‘When did you say he was coming again?’
‘Not for a month or so.’
‘Well that gives us plenty of time. How do you feel about parting with some of these things?’ she asked, choosing her words carefully. She remembered watching some TV programme about hoarding years ago and the man in question had found it hard to throw anything out.
Margery took a deep breath and exhaled, eyes darting around as if trying to wrap her head around the enormity of the task ahead. ‘I know I have to do it. Some things I won’t mind but others I will probably find a bit harder… you never know what might come in useful my dear…’
‘Well we will have to come up with a system. I’ll have a think. Don’t you worry, we’ll soon get this all cleared up.’ She smiled reassuringly.
Margery nodded and lead the way through to the rest of the house. Helena followed her as they made their way through the sitting room, the kitchen and upstairs to the bedrooms. Each room looked as if someone had picked up the contents of a skip and emptied it inside. It was completely bizarre that anyone could find themselves living in such a state. As a naturally tidy person, Helena struggled to understand how it could happen. She consciously kept her features fixed in a neutral expression, trying not to wince at the musty, unpleasant smell of the place. The sitting room had a piano against the far wall that was piled high with music scores. There was a grotty floral sofa which was mostly clutter-free, and a patch of floorboards was visible in the middle of the room with an old television on a table in plain view of the sofa, but the rest of the room was full of objects: a moth-eaten rug, several rolled up carpets, a broken lamp, boxes of papers, lever arch files, stacks of picturesand frames, towering piles of books and plastic bag after bag full of unidentified possessions.
The kitchen wasn’t much better. A small amount of the kitchen table was visible, presumably where Margery cobbled together her meals, and the electric oven and hob, the fridge and sink were just about accessible, but the rest of the room was again stacked with empty jars, tins of food, dog food, empty milk cartons, empty boxes, plastic bags, Tupperware, a stepladder, and even some sort of garden statue with an arm missing. An unused dark green Aga thick with dust was barely visible. Flies darted about in random directions, buzzing loudly. Upstairs was a similar story. By the end of her tour Helena was itching to get a pair of marigolds on, fetch her tub of cleaning products, and start blitzing the house. But she knew that she would have to be careful how she played her next steps, in order to support Margery but not to upset her – it was clearly a sensitive situation.
‘You see, dear, I really don’t know where to start…’ Margery sighed. ‘I’m not sure how I got so much stuff. I suppose I never know what to throw away.’ Margery’s forehead was so creased with concern she looked older than her seventy-odd years.
‘I completely understand. My granny was the same,’ Helena lied. A white lie, she reasoned, was perfectly justified if it made Margery feel less alone. She had only known one of her grandmothers, and she had actually been a complete neat and cleanliness obsessive. ‘She used to say it was because of the war, that she had grown up not wanting to waste things.’ That much, at least, was true.
‘Yes I suppose it could be that,’ Margery smiled weakly, the first glimmer of positivity Helena had seen since she’d arrived. ‘I don’t like to waste things… you are right about that.’
‘Are you sure you would like my help? I am more than happy to, but I don’t want you to feel as though I’m intruding.’
Margery nodded gratefully. ‘I would love your help, dear. I can’t possibly do it by myself, and I so want Johnny to be able to stay, to be comfortable here, for as long as he likes. It’s high time I got this situation under control.’
‘And how do you feel about… getting rid of probably quite a few of these things… only things that you don’t need or that you don’t have any particularly fond memories of, of course?’ she added.
‘Well, I might need your help there, my dear. To help me decide what I should keep and what I shouldn’t…’
‘OK. As long as you’re sure. Perhaps we could start on Wednesday?’ That would give her enough time to stock up on cleaning supplies. ‘I could come over after I drop Raffy in the morning, around 9.15 a.m. if you’d like?’
Margery agreed and Helena felt happy to leave her now that she seemed a bit more cheerful. There was no way she could allow Margery to continue living like that, and although it had become out of control, she wasn’t at the stage yet where she couldn’t imagine parting ways with some of the junk, as she remembered the poor man in the TV show had been. They could at least make a start and see how things went. There was no need to tell Noah about it. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
*
‘Can we have spag bol for tea?’ Raffy asked from the back of the car several hours later. ‘My tummy’s rumbling.’
‘We don’t have any bolognese I’m afraid Raf, but we have pasta. We can make pasta pesto? How does that sound?’
‘With cheese?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Dee-licious!’ Raffy beamed. ‘I dropped my sandwich on the floor and Miss Maitlin threw it in the bin so I didn’t get much lunch.’
‘No!’ Helena gasped. ‘How did that happen?’
‘Ben Mitchell knocked it out of my hand. He got in big trouble.’
‘Didn’t they offer you something else to eat?’
‘They said I could have school dinner, but it was fish curry. Dis-GUS-ting. No thanks.’
Helena chuckled at the appalled look on his face in the rear-view mirror.
Raffy sighed. ‘It’s because I didn’t go to his party. That’s why he was mean to me.’
‘Oh Raffy, I’m sure that’s not right. It was probably an accident.’
‘It wasn’t. He was looking right at me when he did it. And smiling.’
