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“The new cleaner is fine,” I tell her. “She’s excellent, in fact.”
Her relief is palpable.
I don’t give her chance to enjoy it. “Which is exactly why I want to increase her hours. I need her on a Sunday morning. Early. My dog needs walking.”
“A Sunday morning?” she asks.
I hate having to repeat myself, so I don’t. “I may be in, or I may not, but that’s irrelevant. I need her to let herself in before seven regardless, feed him and take him out. She should be done before nine.”
Janet nods. “I’ll arrange it, Mr Henley. I’m sure Melissa will be pleased to assist.”
Melissa.
Her name zips right up my spine.
“Advise Melissa to be careful of dog presents in the conservatory. He may well have had a long evening.”
“I’ll let her know,” she says.
She plasters on a fake smile as I dismiss her, being so careful to close my door quietly on the way out.
Melissa.
Not a Molly May after all. Not even close.
It would have been handy to know this before I attempted to chase her down my fucking street a few weeks back, but none of that matters now.
I have other interests to keep me occupied.MelissaI feel sick as I head for Janet Yorkley’s office, freshly summoned via my work phone before I’d even finished clearing Mr Henley’s breakfast things away.
She calls me inside as soon as I tap on her office door, and the sickness eases off just a little. She’s smiling. That’s got to be good, right?
She tells me to take a seat and I do.
“Excellent news,” she says. “Mr Henley has expressed his approval of your cleaning standards. Very well done. His praise doesn’t come easily.”
I feel like such a fraud as I grin back at her, as though she’ll see straight through me and realise I’ve been up to no good. As though she’ll know I’m overstepping every boundary in my employee handbook and then some.
“Thanks, I’ve been working really hard.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she says. “And you’ll be working harder from this week onwards.”
I stare blankly and she keeps on smiling.
“Mr Henley would like to increase your hours. You’ll be taking his dog out on a Sunday morning before seven. You should be done by nine.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “Sunday morning?”
She nods. “He advised he may be in, or he may not be, but not to let that deter you. Of course, we prefer discreet, always,” she waffles on and on as I struggle to form words.
Finally, she stops. Waits for a response.
“But I, um… Sunday?”
She groans. “Yes, Miss Martin. Sunday. Every Sunday, seven a.m. at the latest.”
I can’t even begin to hide the horror. “But I can’t! I really can’t… not on a Sunday…”
Her eyes turn cold in a heartbeat. “What do you mean you can’t? We don’t do can’t, Melissa, not where Mr Henley is concerned.”
“But Joe…” I bleat. “My brother… he needs me… I said at interview…”
“Your responsibilities wouldn’t be a problem. That’s what you said at interview.”
And she’s right, I did.
“I really can’t,” I tell her, even though it pains. “There’s no way I can do a Sunday, really there isn’t. I’d love to, really I would, but I can’t…”
She raises a hand. “You want me to tell that to Mr Henley, do you? That you just can’t?”
My mind spins.
He wants a cleaner on Sunday morning because…
“I can’t,” I repeat. “I’m really sorry, Janet, but I can’t.”
The stand-off takes forever. My fingers fidget under the desk, contemplating the inevitable, contemplating having to walk away from this. But I can’t do that either.
I really can’t.
“This is worth losing your position over, is it?” she snaps. “Plenty of our staff would love to work in Mr Henley’s house. It’s a privilege.”
“I’m lucky,” I say. “I know it, but I just can’t.”
It doesn’t matter how many times I say it, her eyes are still piercing. Still angry.
I lay it on the line, because I can’t see any other option. “I’ll resign,” I say. “I’m sorry to let you down.”
Her mouth opens. “Resign?”
I nod. “Please send my apologies to Mr Henley.”
There’s a tickle of relief under the disappointment once the words are out there. Maybe I’ll never have to tell him, maybe he’ll never know who I really am.
It’s clutching at straws, but straws feel pretty good under the circumstances.
“Shall I leave my uniform?” I ask, ready to pull the cap from my head. It would be more than a tickle of relief to ditch this crappy outfit.
Now it’s Janet struggling for words. “Let’s not be hasty,” she says, and then she tuts at me like I’m a naughty child. “I’m disappointed, Melissa, but under the circumstances maybe someone else can take the Sunday shift.”
My heart pounds as she picks up her telephone extension. “I need Miss Webber down here, quickly please.”
I wait in silence.
