The Birthday Card

by Pauline Barclay

  Doreen snapped out of her gloomy thoughts and, with a start, glared at Jan, then gave a half-hearted giggle. ‘Blimey, just lost in my bucket list,’ she said waving a hand in front of her face to waft away the dust from Jan’s duster.

  ‘Right, well, if you want my advice, I’d keep my mind off that kind of thing it’ll only depress you,’ Jan said. ‘What you don’t dream about won’t disappoint when you don’t get it.’

  Well, that was that, Doreen thought, if all you got was depression or it helped you focus then, right now, she needed neither. ‘You’re right, Jan, though, when you think about it, I’m a bit of a saddo these days. Can you believe I was over the moon earlier at finding a birthday card that suits the old geezer living next door to me; now how sad is that?’ Tutting at her own stupidity, Doreen yanked at the vacuum cord and bending down, plugged it in. The cleaner roared into life. Instantly, Jan stamped on the on–off button and shut the noise off.

  Hands on her hips, Jan looked straight at Doreen, ‘Bloody hell, Dor, you worry me saying stuff like that. You’re in your mid-thirties, not an old biddy with nothing to make her toothless face break into a grin. Blimey, it’s a rum do you are cheered up buying a birthday card. When did you have a lobotomy?’

  With her foot hovering over the start button, Doreen stared at her work mate and this time let out a loud giggle, ‘When you say it like that, yeah I do sound a sad bugger. Gawd help me. I tell you, Jan, I’ve lost it because I felt so pleased with myself, I lashed out and bought a lottery ticket. I regret it now, as you know, I hate wasting money.’

  Shaking her head, Jan turned away and slapped her duster across a windowsill, ‘Well, Dor, you’re right,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘you have wasted your dosh this time, because I’m winning them millions this weekend, but don’t worry I’ll give you your money back,’ Jan laughed. As she spoke, she flicked her duster with such vigour that it snapped like a whip.

  Knowing the outcome for both of them buying a ticket was a waste of money, Doreen poised her foot over the start button and called, ‘I’ll be holding you to that.’ Not waiting for a response, she stamped on the button and the vacuum cleaner roared again into life.

  Pushing the brush head over the dusty floor, Doreen let her mind drift to the numbers she had chosen and wished she had been more adventurous and picked a set that would have a likely chance of winning. Too late now, she thought and, accepting her fate, she dragged on the cleaner and, picking her way through the office, she turned her attention to the cakes she would bake when she got back home. She would make a couple of Victoria sponges. Nothing fancy, but knew they would be wolfed down with greediness. Life was not a bed of roses, but it was not always a pile of poo either. Thankful it was Friday, pay day, because she would have the money to buy all that was needed. Feeling she had pulled herself out of her gloom, Doreen dragged the cleaner into one of the smaller offices as if it was like taking a reluctant dog for a walk – give me an upright any day!

  ‘Be careful, Doreen,’ a voice shouted above the noise of the vacuum. ‘It might not be Buckingham Palace, but it is my office.’ A stout man with a dark moustache and close cut back and side hair style, smartly dressed in a two piece suit stood in front of Doreen.

  Coming to a sudden halt, Doreen stared at the office manager. ‘Mr Drew. Morning,’ she said stopping the noise from the cleaner.

  ‘I need to talk to you when you’ve finished, so come back to my office before you leave,’ Mr Drew said without modulating his voice, giving no hint of what he needed to talk about. His instruction given, he left the office as silently as he had arrived.

  Doreen stood as if rooted to the spot. ‘That’s all I need right now.’ The black cloud was back hovering over her head.

  Chapter Three

  Doreen pushed a handful of dirty wipes into a rubbish bag before reaching up and placing two bottles of multi-cleaner onto a shelf. ‘One down and two to go,’ she muttered and shrugged into her jacket.

  Her mood had gone downhill after Mr Drew had summoned her to see him before she left. She had enough on her plate with three cleans a day without this, she grumbled under her breath. She grabbed her bag and slipped the strap over her shoulder and wondered, yet again, what on earth she carried around as it weighed a ton. ‘Blimey,’ she sniffed tucking her bag under her arm to take the strain from the strap that was close to snapping.

  ‘Fancy a cuppa before your next clean?’ Jan asked, startling Doreen from her reverie. Standing in the door way, ready to leave, Jan held an unlit cigarette dangling between her fingers. Her face was a picture of concern.

  Doreen shook her head, ‘No, though I wouldn’t mind having a fag,’ she said not missing the cigarette Jan was holding, ‘but I can’t this morning, I’m gonna be late as it is to Harvey’s because his nibs wants to see me.’

  ‘What! Drew?’ Jan asked. ‘What would he want; you ain’t done nothing wrong?’

  ‘Who knows, and no, I ain’t done nothing wrong, but does that matter,’ Doreen said stepping forward.

  Jan pushed the cigarette between her lips then pulled it out again. Smoking was strictly forbidden in the office. ‘So that’s why the long face and you trying to remove the cheap coating off the office furniture, you were dusting so hard,’ Jan said.

  Doreen stared at Jan, ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ she repeated. ‘It makes me sick cos their kind,’ as she spoke she pointed her finger towards the smaller offices, ‘the bosses, that is, can do and say what they like. God knows we’ve all got enough to get on with without this.’ With her agitation building, Doreen pulled up the zip on her jacket with unnecessary force, almost nicking her chin as the zip flew skywards. ‘I’ve no idea what he wants, but, I can tell you, my guts feel like they’re in knots, and the last thing I need is to lose my job.’ Doreen grimaced with concern. ‘As he asked to see you?’ she asked, but was sure she knew the answer.

  Jan shook her head, ‘No, but that don’t mean nothing. Look, Dor, don’t worry, there’s no way he can sack you. For a start, we don’t work for him, we work for Reeds. That’s who pays our wages.’

  Reeds was a local company that provided cleaning services to several businesses in the town; Grays was just one of Reeds’ clients and Drew was the manager responsible for organising and overseeing the cleaning contract for Grays. Doreen cleaned for three of Reeds’ clients and she had never had a complaint about her work. OK, she had off days, but who didn’t? If she was guilty of anything that morning, it was dragging the vacuum cleaner around as if it was a recalcitrant dog not wanting to move, but that was no crime.

  ‘You’ve got rights and all that,’ Jan continued and, with an outstretched arm, she placed her hand on Doreen’s shoulder, ‘and I’m here to stick up for you, so don’t let the bugger intimidate you. OK?’ Squeezing Doreen’s shoulder, Jan added, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be alright and if not, they’ll have me to answer to.’ Removing her hand from Doreen’s shoulder, Jan pushed her sleeve up and checked her watch. ‘Sorry, Dor, but I’ve got to get going,’ Jan added and headed to the door. ‘Right, I’m out of this slave cave. You have a good weekend, girl, and keep your pecker up. It’s Friday, after all, and I’ll see you Monday. And don’t go forgetting I’ll be having that lottery ticket money to hand over,’ Jan said, letting out a dirty laugh.

  Doreen watched as Jan hurried out the rear door and into the cool morning air, her loud laugh ringing out as the door slammed shut. ‘Will do,’ Doreen called out, her words lost in the banging of the door. Hearing the retreating footsteps of her work mate, Doreen was starkly aware both of them had more chance of bumping into Lord Lucan than winning a few quid on the lottery. From nowhere a giggle escaped through her lips. ‘Come on, gal, let’s get it over with and you’re big and ugly enough to deal with the likes of Mark Drew,’ she said pushing her shoulders back and hoping the expression on her face was more positive than worried. Reaching over a low table, she flicked off the light then set off to Mark Drew’s office.

  Hurrying al
ong the corridor, Doreen did not fail to notice the steady stream of office staff sauntering in and chirpily calling out Good morning to each other. What a life they had starting work at nine o’clock, she thought. She had already done two hours cleaning whilst they had laid tucked up under their snuggly duvets.

  ‘Morning, Doreen,’ a middle aged, grey haired man called out to her. Taken aback at someone talking to her, Doreen stared at the man, saw him smiling and called back, ‘Morning.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ the man called back, ‘we’re about to start and you’re finished for the day.’

  ‘Bleedin’ hell they knew nothing,’ she snorted under her breath at his audacity. ‘Someone has to have the luck,’ she said aloud, sarcastically, and thought what a plonker. Contrary to what this lot thought, her day was a full one with two more cleans to do.

  She ignored further mutterings as the shuffling of swivel chairs scraped across the laminate floor and a chorus of sounds filled the air as computers came to life. From the corner of her eye she noted the time on the wall clock. ‘Hell’s bells,’ she cursed under her breath. The last thing she needed was to be late for her next job. Unlike this lot, there was no cosy desk waiting for her, just a pile of muck that needed dealing with. What a way to end the week, she sighed. With her heart racing at what awaited her, Doreen stood outside Mr Drew’s office. Adjusting the strap on her bag, she knocked lightly.

  ‘Come in,’ the baritone voice of Mark Drew called.

  Doreen took a deep breath, ‘Here we go, gal,’ she muttered then pushed the door open.

  Mark Drew’s office overlooked a concrete yard filled with wheelie bins. Its furnishings were sparse; a standard size desk, a high-backed chair, a metal filing cabinet and a black plastic chair, positioned in front of the desk, for a visitor. Doreen knew every inch of the poky office having cleaned it enough times. Cleaning it was one thing, standing here like a naughty school girl in the Headmaster’s office was another!

  Peering over his glasses, Mark smiled at Doreen, ‘Thank you for coming, I appreciate it.’

  I’m sure you do, Doreen thought and wished she had the bottle to remind him she had work to go to. Instead, she fiddled with her zip and watched as he clasped his hands together as if in prayer.

  ‘I know you are in a hurry, but I wanted to have a word with you.’

  ‘Right, but I ain’t got much time,’ she blurted out in frustration. ‘Sorry, but I need to be over at Harvey’s. I clean there after here.’ Blimey what had got into her?

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t keep you,’ Mark said, getting to his feet and leaning over his paper-strewn desk, he pointed to the black plastic chair, ‘Please sit down,’ he said.

  Doreen perched on the edge of the chair.

  ‘I’m not going to bite,’ Mark said settling into his swivel chair with faux black leather-covered arms.

  Worrying about being late, Doreen hugged her bag as if for support.

  ‘Now, what I’ve got to say may come as a surprise, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on you these last few weeks.’

  Was he having a laugh, she thought, being called to his office was a big enough surprise, what else had he up his sleeve? ‘What!’ she suddenly cried out, the word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  Mark’s eyebrows rose into arches above his brown eyes. Then, as if taking in the set of Doreen’s face, he chuckled. ‘Sorry I’ve alarmed you. When I say I’ve been watching you it is because I need someone I can trust and who will do a good job for us in my house.’

  Doreen stared over the desk straight into Mark’s face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mark raised his hand to stop her.

  ‘I mean, we need someone who can come in and do a few jobs for us. Bit of cleaning and help with loading the washing machine or emptying it, the same with the tumble dryer. In other words, a little help with everything.’

  Doreen listened and was taken aback at what she heard. Did he realise it was Doreen Wilkinson he was talking to, the same Doreen Wilkinson who cleaned his offices?

  ‘You don’t look too sure about what I’ve said,’ Mark said pushing papers to one side before resting his elbows on the desk top and steepling his fingers.

  She had steeled herself for the sack and nothing in her imagination had prepared her for something that could be positive. Gathering herself, she began to explain. ‘No it’s not that, I wasn’t expecting this. I’ll be honest, I thought you were going to have me fired.’

  It was Mark’s turn to look perplexed. ‘Good Heaven’s, no.’ He lifted his elbows off the desk and placed the palms of his hands down. ‘I’m sorry if my asking you to come to my office made you think that, but it could not be the furthest thought from my mind. We really do need help in our home. I’ll be honest, my wife is against getting someone in, but I have assured her I know of someone who would do a good job and I believe to be totally trustworthy.’

  Doreen stared at Mark. She could not remember anyone saying such nice things about her. If she wasn’t sitting in this office, she would be pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t asleep.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said almost in a whisper as she tried to take it all in. And as wonderful as it was to be asked to do more work, in reality she had no idea how she would fit in another job.

  As if reading her mind, Mark continued. ‘I am aware you have more than this job to do. I’ve done my homework too,’ he smiled as he spoke. ‘What we are looking for is an hour or two if possible Monday to Friday and also three hours on Saturday morning.’

  Doreen listened. She could do with the extra money. ‘You say Monday to Friday, but when?’

  ‘Afternoons.’

  ‘Right, I should be able to do something if it can be after three o’clock. I don’t have a car, but as long as I can get the bus, all should be fine.’

  Mark rested his hands on the arms of his chair and leaned back. ‘My wife has cancer and is very ill. Don’t worry, we are fighters and we will never give in, but we have two children; two boys, eight and ten. As much as I want to be there all the time, I need to work,’ he said, ‘and I can’t be in two places at the same time and, even if I could, I need to earn money.’

  For the first time since she has entered the office that morning, Doreen could see her hardship was nothing compared to what Mr Drew and his family were facing. She was about to say how sorry she was when Mark carried on.

  ‘The idea is you would come to the house and do a few small jobs in the week. As I said, things like helping get the washing done, help with the kids’ teas and then on Saturday give the house a once over. I know it sounds a lot, but would you consider it?’ Mark asked, a pleading note in his voice evident. ‘We live in Beccles Close on the Sundown estate.’

  Doreen didn’t need to consider working for the Drew family, she would do it; the extra money would make a difference to her and Trisha’s life. The Sundown estate was on the bus route, not far from the last place she cleaned during the week. In fact, if the weather was half decent, she could walk there and get the bus back home. Pleased at her fast thinking, she spoke. ‘I can get the bus from my last clean and also, from where I live, the ride should take no more than twenty minutes,’ she said not wanting to offer her address. It was not the sort of place you bragged about.

  ‘Then it sounds like we have a deal,’ Mark said smiling and getting to his feet.

  ‘I think we do,’ she said standing. ‘When did you have in mind for me to start?’

  ‘I know this is short notice, but could you come tomorrow morning and meet the family; my wife and boys? Oh yes, we’ll cover your bus fares too.’

  Doreen hadn’t expected that, though she had nothing planned and could think of no reason not to agree. ‘Yes, I can do that,’ she said, anxiety building at the thought of being late to get to Harvey’s. Unable to contain her worry, ‘Sorry, but I really must go or I’ll end up getting the sack if I’m late. Give me your address and the time you want me there and I’ll be standing on your step ringing your doo
rbell,’ she said and turned towards the door. ‘Sorry, but I really have to go.’

  Swiftly moving round his desk, Mark almost collided with Doreen as she reached the door. ‘Look, I’ve kept you and I’ll be to blame if you are late, so please let me take you to your next job.’ As he spoke, Mark reached over to his desk and grabbed his car keys. ‘I can then explain how to get to our house and the time.’

  Doreen accepted gratefully. She had no choice if she didn’t want to be late. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  Chapter Four

  Thanks to Mark Drew driving her the three miles to her next clean, Doreen arrived, by the skin of her teeth, on time. Bolstered at the thought of being able to earn extra money, she walked with a jaunty step to the entrance of the warehouse. With a smile filling her face, she stepped through the open door. The smile slipped from her face as she came to an abrupt halt. Aghast, Doreen took in the scene that met her and she was not sure whether to laugh or cry.

  The normally well organised warehouse now resembled a winter scene. White powder covered every surface and item in sight; the floor, shelves, boxes and the large, scruffy, order desk. The powder hung in the air like a fine mist.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she cried as Simon Gilder glided towards her, appearing more like a snowman than the foreman of the warehouse. Doreen sucked in her cheeks in an attempt to stifle a giggle that was rising in her throat.

  ‘It’s no good standing there looking gormless,’ barked Simon, his words snapping in staccato. ‘We need you in here to help sort out this bloody mess.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Doreen cried, rooted to the spot and let out a loud giggle.

  ‘You might well bloody laugh,’ Simon shouted as if the white powder had rendered everyone deaf. Raising his arms in the air, creating a further dust storm, he turned and marched across to the other side of the warehouse. With rapid steps, Doreen followed the trail of white foot prints.