The Housekeeper

by Natalie Barelli

  “So it’s you!” she screeches. She looks me up and down. “Why are you here? Are you the new housekeeper?”

  I almost laugh, I can’t help it. The sight of her like that, with her arms outstretched like a scarecrow, is just hysterical. I have to put my groceries down to wipe the tears of laughter. “Diane, you’re the best. You really are. What are you trying to do? Hug me?”

  She recoils, one hand on her chest, her features going through a multitude of expressions like she’s demonstrating how face gymnastics can smooth out those pesky wrinkles. But then I grow serious because this is not good.

  “Of course I’m not the new housekeeper. What a funny thing to say! You okay, Diane? How’s your sister? Is she better? What about you? How you doing?”

  She squints at me. “You’re wearing my uniform.”

  “No! I—look, I’m just helping out, that’s all. I’m sure I told you last time that I know these people. You remember?”

  She stands back and grows taller, like a puppet slowly hauled up by the puppet master who suddenly remembers he has a job to do, and from her full height she says, “Your name isn’t Claire.”

  Of all things, this is the most unexpected, since my name is, in fact, Claire.

  “I called Mrs. Carter—”

  I feel my heart drop and my stomach clench. “You did what?”

  “Mrs. Patsy Carter. I have a good relationship with her, I’ll have you know. And she said your name is Louise.”

  She looks triumphant with her little scrap of misinformation. But the horror of what she just said is making me clench my fists. I’m too close to the finish line to have crazy Diane ruin it for me. Then I remember that she’s not crazy, that it’s me who made out like she is, with the rat and the phone calls, and yet that’s how I think of her now. Crazy Diane. Go figure. But my temper has gotten the better of me, and suddenly I’m poking a hard finger into her sternum.

  “You know nothing, now get away from me and never come back here, or I’ll call the cops, you understand? I’ll sue you for harassment. I’ll tell everyone that you’re a vindictive, bitter old woman who got fired because she’s about as competent as a one-armed violinist and batshit crazy to boot. Get out of my way now, while you still can, Diane.”

  She nods, startled, and moves out of my path. I leave her there, my heart thumping, fully aware I’ll have to deal with her later. Diane is a threat now.

  Once inside, I find Hannah in the smaller seating room that comes off the foyer. She’s sitting at the desk, doing something on her laptop, with Mia on her lap. Mia is holding a stuffed yellow-and-black tiger and sucking on its ear.

  “Did I tell you I was a florist before I came here?” Hannah says.

  “I believe you did,” I reply, trying to stop my eyes from rolling.

  “Well, I was thinking about your plans to open a fashion store. And you’ve been inspiring me.” She smiles. “There’s a shopfront for rent on Sixty-Ninth that would be perfect for a flower store. I’m thinking of specializing in—and please don’t laugh, okay? Promise?”

  I make a serious expression and point to my face. “No laughing matter. Understood.”

  “Okay, well, here goes: flowers for children. I could run workshops; they can learn to grow things in pots. I’m a bit vague about it all but I’m very excited. I’m researching flower markets right now. All thanks to you.” Then she studies my face for a moment and grows serious. “Everything okay, Louise?”

  “I’ve been accosted by a strange woman,” I say. I watch that happy, excited face fall and turn anxious. I sit down on the chair by the wall, next to the desk. Mia smiles at me.

  Hannah bites a fingernail, even though it’s a nice French manicure and she only had them done yesterday. “I think I know who that is. What did she say?”

  “I was just about to walk in the door with the groceries when she came right behind me. She put her hand on my shoulder, she really scared me. Then she said, ‘Don’t trust her, mark my words, she’s a real…’” I stop.

  “Bitch?” Hannah asks.

  “Yes! How did you know? You know her? She has black hair, very thin, a bit taller than me—”

  “Oh God. Yes, I know her. I’m so sorry, Louise. It’s my old housekeeper, Diane.”

  “Really?” I open my eyes wide. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “I had to fire her. She didn’t take it well. She’s been behaving erratically.”

  “How awful!”

  “I know. But I hadn’t heard from her over the last few days, and I honestly thought she had started to move on. I was just beginning to relax.” She shakes her head. “But this is not fair to you. I’m very sorry she accosted you like that.”

  I wave a hand in front of my face. “Oh, that’s all right. No harm done. I gave her a piece of my mind. Told her not to come around here again.” I say this in the tone of someone who has endured a few battle scars and isn’t intimated by some whacko on the street. I want her to think of me as being on her side. Her protector. “Should I call the police?” I ask, thinking, please say no.

  “No, don’t. I’ll tell Harvey when he comes home. That won’t be for a few hours.” She checks her watch. “My husband has been reluctant to do anything about Diane out of some deluded sense of loyalty. But if she’s beginning to harass you, then I think it’s time he took charge.” Then she sits back in her chair and bounces Mia on her lap. “She’s called here twice, very threateningly. But Harvey doesn’t believe it’s her. He says they’re kids, prank calls.”

  “But how do you know that they’re from Diane?”

  “Oh, please, Louise, don’t you start.”

  “No, I mean it. How do you know?”

  “I know it’s Diane because she has a slight lisp. And like I said to Harvey, kids who make prank calls don’t call me Mrs. Carter.”

  And then the doorbell rings, and we’re not thinking straight, either of us, because she points her chin toward the door and says, “You go,” and I open it, vaguely expecting a deliveryman and Diane is standing there, her mouth distorted like she’s in pain, and I’m shouting “Get out!” and trying to close the door on her but she’s gone crazy. She’s kicking my shins and banging her fists against the door, screaming like some wild caged animal in a zoo. Hannah stands there frozen, clutching the baby in her arms, and she looks terrified.

  “What are you doing?” she cries.

  Diane looks right at her, her eyes wild and red-rimmed, pointing her finger at her. “She’s evil!” she’s shouting, her voice raspy as though she’s finding it difficult to get the words out.

  Hannah’s whole body is shaking. “Diane! Stop! Please!” Mia’s wail slices the air and it’s chaos, everyone is screaming and it’s like trying to hold back a bear or a wild dog. She’s too strong for me. The strength of fury—like a patient in an asylum lifting the therapist above his head and throwing him across the room. I give up trying to shut the door and stand right in front of Diane with both hands on her chest, pushing her out. Hannah is pleading with Diane to stop but it’s as if she doesn’t hear her. And yet she’s looking right at her over my shoulder, her whole arm pointed at her like she’s trying to grab her, her face burning with rage and fury, desperate to explain and to be understood. “She’s evil! She’s a liar! Liar! She’s not who she says! She’s a liar! I know who she really is! Liar! Liar!”

  “Stop it!” Hannah is shouting and sobbing at the same time. She’s shaking so much I’m afraid she’ll drop Mia, who by now is hysterical. Then I give one more shove and Diane stumbles backward, enough for me to slam the door shut on her.

  I turn around and lean against it, my heart beating so hard it makes my uniform quiver. “Go upstairs. Lock yourself in the bathroom.” Hannah nods maniacally, and meanwhile, Diane is banging on the door behind me so hard I worry it’s going to jump off its hinges. It’s like a scene from a horror movie, except I’m living it.

  “Go, now!” I shout. This time, she bolts and runs up the stairs, half falling, catching
herself with one hand and holding Mia tight with the other.

  When Hannah has disappeared, I open the door and push Diane so hard she stumbles back in surprise. I hiss at her with venom. I raise a fist and tell her that I’m going to kill her. I frighten her so much she takes off running down the street, but she’s not very fast. She runs the way people do when they never run, throwing their legs sideways like a duck.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hannah is still locked up in the bathroom upstairs, so I sprint into the office, my heart still pounding. I need Diane’s cell number right now. I know I’m making too much noise, but I can’t help it. I bang drawers open and shut and rummage through the antique filing cabinet. I’m about to give up and try somewhere else when I find it. Diane’s employment file. I grab a pen from the desk and jot her number on my thigh. I call her from my own cell phone while listening out for Hannah. I can hear Mia crying upstairs, which means I’ll be able to tell if Hannah opens the door.

  When Diane picks up, at first I think she must be on the subway, just from the noise, like wind rushing through a tunnel, but then I realize it’s her breath, loud and pained from running.

  “It’s me,” I whisper. And she hangs up. I call her again immediately, and she picks up but doesn’t speak.

  Then she says, “I’m calling the police.”

  “Diane, listen to me!” I hiss. “Hannah just tried to call the cops on you! Just now! I had to stop her. Honestly, what you did back there? That was assault! That’s a criminal offense, Diane! You’ll go to jail if the police get involved! I told Hannah—”

  “Hannah?”

  “That’s right, like I said, she’s a friend of mine. I told her, don’t call the police, it’s not her fault. You were upset, but you’re okay now, right? Because you understand that was forced entry just now, and you screaming like that—”

  “But I just wanted to warn her!”

  “About what?”

  She hesitates; I can hear her crying. Finally she blurts, “About you.”

  “About me? You’ve got the wrong end of the stick there. I’m a friend of hers. I’m just helping out until they find someone else. And I’m sorry about before, the things I said. That was uncalled for, and I apologize. I just overreacted, you understand? You seemed to accuse me of something, and I tend to overreact when people falsely accuse me. It’s a thing I have. I’m working on it. But you need to move on, Diane. You can’t come back here, okay? I might not be around to smooth things over next time, and you definitely do not want the cops involved. Remember what I said—that was assault. And forced entry, too. With witnesses. Think of your sister. By the way, how is she?”

  “My sister?”

  “Yes, the pneumonia?”

  “Be—better,” she stutters.

  “Great, that’s great news. I’m really happy for you. And for her, obviously. Now I think you need to take a breath, okay? I’ll make sure that Hannah doesn’t report this to the police, okay?”

  She breathes in a long, scattered breath. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Just take it easy. And don’t come back here, all right?”

  “All right.”

  “Okay, take care. Bye now.”

  * * *

  Upstairs, I knock on the bathroom door. “It’s me, it’s Louise.” I have to speak loudly to be heard over Mia’s screams.

  “Oh, thank God.” I hear her fumbling with the lock on the other side. “Thank God,” she says again. She puts one arm around my neck, and I quickly take Mia from her because she’s shaking so much I worry she might drop her.

  “Are you all right?” we both ask at the same time.

  “Where is she?” she asks.

  “She’s gone. I went down the street after her, but I lost her.”

  Hannah sits on the edge of the bathtub and starts to cry. “I can’t do this anymore. What’s wrong with her? What does she want?” And I’m kind of surprised, because I really expected her to ask me questions, like What did she mean, you’re not who you say you are?

  “I thought she was going to come up and kill us, I really did,” she says. “I was so worried about you, but every time I went to open the door, I had an image of her standing there, brandishing a fire poker over her head.”

  “It’s okay now,” I say gently. “She’s gone.” Then I hum to Mia, softly, the way my mother used to with me, and Mia stops crying, just like that. She looks at me with big round eyes, and there’s only the sound of her hiccups and Hannah’s raspy breath. “I’m going to put her to bed,” I say. Hannah nods and puts both hands over her face.

  After Mia falls asleep, I join Hannah in the kitchen. In two strides she’s put her arms around me. “Louise, you were amazing, the way you held her back like that, I—I don’t know what to say. I’m very grateful to you, really. God, I need a drink.” She releases me and points to a bottle of Pinot Grigio she’s just retrieved from the wine cooler. “Join me?”

  “Sure, that would be good,” I say. But this is too weird. Surely she should be asking me questions about what Diane said. She pours me a glass and gives it to me. If anyone had told me that I would be chatting away with Hannah, sharing a bottle of Pinot Grigio, I would have laughed till my nose bled.

  “Will you call the police now, Mrs. Carter? Or would you like me to?” I ask.

  “Please don’t call me Mrs. Carter. It’s Hannah. And, no, don’t call them. I’ll wait until Harvey comes home,” she says, and I think, okay, that makes no sense whatsoever, but whatever.

  As if reading my mind, she continues. “I wasn’t well after Mia was born. Only because Mia didn’t sleep those first few weeks, like, at all. Honestly, I remember being so tired I could barely lift my arm to brush my hair. But Harvey kept saying I was being overly anxious, like I was having a nervous breakdown and that it was very normal after having a baby.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. What did you do?”

  “I said to him, is that what happened to you when you had a baby?”

  I laugh. “Good for you.”

  “The thing is, I’ve never been an anxious person. I don’t scare easily. That’s not to say I’m brave and fearless. I mean, I’ve never gone bungee jumping, or paragliding, or parachuting, because all these things are scary and dangerous, and I’m not crazy. But even when I was pregnant I was very relaxed compared to some people. I loved being pregnant. I took to it like a lotus to water. I was like a happy Buddha, constantly rubbing my belly. I mean, sure, I wasn’t crazy about the part where I looked like an elephant, but I didn’t let it worry me. But after she born, honestly, at one stage, whenever I saw Harvey asleep I wanted to shake him awake and laugh hysterically in his face. We’d have huge fights about this. But then Harvey insisted that I see someone, a psychiatrist, because of it.”

  “I see,” I say.

  “The night after I let Diane go, Harvey was away in Chicago and I was by myself with Mia. I thought it would be nice to have her next to my bed, so I put her in the smaller crib, the portable one.”

  I nod. “I know the one.”

  “I was sure she’d sleep like an angel, aware in some primal, subliminal way that her mother was nearby.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Except it had the opposite effect. For hours I’d been watching her little red face wrinkle with fury, feeling more and more powerless to help her. I’d pick her up, I’d sing to her, I’d put her down again, I nuzzled her, I didn’t nuzzle her. I left her to it while I paced the room, then I picked her up again. It just went on, and on, and on, and any minute I was going to join her in this screaming fest. I honestly started to think that she preferred being alone. That she hated me.”

  She looks up at me quickly to gauge my reaction. “It’s not uncommon,” I say. “Mrs. Van Kemp had terrible problems with the youngest one. I don’t think she slept for a year, so you’re miles ahead.” I top off her glass while I’m at it, and she takes a gulp of it.

  “Suddenly, just like that,
she stopped crying,” she resumes. “It was like the power had been cut. I was sitting on the side of the bed with my head in my hands when it happened. I thought she was taking in air, getting ready for the next onslaught, but when I looked at her, she was completely still, her little fists suspended in midair. Then I realized what she was doing.”

  “What?”

  “She was listening.”

  “To what?”

  “There was someone in the house.”

  I gasp. Then I look around and stare at the window, because for a moment I think maybe Diane’s in the house right now.

  “I thought I was going crazy, because of course no one was in the house. It was maybe midnight, and Harvey wasn’t due back until noon the following day. But then we heard it again and Mia made the tiniest sound, a little gasp. We looked at each other, and I put one finger to my lips, a part of me thinking how wonderful it would be if it were so easy, the other part thinking we’re all about to die, and I went to check.”

  “And was someone there?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head. “But something was different. There was a light on downstairs. I leaned over the balustrade and looked down the spiral staircase. I always turn out the lights, all of them. Not because I’m worried about the bills, but because I don’t believe we should waste our planet’s resources, no matter how much money we have.”

  As if Hannah cared about anything but herself, but I manage not to roll my eyes, so that’s good.

  “There was a light on. Two floors down. So I went to have a look, of course—”

  “I don’t know why you say, ‘of course.’ I wouldn’t have.”

  “Yes, well, you’re smarter than me, then. I was halfway down the steps when I thought, what am I doing leaving Mia upstairs? At the very least I should have taken my cell phone with me, but I didn’t even know where it was. Then I remembered some news item about a celebrity who locked themselves in the bathroom to call the police because there was someone in the house. I remembered thinking at the time how lucky it was that they had a cell phone in the bathroom.” She laughs. “Except it wasn’t luck, was it? It was forward thinking. Unlike me, prize idiot going down the stairs in bare feet, in my tracksuit pants and one of Harvey’s old T-shirts.”