A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) (10 page)

Heath stared in disbelief. A man who rarely had words of comfort, he kept his silence. He had not anticipated any of these revelations. There was something he had to say, however.

“
That is why you hate hospitalisation. Having people take control from you?”

“
Yes, obviously, most of the time I am out of it whenever I end up there. The bedpans, catheters, sponge baths, oh god, all so horrific. Being treated like that is unbearable for me. Being the invalid. Having my privacy invaded; my privileges taken away from me. It always traumatises me enough to keep me silent, rather than tell the nurses and doctors how much their very existence is causing me agony.”

“
You'd rather die then, than receive treatment?”

“
The easiest solution would have been to not have become ill in the first place. I suppose a part of me was in denial that I was even alive, and I simply spent each day finding ways to make my life easier, to not face the things that scared me. I didn't realise that to be fulfilled is to live everyday and put yourself up against the odd challenge or two, not settle for work that doesn't become you but keeps you out of mischief and offers solitary. And, what it is, is that mental anguish can be far worse than physical pain, sometimes.”

“Can I be frank?”
Heath asked.

“
Of course, I think we are past being coy!”

“
I have absolutely no clue where this is going now. No clue. I thought you were a money-grabbing prostitute, just like all the other whores I have trailed over the years for dickheads who lost their hold over reality and had decided a one-night-stand was the love of their life!”

She smirked and chuckled, even shrieked a little through her billowing nostrils. Sh
aking her head, she explained, “Of course you did Heath, of course, but you had ignorance written all over you when you walked in. Everybody has a story, however. Nobody's existence is worthless, but I am much more than your normal pursuit, as I am sure you can imagine. I am certainly more calculating than anything you have probably encountered previously.”

“
No doubt! I wonder now how you managed to ensnare Him. He has that air.”

“
We'll get to that Heath, you know we will,” she assured him, “I never leave a stone unturned, as well you know. You have nowhere to be, I imagine?”

He shrugged, kicked
his shoes off and put his feet up on a pouffe nearby.

“Nope, I guess not,”
he murmured.

“
Well, I shall let you read the next part, and then we shall have a little food and a cup of tea. Sound okay?”

“
Your hospitality exceeds all expectations!” he exclaimed, chuckling.

The sun was setting outside and candleli
ght was their only illumination. She drew the drapes and pulled a blanket over her knees, settling in to watch his reactions, sipping her whiskey soda as they travelled onwards into the next part of her story.

Where to start without Alex to hold me up any longer? How could I turn my life around after all I had already had thrown at me? This was a cruel life, I felt. Brutal enough to take my wonderful friend from me. I didn't know if I had the energy to rail against it. When I thought of Alex and his smile, or his voice, or the night we had shared, it would always stop me dead in my tracks. Sometimes a colleague would notice me turn grey and I would have to snap myself out of it. Often, I still went home and cried myself to sleep.

It took a long time to come to terms with the fact that he was gone and was never coming back. Even now when I think of that loss, a sickening feeling washes over me and the memory stings my heart.
I find it difficult to re-set myself and remember that I still have a life to live. I do not feel as sad about my loss as I do about my friend losing his life so unexpectedly. The regret could have swallowed me whole if I had allowed it to.

Reading the book his sister gave me, there were tips about how to cope with this somewhat debilitating drawback I suf
fered, but each challenge gave me palpitations just at the thought of venturing out of my comfort zone.

It started with a shopping trip. Small steps and all that. I tried to buy some socks. Easy really. So it might seem to many, many people out there in the world. For me, no. Not as
straightforward. One hundred per cent cotton or polycotton? Ankle or sports socks or knee-highs? Patterned or plain or smart socks that went with suits? I was browsing the section in M&S when a security guard shuffled by me, giving me a look that might have resembled suspicion or inquisition, I'd never know. I dashed out of the store, my confidence knocked and my gusto deflated. Perhaps I had worked myself up too much and should have just gone in and bought whatever my hand touched. I had a tendency to over-analyse and so the littlest thing might throw me off course. Stupid security guard; foul, detestable menace that had impeded my plan to become the new me. Yet… it was so much easier to browse specifications online, with my meticulous tastes satiated by words on a screen rather than stacks of generic hosiery and what I perceived as critical eyes all around. Somehow, trying to overcome the whole shopping phobia didn't seem like the best place to start.

As chance would have it, life sent me a free ride. Head housekeeper Millie, who had been with the company ten years or more, handed in her notice. Leaving to retire in
Spain, her departure meant my immediate promotion. I didn't have to stay over anymore. That was the job of the deputy. I got given my own office and less was required of me on the so-called shop floor. This gave me a little boost, I have to say, and I knew it was only because of my very exacting ways that I'd so swiftly moved up the greasy ladder. No, perhaps, even reached the very top of my profession I suppose!

I read in the book that it was important to
start asserting myself in ways I hadn't done before. The way to tackle this was to think of the worst possible outcome of a situation or a decision, make peace with it, and realise that would never happen. So with the power that my new job offered, I began to say no to things. I told the staff I wasn't to be bothered during certain periods, normally when I was carrying out administrative tasks that I really did require peace and quiet for. I made it clear that if I had to tell them twice how to get a curry stain from a napkin, or hair dye off the grouting, I would know they hadn't listened properly the first time round. I knew some of the young girls in particular – those at college or university who worked with us part-time for the purpose of buying clothes and funding nights out – thought me quite mad for taking such pride in my work. They must have judged me a loner and a masochist, perhaps, maybe even unintelligent and lowly. Secretly, I knew, there was dignity in such a job and that having no purpose was worse. It seemed funny to me that some had a certain view of me that was so far off the mark it was ludicrous. It was even rumoured that I had a husband in prison and was working off all his debts for him while he served time. None of them knew my parents were well-off and lived in a six-bedroom house in a well-to-do, ancient settlement. Few had asked me about my childhood and therefore were never aware of the leukaemia or any of that. Alex had always been careful to keep my secrets, even when people used to ask,
So why do you hang out with her again? How may tattoos does she have hidden beneath her clothes? I bet she has ten cats.
That one made me laugh when he told me. Indeed, if you purposely let the cat out of the bag in a large city hotel full of blabbermouths, you were surely looking to either get on reality TV or become a porn star. I revelled in my mystery and the reputation of being untouchable I had achieved. My, it was lonely at the top, however. 

I guess the sleeping around started when I organised the first Christmas night out for the staff. Egged on by my minions, I showed them how to do shots and got rather merry. They all thought it was hilarious to see the boss getting pissed and making a total tit of herself, and in a way, I kind of liked being viewed as some kind of pariah in the workplace and a party animal outside of it. Some asked me whether I had a fella in the nick and I finally told them that the story was complete
fabrication. I told them that my mother was a crack addict and that I'd had to fight my way through life to get anywhere. It was a partial truth and one that certainly shut them up from then onwards. I felt very pleased with myself during this period of my life but the partying became frequent and the next stage of my plan became very polluted. It had been on my mind to start dating, but instead, I started screwing anything that walked. All the staff kind of celebrated me for it. I was young, free, single and having fun in their eyes. The liaisons were, again, in public facilities, behind takeaways, on the back row at the cinema, in their flat but never mine, and even some occasions in hotel rooms if a lone male caught my eye. Again, some staff may have seen what I was doing but they couldn't begrudge the daughter of a drug addict a bit of fun. It was really easy. If alcohol was involved, I had no inhibition and literally the impetus to get fucked. If it was in a public place, the thrill of getting caught somehow turned me on. Maybe perhaps, I even wanted to get caught. A cry for help. It was like a drug and I succumbed easily. I lost count after a while and soon I couldn't see any of their faces anymore. They came in and out of my life as fleetingly as the hotel laundry. They were just pricks to shaft momentarily, sometimes not even that. The masses saw Charlotte the confident party girl. They saw my pristine clothes, hair and make-up but did not see what bubbled beneath. Outwardly, I gave off no clue to my malady because I appeared confident, as well as the life and soul of the party. I was hiding my true self, however; letting people believe I was this person was easier than showing them the real me. Sleeping with strangers was easier than making an intimate acquaintance with someone special.

Then, one morning,
I woke up in my own flat and didn't know how I had gotten there. It was very scary. I couldn't remember a single thing from the night before. I checked myself and found I was fully clothed. My underwear was intact and unstained. I tried to retrace my steps but couldn't recall what had happened. I was madly searching the flat for evidence of a crime, almost ready to call the police and tell them I might have been date-raped, when I found a scrappy note on the kitchen sideboard:

You fell
asleep in the pub and we really couldn't wake you up! We brought you home and put you to bed. Love us. X

That was Alice and John who I worked with and had been partying the weeks away with.
I was totally mortified and more so because Alex's fate could have been mine too, and I would have had no defence after the way I had behaved, cavorting around like I had been doing. I had to think long and hard that day. That was it, no more drinking. No more partying. It was time to get real. In fact, when I looked at the calendar, I saw the first anniversary of his death was approaching and I realised – I'd made no progress whatsoever, despite a year having passed. I had totally been burying my head in the sand and convincing myself that by socialising on such an epic scale, I was part of society and living a meaningful life finally. It really wasn't a case of that though, and deep down, I knew. The weeks and months had rolled into one and I had begun to slide down my slippery slope. I had to yank myself up and out, for good. I had to go back to basics, I knew. The staff would go back to hating me but hell, who cared, really? I'd just have to seek new friends and new hobbies, perhaps. And that is what I did.

I had to start living, that was all. Funny though. Seems so simple, really. So very easy in my head, not so easy in practise. Unless you've ever had really bad low self-esteem, you can't really understand what it's all about. You may have unconsciously suffered aspects of the condition but I had been literally paralysed by it – unable to live my life without someone there who might drag me out into civilisation. It is a mindset that has no prejudice and it is something you battle or accept. You may think of yourself as fat or ugly, stupid or boring, but it is all in your mind. The perceptions you have are often false and brought on by painful mental scarring. The dark thoughts you endure are not those encountered by all people.

I figured I had a job that I quite liked and that was therefore one achievement I had.
It had its good points and bad, but in a world of growing unemployment and redundancies, I knew I was pretty safe where I was. Fine. One area of life sorted. Didn't really matter about the lowish pay and uncaring staff I had to boss about – it was okay. Because I had my own office. Even Alice and James didn't have their own offices yet.

I had to re-learn
everything I thought I had previously nailed down before I was even eight years old. Communicating one-on-one, swimming, bike riding and picking out new outfits.

S
peed-dating
. My, that was fun. At least I knew I could go home empty-handed if I wanted to. One saving grace. Oh my goodness, never again. One guy couldn't take his eyes from my chest, another told me he dredged the canal for a living and “liked to take his findings home”, while another asked me whether I thought it was good enough for a man to be earning 25K a year. Apparently, his ex said it wasn't and had dumped him on that basis. I had an earful of his former relationship problems and thought I had stumbled on a psychiatrist's office, certainly not a “find your life partner here kinda place”.

Swimming
meant: shaving areas, cellulite, pale skin, massive boobs floating under my armpits, not just men but also women oggling me and also lifeguards who might be able to see things as I mastered the breaststroke. Not good. But I went.

Biking
meant: tackling roads full of cars, dusting the cobwebs off my shorts, my fat bum looking all squidgy on a tiny seat, possibility of fatal collision and getting rained on. However, I used some savings to buy myself a nice Raleigh shopper and I started cycling around the lake early on Sunday mornings, like Alex and I used to do. As the days got warmer, I started planning longer rides and would visit more far-flung places, using as many of the quieter country roads as possible. This allowed me to get some exercise, some fresh air and a moment or two of peace while the scenery distracted my warped mind. I had only ever spent time frequenting the grey streets of the city centre but there was so much lush countryside and history to explore beyond that!

New rags
. I ran around H&M and just picked out lots of vests, tops, sweaters, jeans and skirts all in medium or a 12. Bit of leeway there. I plonked them on the cashier's desk and waited quietly, not even gaining eye contact. £234.97. Fine. It didn't matter. I'd done something reckless and extravagant perhaps, but it was a start. I bombed out of there with bags of stuff, reached my flat, and laughed loudly in the middle of my living room. It was all crazy gear but the only way I could manage it was to just do it, not think about it and mull over the washing instructions, or the blend of materials, the price, the size, etcetera. Even though I'd purchased a flowery zip-up dress that was practically made from polythene, I'd have to wear it. There'd be a time. Most likely, at night on my own, with nobody else to bother me. Baby steps, remember?

So, anyway, it was a year since the love of my life had died. I had decided this – him being the love of my life I mean – and had made peace with the fact that I may never meet anyone ever again who would so enrich or enlighten my life. If he was it, then well, I'd just have to do well on my own.

I rode my bicycle all the way up to his resting place in
Arnold and found the garden of quietude again, where a year earlier I had fallen further into the vortex of my own black thoughts. The previous year, the weather had been cool and grey, but this time it was warmer, with the feel of springtime more prominent. His urn lay buried underground and I thought how cold and unwelcoming his resting place looked. I also didn't know why people buried ashes. I'd much rather have known his body was laid in the ground beneath, so that I may lie on the grass and imagine him right below me. I'd picture the coffin still housing his relatively intact remains and be able to sense his smile or the warmth of his cuddle.

A pot stood sturdy in front of his plaque
, with a dozen red roses placed there only that day, probably. I read the card:
I still miss you every single day. I hope there's a party wherever you are. Darcey xxx

“
Hello?” I heard.

I
turned around without surprise.

“
Hey, Darcey,” I said.

“
I thought it was you. I was just getting into my car when I saw you cycle up. I didn't think it was coincidence that this unloved cemetery was receiving two visitors in the same day.”

She smiled brightly, trying to evoke some small amount of positivity from behind the cloud that evidently hung over her. Her face was strained and her skin sallow.

“Are you here on your own?” I asked.

“
Yes, I'm afraid so. You musn't have heard…?”

“
What?” My heart leapt.

Was there some mistake? Was Alex murdered? What? What?

“I thought it might have got around at the hotel,” she said, pausing, “Alex used to tell me how news travelled round that place… Well, my parents split up. Dad moved away. Mum won't come out of the house.”

I touched her arm.
“I'm so sorry.”

“
Thanks. There had been cracks for years. Guess they're not as easy to paper over when something like that happens.”

“
Your mum… did she blame your dad?”

“
No. Wasn't that. Think it was more likely the fact that my mum knew Alex died never having felt accepted. Alex's lifestyle was always brushed under the carpet by my father.”

I trie
d to look sad for her but, I mean, I couldn't really empathise. I didn't really feel anything for these strangers Alex had told me about but who seemed to have only caused him pain. What could I do or say to make it better? Alex was dead. He had been for a year. In my mind, that was all I could deal with, was facts and figures. The emotions of such familial upset were too much for me to handle. I stared at her, hoping and praying she would just leave. I wanted my own time to say a few things. However, she began crying.

I
had to offer her a hug. “I really miss him too.”

She clung on to my body, though her frame w
as much taller. She fell apart in my arms, repeating, “He was so young. He was beautiful. He was my only true friend. Why did it have to be him?”

All these considerations she made were
self-indulgent and alien to me. All I knew was that someone who had been in my life now wasn't. He could have moved to New Zealand or travelled into space and never come back. To me, it was all the same. He was just gone. The unfair way in which Alex had departed this life had been what hit me a year previously, but all I could think of was how much I missed him. Her own grieving process was only just beginning. To linger on the manner of a loved one's passing was superficial; to remember the legacy they left behind a much better endeavour. As Darcey sought comfort in my arms, falling on the ground with me, I realised I was stronger than I realised. His own sister wasn't as capable as I was in freeing herself of the similar anguish I felt over the casino toilet departure he had from this world. I only knew he would never pour me a cup of tea again with such a lascivious smile or tell me to saddle up and grow a pair. His words were always spoken in jest but oh, how some of them were truer than so many others said in earnest. I suppose it probably also proved how well he and I knew one another, despite only a year or so as friends and only one night as lovers. His sister Darcey had been his consult and his ally but I bet she had never sat through a
Eugene Onegin
performance with him without a single word said and yet feeling so certain that no words need ever be spoken again.

The poor girl cried in my arms and I looked out into the cemetery, trying to picture Alex standing nearby.
I mouthed into the distance,
I will do better
. I left a single pink rose amongst the red ones. It was a closed bud sat between the more mature flowers but it represented me. I thanked God for sending the angel that was my Alex and hoped wherever he was, he was watching re-runs of our favourite sitcoms with all our favourite treats. I knew, that was all that really made Alex happy. Very cliché, but very Alex.

I bundled
Darcey off in her car some time later and started the long journey back to the city. I found a leaflet on the road back, picking it up out of curiosity. It was advertising walking tours in the area. I had decided to start saying yes to more things and thought this might be one of the little activities I could do. After all, I didn't really know much about Nottinghamshire's history… yet.