t protest – Dreamies will always trump their love for the old woman.
It doesn’t take long for the journey from the hospital, seeing the cats, the excitement of being back in her own home to tire Elsie. Her face begins to droop.
‘We’ll leave you for a bit of shut-eye, hey, Auntie Elsie?’ says Del. ‘Will you sort her?’ he asks Maria.
After Elsie has achieved the first ‘christening’ of the commode, as she puts it, to the accompaniment of several expletives, and she’s lying settled in what is now referred to as ‘my own bed at long last’, Maria returns to the kitchen.
‘She does seem a lot perkier,’ says Del. ‘Do you think she’s on the mend up there as well?’ He points to his head.
‘She knew all the cats’ names.’ ‘She always knows their names,’ says Maria. But she adds nothing more. Neither of them really expects a miracle.
After he’s gone, Maria makes herself and Elsie a mug of soup. She takes it through and perches on the edge of Elsie’s bed as they sip and gossip together.
*
Later in the night, Maria hears Elsie cry out and hurries down to her bedside.
‘Does your hip hurt? Did you have a bad dream?’ she asks. There’s no reply. God knows if the woman’s mind can thread together a dream. Or perhaps Elsie lives among her dreams most of the time now.
She wonders if she misses Nick at all, in these small hours, like she sometimes misses Joby. But that is a shameful, secret grief. She could never tell anyone about that, not even Elsie.
In the morning, it takes Elsie a good hour to come round and a good deal of tea, toast and strong painkillers are required.
‘What have I missed?’ she asks as Maria wipes down the tabletop.
‘I may have a new job,’ says Maria.
Elsie beams. ‘Oh, Violet. I knew you could do it!’
So, they’re back there again.
Comfort arrives in the afternoon, more smiley than ever.
It’s obvious that Elsie tires much more quickly than usual and Maria helps her through to her bed for a nap.
When she returns to the kitchen, Comfort says, ‘She seems to be doing very well.’
‘She’s glad to be back here,’ says Maria.
‘And you. Are you doing well?’
‘Yes. Better.’ For once she might mean it.
‘You are doing a good job caring for her.’
‘Thank you,’ replies Maria, avoiding eye contact, like all women, embarrassed to be praised. She makes a start on the washing-up.
‘No, Maria, listen to me,’ says Comfort, collecting her bag and coming over to the sink. She puts her hand on Maria’s forearm. ‘What you are doing for her, this is love, this is a true service.’
The terrible kindness threatens to undo her.
61
She has arranged to meet Balogan in the morning, on Del’s day off, so he can sit with Elsie. She needs to discuss the ‘job offer’ in more detail. She needs to know exactly what she might be letting herself in for.
‘Maria,’ he greets her warmly. ‘A drink?’
‘Just a coffee, please.’
She waits by the window as he bustles in the kitchen. The daytime view is amazing. The skyline catches the early sun’s rays, making it a city of gold.
He hands her the coffee and asks, ‘Would you like to come outside?’
He leads her up the stairs and unlocks the door at the top to the roof garden. There are tubs of daffodils bobbing in the breeze, a bird feeder. It is a jolly background for a dark discussion.
‘Did you do this?’
He nods and smiles. ‘Come, sit.’
He moves two of the wooden chairs so they catch the sunlight. They settle themselves.
Balogan begins, ‘This man next door – let’s not dignify him with a name – was stealing from me. This you know. I had suspicions. I only knew for sure that night.’
She nods.
‘You perhaps did me a favour. He is now no longer a problem.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘He was not a good man for many reasons. I am not a good man either, but who can say we are, at heart, good?’ he muses. He doesn’t seem to require an answer.
Despite herself, she finds her eyes tracking away from him to the view, which always draws her.
‘You could live in a flat like this,’ he offers.
She barks out a short involuntary laugh.
‘You like it, yes.’ Again, not a question.
‘I love it.’
‘You are a good cleaner. Very good at cleaning up the mess created by others. I would pay you to work for me doing the same. There is also the possibility of work transporting certain packages for me. Should you wish. Bags of money, for instance.’ He smiles. ‘And with that comes the possibility of a home, perhaps somewhere like this.’
She almost chokes.
Of course she would like more of this – sipping coffee high in the sky! Who wouldn’t? She wonders if she is already sliding towards the pact.
‘You have thought about my offer, yes?’
‘Of course.’
He waits, but she can’t answer him. Cleaning is one thing. Transporting drugs is another.
‘The remuneration takes into account certain stresses. And there is no pension scheme.’
Is he making a joke?
A moment passes, then he asks, ‘What are your ambitions, Maria?’
She shrugs.
‘What do you want in life?’
She has thought a lot about her ambitions in the last few days – what she might attain given the new career. What she wants: for Elsie to be okay; a home of her own; travel, of course. And perhaps, one day in the future, somehow, a family of her own – but she doesn’t share these thoughts. They’re not secrets, exactly, but they’re private.
Instead, she says, ‘I’d like my own place. My own things. Not to worry where the next penny is coming from.’
‘I have bigger ambitions,’ says Balogan. ‘So should you.’
‘Like what?’
He ignores the question, and says, ‘You can be more.’
‘A queen?’ she asks, sarcastic.
‘A warrior, perhaps.’ He grins. He takes another drink and says, ‘I would need to trust you.’
‘But you don’t trust me really. Not now.’
‘You can earn trust. You must. Trust is everything. It is bigger than faith or hope or love. Love fades.’ He looks straight at her. ‘Where does your loyalty lie, Maria?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Your loyalty – to your people, your country, your football team?’
‘I don’t …’ She thinks for a moment, then says quietly, ‘Elsie. My loyalty is to Elsie.’
He nods. ‘I would expect your loyalty to me also. This I would need.’
‘And the cameras?’ she asks. ‘If I lived in one of your flats, what about the cameras?’
‘For you? I have no need. I already have footage of what happened next door.’ He smiles another crocodile smile.
She assumes her face also does something because he puts his hand on hers, as if to reassure her.
‘If you decide to say no, as long as you say nothing about my work, this will not be used against you.’
She doesn’t know if she should take him at his word.
‘What exactly are you asking?’ She needs clarity.
‘For you to clean – in cases of unfortunate messiness.’
‘Just clean.’
‘Just clean.’
‘You know next door – that?’
‘Indeed.’
‘That part, I don’t make a habit of it.’ Joby, Nick, Mal – isn’t that a habit?
‘A professional. No. I gathered. I saw. I am not asking for you to do that aspect of the job. It is not an everyday occurrence. But, rarely, very occasionally, it happens … things of that nature. The people I employ to do that part of the job, while extremely skilled in that respect – humane – they are not professional cleaners. I would like to hire someone who is.’
‘Who would do that? Cold-blooded killing?’ asks Maria. She is genuinely perplexed. ‘I killed Mal because I was fighting for my life.’
But, Brian’s boss …
‘When women kill it is usually personal,’ says Balogan. ‘Men kill more … dispassionately. Only a few kill for killing’s sake. I do not usually employ those types.’
He takes another sip of his coffee and she follows suit. ‘The people attracted to that side of the work? They have usually been in the armed forces or similar. It does not come naturally to most people. Military training assists people to cross a certain line.’
‘Have you—’
‘If you cross that line once, perhaps it is easier to do so again,’ he interrupts, ignoring her question, admitting nothing. ‘But you need at least some intrinsic aptitude for the work … otherwise guilt can crucify you.’
She watches the sky, as if it might provide guidance.
‘People say killing gets easier, the more you do it. It does not, necessarily,’ he continues. ‘You simply get better at learning how to put it out of your mind – after – to function as normal, despite the memories.’
Maria has had years of practice at that – ever since Joby.
‘I have commitments,’ she says, ‘Elsie.’ She is actively considering his offer. It surprises her.
‘It is good that you continue to do your other work. Ideal perhaps. Only, you would need to be available when I ask you. You would have to be on call, as it were.’
‘How many calls should I expect?’
‘In the last year? Three times. That is more than average. If possible, I do everything I can to avoid such unfortunate circumstances. Not all of these instances have been as … extreme as what happened next door. Occasionally, the issue is one of … persuasion.’
‘Persuasion?’
‘Use your imagination.’
That feels worse, somehow.
‘Or a certain rebuke in response to transgressions.’
His language is the management speak of the cleaning agency.
‘What is it that you do? Your business …? Drugs?’
His silence confirms her assumptions.
She finishes her drink. He finishes his.
‘Cheers!’ says Balogan, with heavy irony. ‘It is a last resort, an absolute last resort, this aspect of my business.’
She nods.
‘It is an issue of image. In my line of work, it is sometimes necessary.’
‘How so?’
‘In a dog-sled team there is always an alpha. Then age – a decline in strength … If the others smell weakness it precipitates fights. Then a dog might have to be removed. Dealt with.’
‘Harsh,’ says Maria.
‘It is. But we are more than brute animals. Humans also have this.’ He indicates his head. ‘We have to strategise.’
‘What if I can’t do it?’
‘It is right that you ask these questions. A trial basis, should we say? At least one job. If it is not for you, you would need to say.’
‘No women. No children. No animals?’
‘Most definitely not.’
Bizarrely she believes him.
‘Another?’
She shakes her head. ‘I need a day or two … before I give you an answer.’ She’s surprised at herself. What is she doing – negotiating? ‘I need to be able to trust you. I’d need some sort of guarantee – because of what you filmed me doing to Mal …’
He doesn’t seem angered by this. Instead, he says, ‘It is right that you consider this seriously.’
‘Okay. And I need to make sure Elsie will be taken care of.’
‘But I must have an answer soon. I have business back in Sweden.’
She walks all the way back to north London. It takes a couple of hours. The sun is hot by the time she gets to the house. The days have been so dull recently, it’s refreshing to see a clear sky, feel the possibility of spring.
She wonders what reassurance Balogan can possibly give her so she wouldn’t feel beholden to him? Even if he wiped the footage from next door in front of her, would she really believe he didn’t have another copy? Perhaps she’s walking into a trap. Perhaps, given the … perks, it might be worth it. And what employee isn’t obligated to their boss?
Near Finsbury Park there’s a squawking. Maria looks up to see a small flock of green parrots. Is she seeing things? They screech by overhead, improbable feathers and long tails catching the sunlight.
It feels like an omen.
62
Maria used to be a good girl. Her dad always said it, her gran said it, the teachers said it. She thought it must be true.
What is she now?
She didn’t get a seat on the crowded bus on the way to work, and she’s now being jostled by a grubby man who reeks of old sweat. Two girls sit staring at their phones, ignoring a woman with her arm in a sling.
Wouldn’t it be nice to drive between jobs? Or to be able to get a taxi? Wouldn’t it be lovely to choose what work she took on?
Only she wouldn’t be able to choose, would she? If she accepts, she’ll be at Balogan’s beck and call.
She spends the night at the bedsit. She just needs some head space and Del seemed happy to step in. It feels strange being back in the single bed after spending so much time at Elsie’s.
She can’t sleep. As she lies tossing and turning on the unforgiving mattress, a phrase comes to her: It is better to die standing than live on your knees. She has no idea where she read that.
When she opens Elsie’s door in the morning, she immediately senses the absence.
Del sits in the kitchen. There’s an open bottle of Lidl champagne on the table.
‘A bit early for that, isn’t it?’ says Maria.
‘Don’t be a killjoy,’ snaps Del.
‘Where is she?’ asks Maria.
‘Got a buyer,’ says Del, resolutely refusing to look her in the face. If he had, he might have seen her pale.
On automatic pilot, she turns to fill the kettle. ‘You’re definitely going to sell, then?’ she manages.
‘Not just selling, it’s practically sold! An offer above the asking price. A fucking cash buyer! Wants it all done and dusted pronto! It’s only just gone up on the website.’
Jesus fuck! That came out of the blue. She never thought he’d get round to it so quickly. Does that mean he’s persuaded Elsie, or has he done it behind her back?
‘Where’s Elsie?’ repeats Maria.
‘She’s at the place. A trial overnight. Sooner it’s sorted, the better,’ says Del. ‘Can’t have you letting me down again.’
‘That happened once! I told you, it wasn’t my fault. It was an emergency!’
‘You didn’t even call.’
‘I didn’t have my phone on me.’
‘One time too many. What if there’d been an emergency here?’
She has no answer to that.
‘Where’s the place?’
‘It’s got good reviews,’ says Del. ‘Big garden, lots of activities. She’ll love it. They specialise in people like her – with her mind, like.’
Maria squeezes the handle of the kettle, battling the urge to smash it into Del’s face.
‘The cats?’ Her voice is tight. There’s no sign of them, although their dishes are still on the kitchen floor.
‘A woman’s picking them up tomorrow from the Cats Protection.’ At least he looks a little shamefaced saying that.
Maria sits and glares at him.
He sits and glares back.
‘What? It’s the best thing all round. You know it is. Little holiday. Then we can sign her up full time in a couple of months. It’s a gift horse, the sale. Don’t even want a survey, apparently! The estate agent said the bloke—’
‘What the hell are you doing with that?’ Maria clocks the roll of notes Elsie keeps in the old tea tin next to the cat treats – five or more elastic bands around it, her emergency cash fund – now nestling in Del’s open briefcase.
‘That’s just to tide me over for a bit – until all the paperwork and stuff’s sorted.’ He juts out his chin a little as he adds, ‘Anyway, what’s it to you?’
The urge to do him serious harm sears through her. Violent thoughts. Should she grab the skewer they use for their baked potatoes and ram it through his neck? Should she stab him through the heart with the garden shears?
She sits, clenching her toes.
‘Look, she won’t mind. She won’t even know where the hell she is, will she’ He laughs as if it’s funny.
Maria rises from her chair and steps towards him.
He doesn’t look at all sure now.
63
She lets herself into Balogan’s, checks the rooms, but nothing seems to need cleaning or tidying. She sits on the sofa and waits for him.
He arrives an hour later. She doesn’t even say hello, but launches into, ‘Did you do it to force my hand?’
He doesn’t pretend not to understand what she’s talking about.
