CHAPTER 18
She couldn’t tell how far she had walked along the towpath, and although she had been walking slowly, she had set off early so she must have covered a few miles at least. She had nothing but some hot water inside her, having decided the nettle soup, or tea, more like, was not worth the bother. She was tired, thirsty and hungry.
She was dirty, too; her trousers and jacket streaked with mud and grass stains, her hair greasy and matted and her fingernails broken where they weren’t black.
If she had had a mirror, she would have been alarmed at her drawn features, the dark shadows under her eyes. She instinctively knew she was a mess, so she kept her head down when she came across the odd runner or dog walker, avoiding eye contact and saying nothing.
Her head was down when she approached a large canal-side pub with three or four narrowboats moored alongside, so she didn’t see it until she was almost upon it. The Navigation loomed into view and she looked up at the swinging sign and the proud boast: “Cask Ales, Fine Wines, Home Cooked Food and Free Moorings”.
She fished in her trouser pocket and brought out some loose change. It was all she had. But she had no choice. Maybe she could sweep up for them outside, or collect glasses in return for a sandwich? It was late morning and there seemed little activity, but she headed for the entrance door facing the canal and stopped when a sign in the window caught her eye. To the right of the door, a handwritten sign read: “Cleaner/Bar Staff Required”. Her heart lifted. Maybe. Just maybe?
***
Trish was behind the bar pouring a pint of Guinness, a long and slow process that took a degree of concentration. It wasn’t yet twelve noon, but already one or two boats had pulled in and their occupants were anxious to get started on the booze.
The Navigation boasted two separate bars: one that serviced an informal seated area where customers could simply enjoy a drink and a snack, and the other, the main bar servicing the fifty-cover restaurant.
Even without looking up, Trish noticed the shuffling, dishevelled figure enter the bar area from the canal-side door and tentatively sidle her way towards her. Trish was not in a good mood. Dave had been lazy and useless as usual, and she and Jade had had to do most of the cleaning, again. He was currently glad-handing the odd punter coming into the restaurant, playing “mine host”, the thing he enjoyed most, swaggering around like the big swinging dick that he was, while she and everyone else ran around like headless chickens, trying to do ten things at once.
She was getting too old for this game, she thought. Twenty years ago, running a pub and restaurant was vibrant and exciting, and she had been full of optimism for the future. Then a vivacious, raven-haired young waitress, she had fallen for the charms of the handsome, quick-witted and cocky assistant manager, Dave, who got the GM’s job when old boy Trevor had retired. They became an item and soon married, the pub providing them with live-in accommodation plus a reasonable salary as the brewery owners became increasingly happy with the pub’s performance.
But that was then and this was now. Time and work, never-ending graft, had taken its toll on Trish, who, at forty-six, was probably past her prime. She still took care over her appearance, if only to avoid frightening the punters, and according to her supremely gracious husband, “scrubbed up well”. But she had recently overheard a garrulous old geezer, a regular drinker of theirs, talking about someone who “used to be a looker but she has let herself go a bit,” and she was left in no doubt who he was referring to.
And Dave had shown himself to be a less than ideal husband, getting worse as he got older, lazy and complacent and heedless of the pressures of running the business, letting Trish and others do all the work while constantly eyeing up and harassing the female bar staff and waitresses with his unfunny innuendos and embarrassing jokes.
Trish often felt like a prisoner in this poxy pub, hitched to this feckless idiot, and wondered how different things could have been and where they went wrong. One day she would just walk away, she told herself, but she wasn’t sure she was brave enough. One day.
Jess shuffled up to the bar and stopped, wondering whether she should say something and interrupt the woman who was clearly concentrating on the job in hand or wait till she had finished. The decision was made for her.
“You all right, love?” said the woman without taking her eyes off the trickle of black liquid that slowly filled the glass.
Jess was suddenly not sure what to say. She hadn’t spoken to anyone for three days and her mouth felt dry through a combination of hunger, thirst and apprehension. When she did open her mouth, the words came out in a croak.
“I wondered … hmm …” – she had to clear her throat before continuing – “I wondered if I could speak to the manager, please?” The woman was frowning and her expression fierce, even though it was still directed at the beer.
“That’ll be me. What can I do for you?” she shot back sternly, eyes fixed on the Guinness level as it finally reached the top of the glass. Jess felt discomfited. She already felt she was being put under pressure and, not having had a sensible conversation with anyone for several weeks, was struggling to find the few words she needed to explain why she was there. She swallowed and gulped.
“Er, you’ve got a sign by the door.” Her head swung backwards involuntarily in case the woman didn’t know where the door was. “About staff?” The woman had been turning the beer glass in a swirling spiral in order to paint a shamrock on the froth and, having examined her handiwork, put it down on the bar. She looked up at Jess.
“Got any experience?” She looked forbidding.
“Er, what sort of …?”
“Done anything like this before?” Trish said, clearly with mounting exasperation.
“Um … office cleaning and reception work,” she offered hopefully. The woman said nothing, but looked Jess up and down, taking in her unkempt appearance, dirty face and fingernails, crumpled jacket, and turned her head in recognition of the rucksack on her back.
“On yer holidays?” she said mockingly, raising her eyebrows.
“Er, no.” Jess felt deflated again.
“Gap year?” Again, a hint of torment in her tone.
“No,” mumbled Jess, feeling that the interview, if you could call it that, was not going well.
“Runaway?” said Trish. The woman had hit the target.
“No!” blurted out Jess a little too quickly, and then, by way of explanation, “I just need a job and a place to stay.” There it was. It was out. There was nothing more to say, and for a moment she stood awkwardly, feeling the woman’s eyes bore into her.
Trish examined this wretched young girl for a moment and felt a pang of conscience that perhaps she had been too harsh, less than friendly, just because she was in a bad mood. She didn’t know where “runaway” had come from, but then realised, yes, she did. It had been on her mind and here she was, confronted by someone who was doing exactly what she herself was incapable of.
The girl clearly looked distressed, physically and mentally, and probably needed a bit of help. Well, she wasn’t the only one. Trish softened her tone but stopped short of forcing a smile.
“You look like you could do with some food inside you. Go and take a seat over there and we’ll have a chat when I’m off,” she said, gesturing to a small table by the window. Jess nodded her head slowly and did as she was told.
Trish watched her trudge over to the table, unload her rucksack and slump dejectedly into a seat with its back to the wall. There was something wrong there, she thought. She would have to find out what it was.
Jess was not sure whether to run or to stay put. The woman had appeared fearsome and daunting but hadn’t chucked her out, so maybe there was a possibility that something might come of it.
The pub was warm and bright inside and there were intoxicating smells emanating from the kitchen. She was in no hurry to depart but hadn’t ordered anything to eat and the hunger pains continued to torment her. Before she had time to decide what to do, the woman was back and she sat up, almost to attention.
Trish put a cheese sandwich and glass of water on the table in front of Jess, who looked up in surprise. “How much is that?” she croaked, suddenly panicky that she didn’t have enough money to pay.
“Don’t worry about it. Give me half an hour,” said Trish, and strode off to the restaurant area, leaving Jess alone. Jess took one look at the sandwich and then grabbed it with both hands, taking an almighty bite out of the crusty bread. Nothing had tasted that good for a long time.
Forty-five minutes later, Trish returned, mopping her brow, half-full cup of coffee in one hand, and sat down at the table opposite Jess with a loud exhalation. Jess sat up straight again, anticipating an interrogation.
“Okay, love. What’s your name?” Trish’s schoolmistress tone had returned. Jess somehow had not prepared for this, the most obvious of first questions, and she hesitated. She didn’t have a name. She used to have one but it wasn’t hers anymore. Jess was no more. She looked to the floor searching for inspiration and then to the bar, and then the mirror behind the bar. A looking glass.
“Alice,” she blurted without looking at Trish, and then, when there was no response, couldn’t help looking up, her eyes meeting those of the woman opposite. Trish was staring at her. The silence said it all.
“Are you sure about that?” she said finally.
“Yes,” insisted Jess. Trish’s doubts had already been confirmed, but it was consistent with the runaway theory, so she decided to play along.
“Okay. Where are you from?” Another impossible question, or rather one that had an impossible answer.
“Nowhere, really.”
“Where do you live?” said Trish, evidently with growing impatience, but Jess didn’t have a reply. She didn’t know how to explain. She opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came out. Trish cut to the chase.
“I knew it. Who’re you running from? Husband? Old bill?”
“No!” pleaded Jess. “I just needed to get away for a bit.”
“And why’s that, then?” The woman was not going to give up. Should have known better. This was like her old life. People harassing and haranguing her, demanding, controlling. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? This was the reason she left in the first place, to get away from everyone making life difficult and telling her what to do. Her first tentative steps back into so-called civilisation were becoming a re-run of the nightmare of the last seven years. She had had enough. She reached for her rucksack.
“I’m sorry, I’ve been wasting your time. How much for the lunch?”
Trish knew she had gone too far. “Sit down, love.” The girl stopped at Trish’s command and there was a moment’s silence. There would be time enough to find out who she was and where she was from, but for the moment, Trish desperately needed another pair of hands. And she had seen something in the girl that her years of experience told her was all right. The girl was frightened and vulnerable and, whatever her problem, Trish was disquieted by it, and her concern persuaded her to cut her some slack. She had seen it before, the hunted look, the repressed torment, troubled by something she couldn’t speak of but would eventually, when the time was right. Trish broke the silence and tried her best to sound conciliatory.
“Okay. I need some help and you need a place to stay. It’s minimum wage, two hours cleaning, bar, restaurant, toilets, windows, three hours serving lunches, five hours serving dinners, one day off a week; except for cleaning, which is every day unless I say otherwise. You get a four pound daily food allowance; anything above that comes out of your wages.”
Jess’s head swirled and she nodded mechanically as the facts and figures were thrown at her like darts at a board, but without any real comprehension other than it sounded positive.
“You need a place to stay?” Jess nodded shyly. She understood that part and it was by far the most important thing she had heard. “We have a staff room you can rent. It’s not the presidential suite, but it’ll do. We’ll take it out of your wages until you can find somewhere else.” By now, Jess would have agreed to anything.
“Start now, okay? Alice?” Trish’s emphasis on the last word made it clear that as names went, this was a working title.
“Okay,” said Jess, relieved. The interview was over. She had no idea what would come next, but she would make the most of it while she could and then, when the time was right, she would hit the road again. If nothing else, it would be a welcome, if temporary respite from the privations of outdoor life. She could regain her strength, get some regular food and sleep and be able to clean all her clothes, as well as have something useful to do. The woman was smiling at her for the first time, welcoming almost, and she was thankful.
“Bring your things, I’ll show you up.”
Jess nodded meekly. They both stood, and while Jess was gathering up her rucksack and tent, she noticed the woman was conversing with a middle-aged man standing behind the bar.
Trish leant on the bar, looking directly at her husband whose eyes were focused on a spot over her left shoulder.
“Who’s that, then?” he whispered conspiratorially.
Trish gave him a piercing look. She knew exactly what was going through his mind and she didn’t like it. Have to nip this one in the bud.
“Another waif and stray looking for sanctuary,” she whispered back. He raised his eyebrows and lifted his bottom lip over the top one. She gave him a steely look. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I can look, can’t I?” he protested.
“As long as you don’t touch. I swear to God …” The threat was unmistakeable.
Dave watched his wife and the girl with the rucksack disappear through the door marked “Staff” and felt pleased with life. He liked a challenge.
***
Trish opened the window shutters and light flooded into the room.
“This is your new home,” she announced, and Jess followed her in, eyes taking in the surroundings.
The floorboards were exposed apart from a threadbare mat by the foot of the single bed with pillow and rolled-up duvet, a small bedside table with lamp and clock, two shelves and a writing table and chair. The walls were cracked, the paintwork chipped and grubby and a single bulb with shabby lampshade hung down from the middle of the ceiling. It was basic, to say the least, but compared to her pop-up tent, it might have been a room at the Dorchester.
Trish was rattling out further instructions at a rapid pace.
“You’ll find towels, soap and stuff in the store along the corridor, next to the bathroom. Here’s the key. Keep it locked.” Jess took the key from the woman’s outstretched hand. “In there as well, you’ll find staff uniforms: white blouse, black skirt and apron when you’re serving, black tee shirt, trousers and apron when you’re cleaning. To be worn at all times on duty. Your job is to keep them clean and presentable. Washing machine’s in the cellar. All the restaurant linen goes in the main laundry which is collected once a week.” Jess nodded profusely, trying to keep up.
“Right,” – the woman looked at her watch – “it’s three now, I’ll give you till five to settle in and smarten up, then see you downstairs for a quick tour.” She moved to the open door, stopped and looked back at Jess. The woman’s body relaxed and she gave Jess a big smile. “Oh, I’m Trish, by the way. The gormless one is my other half, Dave.”
“Thanks, Trish,” croaked Jess, her voice failing her again. But she was feeling better already.
“You’ll be all right here,” Trish said gently, nodding, and softly closed the door behind her.
Jess dumped her rucksack and tent and sat on the edge of the bed staring out of the window that overlooked the car park. She was smelly, filthy and exhausted, but she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A new chapter was about to start for Alice, however brief it might turn out to be.
***
She made her way back downstairs just before five. She had showered, washed her hair for the first time since she had left the campsite and was dressed in the requisite items of uniform she had taken from the storeroom.
The pub was quiet, lunch long since over, and serving would not begin again until 6.30 so other staff were either in their rooms or had gone home for a brief lie-down between shifts.
She entered the main restaurant hoping to find Trish, but the only person there was a middle-aged man, sitting at one of the tables with a coffee and a newspaper. She recognised him as the one she had seen earlier behind the bar talking to Trish. What did she call him? The “gormless one”. He must have been in his late forties, she judged: short-sleeved shirt, jeans, stubble on both head and chin, thin gold chain around his neck and heavy watch.
Dave heard her coming but pretended not to notice until she got closer. He had been waiting for her. He looked up. I knew she’d scrub up well. He stood up, cocked his head to one side and gave her a wide toothy grin, like a predatory cat sizing up his next prey.
“’Allo, ’allo, you must be Alice.” He held out a hand. “I’m Dave,” and to make sure she was in no doubt of his status, added, “the boss.” The girl looked momentarily confused.
“Oh, I thought Trish was …”
“We both are.” Dave’s grin was fixed and his eyes bored into her. “But, well, I’m in charge.”
She took his hand and he held on to it softly, still grinning, but was suddenly distracted by the sound of footsteps on the oak floor.
“I see you two have met.”
Dave snapped his hand back and his head to his right to see his wife giving him a look of disdain. “Come on, Alice, let’s get started.” Dave’s eyes followed them both as they went off to start her induction.
***
She lay on the bed under the duvet, warm and comfortable. The bed was soggy and creaky and the duvet thin, but it didn’t matter. She was back in the land of the living. The last four weeks had been liberating and stimulating, but arduous and at times frightening and, she had come to realise, unsustainable. But somehow she had achieved her objective. She had successfully abandoned her old existence and was exhilarated by the start of her new one.
She had quickly acclimatised to being called Alice, and for the most part everyone had made her feel welcome, even though there had been no time for idle chat with a busy pub and restaurant to service. She was relieved that she had not had to explain herself to anyone yet and decided she must cobble together a story with enough truth to make it honest and plausible, without revealing or reliving the horrors of the past.
She was exquisitely tired. But her mind was still buzzing from the adrenalin, the frantic running around meeting the demands of customers, and she was pleased that she had got through her first shift without dropping anything, spilling anything or being generally useless. Jade had helped her a lot. The Australian was very experienced and direct, and she obeyed every command without question. There was still a lot more to learn, but she had made a good start and was determined to become proficient in her new role as soon as possible.
She had to be up by 7 a.m. tomorrow to start the clean. What a luxury! A positive lie-in. She was still thinking about how she would organise her cleaning regime when she drifted off without realising.
***
It’s 9.45 and she’s slipping out of the house. Her mother’s in bed, Joe’s asleep, snoring in the armchair in front of the TV, still on. She shuts the door and pulls her hood over her head. It’s dry but cold. She gets to the end of the road. Mo’s car is there and he’s in the driver’s seat holding a phone to his ear, gesticulating silently with the other arm, chunky gold watch sparkling in the light of a street lamp. He notices her and smiles, hangs up. She gets in the other side. She can smell his musky cologne again, sweet and spicy at the same time with a faint scent of peppermint. They move off. They talk. They laugh. He has big brown eyes and white teeth and she likes him. He’s twenty-one and it’s time he left home. He has the keys to a flat he wants to rent. Does she want to see it? Yes, she would love to see it, and it has modern furniture, glass and chrome and a nice bathroom and a big TV and she sits down, they have some wine and it gives her a warm feeling and her head goes fuzzy so she soon begins to feel like she is floating and forgetting about home. They talk and they laugh some more. He says when she wants to go home he’ll take her, but she doesn’t want to go because it’s nice here with him and it’s not nice at home. He sits on the sofa next to her and takes her hand and pulls her gently towards him, smiling. He kisses her gently and she doesn’t resist. She doesn’t want to go home …