I wouldn’t have said filthy myself, but I know what he means. I am here, all the time, and I don’t remember the last time I even heard the vacuum cleaner. In fact, the only time I see Louise these days is in the kitchen. I never see her in any room in this house except for the nursery. If she ventures anywhere else, it’s not when I’m around. And God knows I’m around.
Then this morning she said Mia should be on solids from now on. Mia is barely four months old. I’m pretty sure that’s a little early, she’s only just started to sit up on her own, but for some reason Louise was adamant that we should try. I went along with it, even going as far as shopping with her at the grocery store, but when we returned I said I wanted to check with the pediatrician first and asked her to wait until I’d done so. She tried to hide it, but I could see that it made her angry. I don’t know why.
I think I should talk to Harvey about this. Louise is getting increasingly obsessed with my child and I think I should tell someone. I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t leave her alone with Mia so much. I hate to think what she might do.
She knows. I can feel it, twisting my gut. It’s the only thing that makes sense. She’s writing all these lies about me, inventing moments that never happened, twisting the truth. Later, when it’s all over, Hannah will want me to see how much smarter than me she is. How she toyed with me. That’s why she told me that bullshit story about wanting to be an artist and working as a nanny. She won’t tell her husband what supposedly happened to her, but she’ll tell me? Her housekeeper? No. It doesn’t add up.
Hannah Carter is a liar. And all this time I thought I was the cat, turns out I was the mouse.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I ring the buzzer at April’s apartment. I could have used my key, but it just didn’t feel appropriate. It crackles to life and her voice comes on. “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Claire.”
Upstairs she’s waiting at the door, already in her tracksuit pants, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m not at my cousin’s in Pittsfield. I don’t have a cousin in Pittsfield.”
* * *
The kitchen is pristine in its cleanliness. It makes me feel like I don’t live there anymore. I sit at the table and put my head in my hands.
“What have you done to your hair?”
“I cut it,” I reply without looking up.
“I liked it better before. I don’t like the color either.”
“Thanks, April.”
“You have my rent?” she asks. I retrieve the cash from my back pocket and put it on the table. She softens visibly and takes the chair opposite.
“Why did you run away from me? I know you heard me. You pretended you didn’t, and you ran off with your friend. What the hell, Claire?”
“Do you have something to drink?”
She shoots me a disappointed look but gets up anyway. She opens the freezer and pulls out an unopened bottle of vodka.
“I didn’t know you liked vodka?”
She drops ice cubes into two tumblers, fills them up and sets them on the table in front of us. “I don’t. I’m making an exception. I got it for you. For when you came back.”
I say nothing for a moment, waiting for the punchline. She doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sip, watching me over the rim of her glass while I knock back a swig of my own.
“I’m not an influencer,” I say, biting my bottom lip. I expect her to laugh, slap the table with the palm of her hand and yell out, No shit! Instead a faint blush grows in her cheeks. She shrugs one shoulder. “I thought some things didn’t add up.”
Some things? I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her. I want to bore into her eyes and tell her, April, honey, you need to be more discerning about who you trust. If it sounds completely implausible, it probably is.
“I’m in trouble, April.”
I tell her everything. I tell her about my parents, about where I grew up, about Hannah Wilson coming and ruining our lives. I’ve never spoken about this to anyone, ever, and it’s hard. It gives me a touch of vertigo, although that could be the alcohol. It makes it hard to breathe, but it’s strangely cathartic, not unlike throwing up.
I tell her about the day of the job interview and how I found Hannah again. I don’t tell her about all the stalking I did. But I do tell her I’ve managed to get hired as her housekeeper, and Hannah thinks my name is Louise Martin.
“A housekeeper?” she asks, eyes opened wide, as if that’s the most shocking detail of my story. She shakes her head, cups her hand around her tumbler. “I don’t understand. What are you trying to achieve by working there? Do you want to hurt her?”
“No! Of course not!” Don’t I? “I mean, she is a sick woman, April. She’s on the evil side of the spectrum, trust me.” I laugh dryly. “And if I happen to cause her unhappiness, then sure, all the better. But I’m not going to hurt her deliberately! Physically? No!”
“Okay.”
I twirl my glass between my fingers, feel the corners of my mouth turn down. “I want her to tell the truth. Is that too much to ask?”
“But how?”
“What she did to us, to me, I wanted her to experience it. To live with it, like I did.” I lean forward. “I wanted to seduce her husband, have sex with him. I was going to video it on my phone, make it sound like he made me do it. I wanted to see her face when she learns that her husband is a sexual deviant who has been forcing himself on her housekeeper.”
I sit back. It’s strange to have said it out loud. To feel the shape of the words on my tongue.
“Is it true? He did that to you?” she asks.
“No, obviously. Jesus, April, pay attention.”
She tops off my glass. “Fine. So it’s a lie. You don’t think that’s going to hurt her? Or him?”
“That’s not the point! I wasn’t going to do anything with that video, I just wanted her to believe it. It was my leverage, you see? If it came out that her husband has been assaulting their young housekeeper every night, he’ll be done. He’ll lose his partnership for sure. They won’t be able to show their faces anywhere. All that money, it will be for nothing. Do you think Hannah Wilson would put up with that? Of course not. She’d want me to name my price. You watch.”
She pauses, absorbing it all. “And your price is?”
“I told you. Tell the truth. She admits that everything she said about my father was a lie, and she did it to blackmail him.”
“I see.”
“And I want it on video.”
“Do you think she’d agree? It seems unlikely to me.”
I think about this for a moment. “I could go easy on her. I could give her an opportunity to justify her actions and let herself off the hook. In her version of the story, she implied her parents pushed her to do it, her father especially. He’s a gambler—and not a good one, apparently. She could make a statement and say it was her father’s idea, and that he pushed her to do this. Trust me, anyone who knows the guy will believe it. He’s one greedy prick. Even now, he wants money from Harvey because the guy had the misfortune to marry his daughter. You should hear him, berating her on the phone because she’s not paying up fast enough. So that would be my compromise. She can blame her past deeds on her naivety and a misguided obedience toward her father. As long as she admits it was all a setup.”
“And in exchange?”
I shrug. “Her husband remains the upstanding citizen that we know and love.”
“I don’t know, Claire. Sounds pretty crazy to me. I think maybe you’re in over your head there. I think you should give it up, just quit. Come back here and forget about the whole thing.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Not now.”
“Sure you can. It’s not too late. Just tell her you got a better job, whatever. Get your things and—”
“I can’t. She knows exactly who I am. And she’s framing me, April.”
I tell her about the diary and the lies she’s been writing about me. “It’s
more than lies, it’s like she’s fucking with my head! Because the things she writes about in her journal happened, but she twists it around. Like this business about Mia’s food, and going to the grocery store together, that’s the day you saw me. It did happen, but it wasn’t my idea! Why would she say it was? It makes no sense whatsoever! And the story that I was in the nursery spying on her or whatever. It’s a complete lie! When she says I make her cups of tea that make her tired? I have no idea what she’s talking about! And then she writes that I’m obsessed with Mia, and she’s afraid of leaving her alone with me? She’s afraid of what I might do? It’s a lie! She’s always shoving Mia into my arms. She’s constantly saying she can’t cope, but I’m so good with Mia. Nothing has changed.”
“So why would she write those things about you? Have you given her any reason to worry?” From the look on her face, April is considering that I might be the one who’s lying. I can hardly blame her.
“No. Of course not. You have to believe me, please. I have no one else to turn to.”
She’s silent for a moment. “I want to, I really do. But you said it yourself, Claire, you lie all the time. You’ve lied to me the entire time I’ve known you. Why should I believe you now?”
“I know, and you’re right, but everything I’ve told you just now, it’s the truth. I give you my word.” She gives me a look as if to say, what’s that worth exactly?
“You said she’s trying to frame you. For what?”
A wave of despair comes over me. I open my mouth, but I’m scared of saying the words—in case they’re true, in case I make it real.
“I don’t know, but I think she’s going to hurt her baby,” I whisper.
She gasps. Sits back. This is too much now—she’s going to tell me to go, she can’t help me, she won’t want to get involved in this fucked-up scenario, with her fucked-up roommate and her fucked-up history. But her face grows serious and she tops off our glasses.
“Did she say that? In her diary?”
“No, but that’s the point, you see? She keeps saying I might hurt Mia. That she’s worried about me being around her baby. But when Hannah and I are together, she’s the opposite. She wants me to take care of Mia. She keeps telling me what a great job I’m doing and how helpful it is to her. She finds it hard. She’s tired all the time. Maybe she’s incredibly depressed. Maybe she only got knocked up to get Harvey. Either way, I don’t think she wants her child anymore. And she’s figured out who I really am, but she’s not telling anyone about that. Instead she’s writing down these lies about Louise”—I make air quotes around Louise—“and her behavior towards Mia. Maybe she’s telling Harvey that’s she thinks ‘Louise’ is obsessed with Mia. Then one day, Mia will disappear, or something terrible will happen to her, and Hannah will point the finger at me, and everyone will find out that I’m not Louise Martin after all, I’m psycho Claire who hates Hannah’s guts! And Hannah will get away with it!”
I drop my face in my hands.
“You really believe that?” April asks after a long silence.
“I don’t know,” I say between my fingers. “I don’t know what to think, but whatever she’s trying to do, she’s got me in her sights. She’s setting me up for something, I’m sure of it.”
After a while, she says. “Someone called me asking questions about you.”
I snap my head up. “Who?”
“I don’t know, but it was a woman. She said she was from the Department of Health and this was their annual survey. She asked me a bunch of innocuous questions, like my full name and address—”
I close my eyes briefly. I can just imagine April answering questions truthfully, as thoroughly as she possibly can. I brace myself for the rest.
“—and how many adults live here. I said two, since technically you still live here. She asked for your full name, then she asked for your occupation—”
“You didn’t say I was an influencer, did you?” I blurt out.
“No! I said you worked in a doctor’s office. She asked how much time you spend here; I said you live here, but right now you’re staying with your cousin in Pittsfield.” She shoots me a look.
I look at my hands, pick at the skin around my nails. “Sorry.”
“Whatever. She wanted to know how long you’d been gone, what your phone number was, your Social Security number—as if I’d know that! But at that point I said, is Claire sick? Because her cousin has pneumonia, and they’re from the Department of Health, so maybe it’s more than just pneumonia—maybe it’s a terrible infectious disease, like Ebola or something, and they’re trying to isolate it. Maybe you’re in quarantine.”
I cock my head at her. “Really? You thought that?”
She waves a hand in front of her face. “Anyway, she didn’t reply. I mean, she didn’t say whether you were sick or not. But then she asked what you look like.”
“How long ago was this?”
“I don’t know, a week I think, maybe more like ten days. It just didn’t sound right. I said to her, what do you care what my roommate looks like? Are you sure you’re from the Department of Health? But she hung up on me. So weird. I Googled it, and it turns out that the Department of Health really does do an annual survey. But they’re automated. I mean, they don’t use real people; it’s more like ‘press one for this and press two for that.’ And they don’t ask personal questions.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Hello? Are you kidding me right now? I’ve sent you so many texts, Claire! I left you messages! Either you don’t reply, you don’t text, or when you do it’s like, I’ll talk to you later. And when I call your name on the street, you pretend you don’t hear me and run away from me!”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right.”
I think back to ten days ago. This would be after Diane showed up screaming. After she mentioned the issue with my work form, and after I asked to be paid cash.
“She’s known for a while.”
“I think you should go to the police. Tell them everything you know.”
“I can’t do that. She’ll deny it. She’ll say as far as she’s concerned, my name is Louise Martin.” I scoff. “It’s me who’ll get arrested.”
“Why won’t you just leave? Go back tonight, and tomorrow get your things, leave a note that you’re not coming back?”
“Then what’s to stop her from hurting her baby tomorrow and say I did it?”
* * *
We decide that there’s nothing to be done right now, and it’s late. Almost four in the morning. But at least, no matter what happens next, April knows and that means the world to me. “You need to find proof,” she says. “Take photos of the diary. Document everything you can. Let me know of anything I can do, okay?”
I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve April.
I stay the night there, in my old room. When I leave the next morning, April hugs me and doesn’t let go. “You can always come back here. You know that.”
“Thank you,” I mumble into her hair. She still doesn’t let go, and I can safely say this is the longest hug I’ve had since I was thirteen years old.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I pull my cleaning trolley out of the elevator on the top floor. But whereas normally I’d leave it on the landing like a prop and put it away an hour later, now I look like I’ve remembered what my job is. Cleaning is what is going to get me into every corner of the house, and not just the bedrooms. Like April said, I need proof. If I could find something that shows she knows who I really am, that would be a start.
It’s good timing, too. I’m in the main living room or whatever they call it when Hannah appears in the doorway.
“Louise, when you have a moment, could you take a look along the baseboards here? Harvey noticed it needed vacuuming, and you know how he is around his art. I know you haven’t been here long, and I understand it takes a while to get settled in. There’s an awful lot to do in this place. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.�
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“Sure thing,” I say.
She blinks. “Did you have fun last night? I noticed you went out.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, then, I’ll get on with the baseboards.”
“Thanks. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, thank you.”
She nods. “Also, Harvey asked about his shirts. He says they haven’t been laundered in a while.”
“I am not superhuman, Hannah.”
She chuckles as if I’m joking, then she grows serious and cocks her head at me, one hand on her hip, the way she does. “Excuse me?”
“Maybe you could send out for the shirts, and everything else that needs to be laundered. That’s what my previous employer did. No one expected me to be the cook, the cleaner, the nanny, and the laundromat all rolled into one.”
“Your previous employer did that? Sent the laundry out?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I see. All right, we can do that. That’s no problem.”
Then I remember something April said. Just behave as normal. Don’t let her think that you know. Just concentrate on finding out what she wants from you. What she’s setting you up for.
I run my hand over my face. “I’m so sorry, I just had a bad night. My mother…”
“Oh, Louise, no! What happened?”
“She’s really upset. I was with her.” I sigh. “It’s back.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “The cancer?” she blurts out.
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry, do you want to take the rest of the day off? Take a couple days if you need to.”
I put one hand up. “No, it’s fine. Really. I need to get back to work. It’s the only thing that will distract me right now.”
The Housekeeper Page 15