With the café a little quieter than of late, Bertha stands at their table, joining in the chat. It’s soothing to hear their laughter and listen to their relaxed chatter, and I find myself gravitating over there as I wipe tables and fill sugar bowls, and try to calm my nerves about cooking for Matt tomorrow night.
Tonight, I’m going to have to work miracles to try and make the flat look cosy. I swore I wouldn’t touch my credit card – but I’m going to have to now. It’s in a good cause, though.
I’m going to concentrate on making a lovely meal for Matt, and try to forget about Jaxon. At least for the next few days…
I catch sight of Patrina, huddled by the door, staring at her phone. She looks terrible, her beautiful blonde hair hanging limply as if she didn’t have time to blow-dry it this morning. In spite of everything, my heart goes out to her.
Walking over to her, I ask her gently if she’s all right. She looks up in surprise, staring at me wordlessly, as a single tear slips down her face.
‘What is it?’ I ask, alarmed. ‘Has something happened?’
She gulps back more tears. ‘My life’s shit. I’m just bloody useless.’
‘What?’
She shrugs. ‘Today, my father informed me that if I don’t pull my socks up and start pulling my weight here, my allowance will be cut off.’
‘Oh. That’s – awful. But is it worth getting upset about? I mean, I’m sure you could survive on your own. You could probably get another job in a heartbeat. If you wanted.’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m not bothered about the allowance. Well, yes, I am. Of course I am. But it’s more about the fact that I’ve finally realised how bloody ill-equipped I am to earn my own living.’ She shrugs. ‘I can’t even do this job properly. No wonder I’m a complete and utter disappointment to my family.’
I stare at her for a moment, not quite knowing how to respond. Then, tentatively, I say, ‘You can do this job. You just need to apply yourself more. If you show you’re willing to work hard, I’m sure Fen would give your parents a glowing report.’
She swallows miserably. ‘But I can’t.’
‘You can’t work hard?’
She shakes her head. ‘The point is, I’ve no idea how to do anything here. We’ve always had staff at home to do everything for us. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve never had to clean a toilet in my life. Never! And I wouldn’t actually know where to start.’ She sighs. ‘Do you have to actually put your hand in the bowl to clean it? In the water? Or is there some other way to get it clean?’
I stare at her in disbelief, wondering if she’s ever heard of a toilet brush.
‘Honestly, Molly, I don’t blame you looking at me as if I’ve got two heads. I’m utterly clueless when it comes to this stuff. I know you think I’m lazy, but I’m not. I just don’t know these things and I’ve been too stupidly proud to ask.’ She screws up her face in consternation. ‘When you mop a floor, do you use just plain water or do you put washing-up liquid or something in it so that it cleans properly?’ She shrugs. ‘It’s all a bloody mystery to me. And it shouldn’t be, should it? Not at my age’
It’s clear from her anguished expression that she’s in bits over this. And while it might sound weird to me, it sort of makes sense. Patrina, through no fault of her own, has never been required to lift a finger around the house in her life, and now, that gap in her knowledge has come back to bite her. It might seem odd to me that clearing a table or mopping a floor would be beyond someone’s scope, but that’s only because Mum had me doing housework from being very young and I’ve been cleaning ever since. But if you’ve never had to…no wonder Patrina is too scared to get stuck in, preferring to stand back and lets someone else do it properly.
It’s not because she feels superior. She’s scared of messing up!
I smile at her. ‘It’s fine. You just need to talk to Bertha.’
She looks alarmed, but I shake my head. ‘Don’t worry.’
Nipping over to where Bertha’s standing talking to Lottie and Iris, I arrive just in time to hear Lottie say, ‘Well, I’m rattling around in a house that’s far too big for just little old me! Why don’t you and the baby move in with me for a while? Just till you get sorted. I’m a dab hand at keeping babies entertained.’ She turns to Joe and blows a gentle raspberry, much to his delight. ‘Yes, I am, Joe! And you’re gorgeous!’ Lottie turns back to Chloe. ‘If you’re living with me in Sunnybrook, you’ll be able to see your gran any time you like. And I’m sure that would suit Iris perfectly.’
Iris looks totally flustered at this offer. ‘Well, dear me, that would be…well!’
I lean over to Bertha. ‘Can I have a word? About Patrina?’
She looks surprised. So I explain the problem, which surprises her even more. Then she smiles. ‘Leave it to me.’
I watch her walk over to Patrina and start talking, and after a moment, Patrina looks like she’s starting to open up. Then Bertha takes her arm in a gentle, motherly way and guides her out to the kitchen.
A few moments later, the two of them emerge and head for the Ladies. Passing me on the way, Patrina, carrying cloths and a bottle of cleaning liquid, murmurs sheepishly, ‘Bertha is showing me how to clean a toilet.’
I smile and stick up my thumb. ‘Fantastic. And you definitely don’t have to put your hands in the water.’
‘Well, that’s a big relief. Pardon the pun.’ She holds up a bottle of spray cleanser and grimaces. ‘If my mother could see me now.’ She grins wearily and follows Bertha into the Ladies.
Much later, as I’m getting ready to leave at the end of my shift, a customer comes in and hovers by the door, looking around a little awkwardly. He looks to be in his sixties, with silver hair, and he’s dressed smartly in a suit and tie.
‘I’m so sorry, we’re just closing up for the day,’ I say, going over.
‘I’m looking for Mrs Beavers?’ he says, with a slight air of apology. ‘She should be finishing up about now?’
‘Bertha? Yes, of course. I’ll go and get her for you.’
Intrigued, I head into the kitchen and find her stacking the dishwasher.
‘Bertha? You – um - have a visitor.’
She frowns. ‘Is Lottie back?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s a gentleman.’
Her frown deepens. Then she smiles. ‘I bet it’s my brother. He always forgets to send me a card, then he has to come around and apologise! I don’t know why he didn’t just come to the house later, though.’ She heads out and I follow her onto the café floor.
She stops when she sees who it is. ‘Ron? What on earth are you doing here? Why are you looking like you’ve just been to a funeral? Have you been to a funeral?’
He smiles and holds out his hands, palms upwards. ‘Any law that says I can’t take my beautiful wife out for dinner on her birthday?’
She laughs. But it’s more of an incredulous sound than anything else. ‘None at all. So is that what you’re doing?’
He steps forward. ‘I am. I know I’ve taken you for granted, Bertha Beavers. I’ve been a dismal old sod these past few months, what with giving up work and feeling like I don’t have a purpose any longer. But I love you more than I love myself. More than Manchester United.’