Misadventures (15 page)

M
y neighbour Rene worked in a Pakistani supermarket in Leyton High Road. One morning Mrs Murphy went into the shop to place an ad in the window for a part-time cleaning lady. Rene wrote out the card then suddenly thought of me. She saw me later in the day and asked me if I was interested. I thought it was worth a try and phoned Mrs Murphy. An interview was arranged for the following evening at 6 p.m.

I knocked on Mrs Murphy's street door at the appropriate time. It was opened by May, her daughter, who ushered me into the front room where Mrs Murphy was sitting in an armchair.

I found out later that May was aged fifty-one,
divorced with no children, and an executive secretary in the City.

May proceeded to give me a grilling which I thought was more suitable for employing office staff and not for someone who was only going to use a vacuum cleaner and wash two floors. She told me they had a small poodle. I said, ‘I'm not very good with animals and I'm nervous of dogs.' May pounced on this and added, ‘Oh, we have a little cat too.' Mrs Murphy, who had been silently listening to our discussion, interrupted, ‘I can easily keep the animals out of her way.' This did not placate May. She said, ‘We do have other applicants to see. Thank you for coming and we'll let you know our decision in a few days' time.'

I walked home with the feeling that May found me totally unsuitable.

A few evenings later the communal telephone in the upper hallway rang. I rushed to answer it. A voice said, ‘Hello, Sylvia. This is Mrs Murphy. I'm calling to see if you would like to be our cleaning lady?' I replied, ‘Yes, I'd be delighted.' She said, ‘We'll see you at 10 a.m. Friday then.'

The next morning I saw Rene and told her I'd got the job. She replied, ‘I'm not surprised. I forgot to put the card in the window so you were their only applicant.'

M
r Murphy was a semi-invalid and had been in poor health for some years and was almost bedridden, which meant that Mrs Murphy could never leave him for very long. She told me, ‘When my husband retired I thought we would spend our old age visiting, but it was not to be.'

Sometimes I noticed Mrs Murphy was very down. She would frequently say to me, ‘I could do with a good holiday and a complete break from this house but I can't leave Jack on his own with May working full-time as well.'

One Friday an excited Mrs Murphy said to
me, ‘My daughter Ann and I are having a week's holiday in Dublin so I'm going to get a nice break after all. May is going to work shorter hours and take care of her father for me so I won't have to worry about Jack. This will be the first time in years that I've had a proper holiday.' I was very pleased for her despite her adding, ‘We won't need you while I'm away, Sylvia.'

I noticed it was fine weather during her holiday and I thought she must be thoroughly enjoying herself, especially as she was visiting ‘the old country'.

The week after her return I rang her doorbell and heard Prince, the poodle, barking away as usual, but Mr Murphy greeted me. I asked him, ‘Where is Mrs Murphy?' He replied, ‘Go in the front room and see.' I did as he said and saw her sitting in an armchair as white as a sheet, wearing her night clothes and looking very unwell. ‘What happened to you?' I asked, ‘And what about your holiday?' She replied, ‘As soon as I got to the hotel I got sick and had to go to bed and the doctor was called. He said I either had a touch of food poisoning or a tummy bug, and I spent the entire week ill in bed. I was very very ill and when we came back I had to travel to and from the plane in a wheelchair. My eldest son met us at Heathrow and it was a great relief to get home. I was terribly disappointed and it's such a waste of money. The hotel alone cost me three hundred and
sixty pounds.' She paused and sighed, ‘Oh, well that's life, isn't it?'

Mrs Murphy slowly climbed the stairs to bed and I got on with the cleaning of the house. When I had finished she called me to her room. ‘Here's your money, Sylvia,' she said and gave me my wages. She delved into her purse and held her hand out again, saying. ‘And this is last week's money too.'

I
would pass Raf's clothing stalls on my way to the shops and often stopped to see his latest ranges.

One Thursday I bought the local newspaper and was amazed to see an article about him on the front page. It stated that Raf was suing the pub for the rent he had paid them since trading there. The reason he made headline news was because he should not have paid any rent at all as the pavement is public property.

I saw Raf the following day and I said to him, ‘I've been reading about you. You've been paying rent and you shouldn't have. Is that right?' He laughed and replied, ‘Yes, and the publican doesn't want to know. I've been paying sixty pounds a week rent to this pub for the last
eleven years and I didn't realise this was wrong until a policeman pulled up two weeks ago and asked me for my Street Trader's Licence. I said I didn't need one and he said I did. He went to see his superiors to settle the argument and it turned out he was right. The pub doesn't own the pavement, the local council does. So I've got to get myself a Trader's Licence otherwise I'll be in court, and I'm suing the pub because they won't give me my money back.'

One year later the brewery sold the pub. The new owners decorated the outside with hanging baskets of flowers and they didn't want Raf's stalls hiding their frontage. Raf refused to move until they offered him the use of a small shop they owned around the corner. Raf now has better premises for the same amount of rent but to date he is still in the process of suing the brewery for the back-rent he should not have paid in the first place.

F
riday mornings I worked from ten until twelve every week cleaning the house of an elderly Irish lady, Mrs Murphy, whose home was far too big for her to cope with. One Friday she showed me the spin drier she kept in her cellar and said, ‘I bought this a couple of years ago when my washing machine broke down but I've only used it about six times and I don't need it anymore. Do you know anyone who would like to buy it? It's almost brand new, it's in good working order and I only want ten pounds for it so it's quite a good bargain.' I could see it was in immaculate condition but my flatlet was already overcrowded. I replied, ‘It would suit me very nicely if only I had the space for
it. As I haven't I'll ask the other people in the house to see if one of them would like It.' Over the weekend I spoke to the other tenants but I didn't find a buyer.

A few weeks later Steve and his boyfriend moved into one of the apartments upstairs. John, another tenant, said to me, ‘Why don't you ask Steve if he wants that spin drier?' I thought for a moment and replied, ‘If he does, how about I ask twenty pounds for it and you can have five pounds as it was your idea and that will leave me five pounds profit after I've given Mrs Murphy her tenner.'

Later in the day I saw Steve. I told him of Mrs Murphy's bargain, quoting the increased price, and asked him if he was interested. He replied, ‘Yes please, that's exactly what I need when I'm washing out my sweaters. Thank you very much for thinking of me.'

I phoned Mrs Murphy and told her the good news and we arranged that John and I would make the collection that afternoon.

Mrs Murphy was very pleased to see us and she was so delighted with her sale she said, ‘How about we go fifty-fifty on this, Sylvia? You give me five pounds and you can keep the other five pounds.' I said, ‘That's very nice of you, thank you,' and gave her a five pound note.

John and I giggled as we carried the spin drier home and up the stairs to Steve, who gave me the twenty pounds we had agreed. We returned
downstairs to my flatlet to split the proceeds. I gave John five pounds and kept the remaining ten pounds.

John said, ‘That's what I call a very nice “sting”.'

Steve was not quite so honest either. He moved out of his apartment two months later and smashed the pane of glass in one of the porch doors as he was taking his wooden bookcase out of the house. He telephoned Virginia, the agent, and told her the wind had done the damage in the night and Virginia believed him.

J
une's only son Ivan was marrying for the second time. June decided to make the wedding photographs and wedding album a present to him and his future wife. Her next step should have been to hire a professional photographer to attend the wedding. Instead she asked her boyfriend Alan to take all the photographs.

Ivan also had money. He and his bride were expensively dressed and married in style at a Registry Office. A lavish reception was held at the local Yacht Club, of which Ivan was a member.

Alan snapped the happy couple throughout the ceremony and in the gardens of the Registry Office. He also went at great lengths to take as many photographs as possible of the bride and
groom at the reception. Altogether he took over one hundred prints.

June had the films developed and to her great dismay she discovered Alan was not the good photographer she had supposed. She was embarrassed to see pictures of the happy couple outside the Registry Office minus their feet but with a good shot of a clear sky, beautiful snaps of pot plants with the newlyweds squeezed into the left of the scene, many photographs completely out of focus and quite a few with missing foreheads.

June submitted the wedding album to her son and new daughter in law with the comment, ‘Not all of the photos have come out as I had hoped.' The eventual reply from her daughter-in-law was, ‘Thank God we had quite a few friends taking photographs otherwise we wouldn't have had one decent snap of our wedding!'

June had a woman friend she had known for forty years and they had spent much of their lives socialising together. Unfortunately this lady was suddenly widowed for the second time. June promptly ordered a lovely wreath and had it delivered on the day of the funeral. Some time after this event had taken place June was shocked to realise she had written the name of the first husband on the card attached to the wreath.

I
was in Sainsbury's supermarket waiting to pay for the food I had selected. The woman ahead of me moved up a few paces as the shopper in front of her cleared the checkout. There was no space on the conveyor belt to place my goods so I stayed in the same spot holding the store's wire basket. The old lady behind me saw the other person go forward and decided to do the same, which meant that she walked straight into me. Neither one of us altered our position so we were squashed together. As the conveyor belt cleared I placed my groceries on it and moved past the cashier to collect them. The old lady followed me and once more we were glued to each other. I didn't make any comment and quietly filled my shopping bag. I gave the cashier a note from the purse I was holding,
took my change and lightly lifted my left arm to open my handbag at the same time as the old lady bent down to pick up her carrier bag with the result that my elbow poked into her right eye. She covered her eye with her hand, softly uttering, ‘Oh, oh, oh.' I said, ‘Sorry,' and walked away.

The four women behind the old lady were very concerned for her. ‘Are you alright?' they asked. She replied weakly, ‘Yes, thank you.' I turned to see them looking at me with disgust as I left the store.

It was only a very gentle and completely accidental poke in the eye but I thought to myself, ‘That's what you get for being difficult.'

I
t was a Tuesday afternoon and time for my weekly shopping trip. I made my way to Tesco's supermarket and wandered into their fruit and veg section. I decided to buy a melon but unfortunately they were hard to my touch and I didn't know whether they were ripe or not. Standing beside me was a tall, black man, aged about forty, choosing some grapes. I thought to myself, ‘These melons grow in a hot country and so did he so he must know all there is to know about them.' I turned to the black man, holding the fruit in my outstretched hand, and asked him, ‘Could you tell me if this is ripe please?' The black man looked at me and down at my hand. He must have realised my line of thought immediately. He didn't say a word to me. He burst into laughter as he looked from the melon to my face. Some time passed and still he was
convulsed with laughter. As he was unable to speak to me I replaced the melon on the shelf and moved to Tesco's yoghurt department.