Beyond Angel Avenue

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  Her face curdles into a thousand ripples when she smiles and yet it’s charming in a way, showing her years, not the ugliness of old age.

  I carry her Zimmer frame down and wait patiently at the bottom. When she reaches me, we head for a room that looks a lot like a dressing room and in a little toilet at the back, she closes the door and does what she needs to before pushing her way back out. She sits on the end of a day bed and tells me, “I’ll wear my lilac dress today. It’s got buttons up the front and a big skirt to hide all my sins.”

  She snickers and I giggle. “What else will you need?” I ask as I search her wardrobe.

  “Tights, knickers, ooh and one of those horrid bras. I hate wearing them.”

  I lay everything out on the bed and she says, “Off you go then dear, put the kettle on.”

  “Don’t you need…?”

  She shakes her head. “Our sons think we can’t look after ourselves. We amuse them letting young ladies like you look after us. We don’t need it, but it’s pleasant.”

  Thora smiles and I ask again, “You’re sure? I mean, I won’t look.”

  She throws her head back a bit. “I’ll be fine.”

  I pull the door to and find the kitchen across the hall, where Lilah already is. She’s already got boiled eggs on the go with toast. I notice a jar of beef dripping and feel sure I’m seeing things.

  Lilah spots my face and says, “Yep, they live off this. Ninety-sodding-three eh?”

  “Makes you wonder whether life without men is longer, right?”

  She nods slowly. “Oh my goodness, yes. Now, if you just want to fill the teapot.”

  Ten minutes later, we’re taking their breakfast into the living room on trays. Lilah puts the news on and the ladies tuck in, fully dressed. I notice Thora’s collar is a bit skew-whiff on the dress so I ask, “Can I just fix your collar for you?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s been ironed strangely. It’s bent back.”

  “That’s our cleaner’s fault. Didn’t I tell you she was rubbish at ironing, Ingrid?”

  “She’s as useless with an iron as I am with a bat and ball,” replies Ingrid.

  Lilah laughs gently and we both return to the kitchen while the ladies eat in peace.

  Over a cup of tea, Lilah tells me, “Told you this would ease you in.”

  “Seems simple right now,” I say, “almost too easy. Aren’t they well for their age?”

  “Very well. Seems like they keep each other going, yes?”

  I nod enthusiastically. “Lucky to have each other really, aren’t they?”

  “Yes indeed, a lot of the people we deal with have nobody. Literally, nobody.”

  I almost tell her my father had nobody, but then the questions rising from my revelation might give me away.

  I sip my tea and tell her, “If I’m as well as them when I get to that age, I’ll think myself very lucky indeed.”

  Lilah finishes her mug and washes up before heading back to see how the ladies are getting on. I follow suit and return to the living room to see if they need me for anything.

  “Jules, can you peg the washing out? Ingrid says the cleaner put it on last night so it should be all set up to go out.”

  “Okay, where am I going?”

  “Utility room, near the back.”

  It’s a large, expansive house with big rooms including the living room they’re eating in, a huge dining room with a twelve-seat table, a big kitchen and now this utility room next to a ginormous conservatory.

  “Lovely,” I say to myself. “This is the life.”

  I snoop around the conservatory and spot knitting patterns, stacks of books and magazines. I imagine they sit here all day getting the sun and chatting, lazing their days away. I open the back door to peg the washing out and find a beautiful landscaped garden, perfect for children to run around in.

  Enjoying the sunshine, I jolt when Lilah shouts from the window, “Five minutes Jules, and we have to be off.”

  “That went quick,” I say to myself.

  I get to work pegging as fast as I can and before I know it, I’m back inside and locking the back door. I find everyone in the conservatory and Lilah’s already washed up their breakfast dishes and helped them in here.

  “Do you have children, Julianne?” Ingrid asks.

  “Three. One is my stepson.”

  “Little ones?”

  “Yes. Eight months old.”

  The ancient sisters look at one another, as if the notion of leaving your children so young is cruel. I wish to tell them my mother is gone, so is Warrick’s, and we yearn for them everyday. They would both have loved our twins so hard, would have helped out so much. Without them, we do what we can.

  “Don’t you have a good man, Julianne?”

  I shake my head. “I have the best man.”

  Lilah smiles knowingly, her arms folded. Perhaps for Ingrid and Thora, the thought of men in their lives has become alien now.

  “Doesn’t he pay your bills? Why are you wasting time with us?”

  I snigger. “Everything is a matter of opinion. Anyway, I’m not wasting my time, not at all.”

  Thora searches her purse and pulls out a £20 note. “For the children, dear. Buy them something sweet. I do regret our sons never had kids. We’ve had this big house without children for so long.”

  “I couldn’t.” I try to push her generosity away. They don’t know I’m really not poor at all, nor do I need this job, not really.

  “Please,” Ingrid pleads, “take Thora’s money. It’ll make her happy.”

  I take the money and reluctantly push it into my tunic pocket. “Don’t tell the boss!” Thora says, touching her nose.

  “See you ladies,” Lilah announces, “we’re not on lunches today, but Clare is, and we know how you like Clare.”

  “What?” scowls Thora. “I bloody hate the girl. She always gets tea leaves in our tea! I don’t know how she does it.”

  “It’s in your imagination, Ingrid,” her sister says.

  We leave them there, their squabbles echoing behind us. We jump in the car outside and Lilah warns, “Put the money in your bag. Don’t tell anyone. You know what it’s like. Some of us have been accused of stealing. Thankfully those two have a good memory still but you just never know.”

  “I don’t think I will accept next time, I didn’t want to accept today.”

  “I know how you feel,” she says.

  We drive back down the lane and I ask, “Who’s next?”

  “Oh, James. He needs his weekly bath. He’s a seventy year old sex maniac.”

  I stare, aghast, and she bursts out laughing. “I did warn you it would get worse.”

  “Oh my god, a sex maniac?!”

  “Yep, be prepared, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jules

  The next house we pull up at is a little different. We’re at a council housing tower block, one of those hideous buildings that went up in the Sixties, with pond-green walls and yellowing window frames. As the elevator lifts us to where James lives, I wince every time the car jolts, doubting whether this thing is safe. When the carriage shakes monstrously at the top floor, I cling to the sides, wondering if this is going to bottom out on us. When the doors peel open, I leap ahead of Lilah to get the hell out of the Box of Doom.

  We trudge the corridors, through litter and deflated footballs long since abandoned. There are cigarette butts everywhere and rolling piles of ash most people probably chuck straight out of their front doors.

  Lilah leads us to his door, a grotty green object matching the rest of the housing block. She knocks and he answers, dressed in not much more than his undies, slippers and a dressing gown.

  “Hey up then lass, who’s this? A new ’un?”

  There’s something familiar about him as he looks up beneath a greasy fringe. He’s bow-legged and though he’s seventy, he looks ninety. He licks his dentures as his eyes roam my figure and I ge
t the creepy crawlies like I haven’t had in years. I shudder and feel protected when Lilah warns him, “Be nice. Jules is new and I’m showing her the ropes?”

  “Be alright if I have her every morning. Perky in fact.”

  “Jules, put the kettle on while I run his bath.” Lilah cracks her knuckles and nods her head at him, her pointed chin warning him he’d better keep up otherwise he’ll be having a cold bath.

  After shutting the front door on his shabby one-room living area comprising kitchen, sitting room and tiny dining table, he chases after Lilah and in the bathroom I hear her say, “James, I warned you I was trained in taekwondo. Jules told me she’s a ballet dancer and she has muscles you wouldn’t want her to execute, believe me.”

  I didn’t tell her I was a ballet dancer… how does she know that? It evades me but then I have been up since stupid o’clock and my mind doesn’t feel all there today, it has to be said.

  I crack my knuckles like she just did and get to work finding his teabags and mugs. A tobacco tin holds what looks like some Yorkshire tea and there are ants inside it. I clean one teabag free of ants and drop it into the nearest clean-ish mug, making just one cup, nothing for us this time.

  Over the running water, I say, “Is James having breakfast?”

  “Toast love. Always get an appetite after Lilah’s given us a bath.”

  Just the way he talks makes me feel sick. What a sleaze.

  What am I going to do about this situation when I have to come here alone? I have no sodding clue. These women barely earn past minimum wage and the petrol allowance and other add-ons hardly constitute bonuses. How do they do this day in, day out?

  “James, remember to scrub behind your ears.”

  Lilah comes bolting back into the kitchen, hand over her mouth. She’s as white as a sheet and whispers, “Shit, if I had some hard liquor on me right now…”

  I swirl his teabag in the mug and ask, “What did he do?”

  The toaster pops and I leave the tea to stew a bit longer while I spread his toast with butter possibly out of date. How can people live like this?

  “He’s got a… he’s had some issues, down below. It’s left him…” she swallows hard, “…a disease has eaten it away.”

  I almost gag. The poor man. What happened to him?

  “This place is awful, Lilah.”

  She watches what I’m doing and breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you didn’t make us a brew, too.”

  I snicker, holding my belly. “I already feel nauseous.”

  “I’m scrubbing how you said!” he shouts through, not wanting to be left out.

  “Why does he need care?” I ask, wondering out loud. He seems capable of moving about and looking after himself. He lives here, so how can he afford private care?

  “He just wants a bit of company everyday, Jules. Some people, you know, they only ever know one way of living, and that’s all they know, forever.”

  I nod. She’s right. I go back to a middle class home every day but to me, it feels like a palace. My life with Warrick is a fairytale dream I hardly believe is true. My father never cleaned our house. Black mould grew in the bathroom but occasionally the council would come and clean it, maybe even redecorate. I used to almost feel happy those times we had a shiny new house, even if only for a few weeks. I suppose that’s why I did well at school – I was out of the house at any opportunity, down the library or tutoring kids living in wealthy boroughs.

  “Funny, isn’t it?” She stands with her hip pressed into the counter and smiles knowingly.

  “What is?” I finish making his breakfast and she makes for the door, ready to go fetch him out of the bath.

  “Life.”

  With that whopping revelation, I shake my head at her, smiling, and she shouts as she walks down the hall, “I’m coming for you, Jim! You’d better be ready.”

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  I hear her give him instructions, like turning so she can put a towel around him, and then she seems to dry him off with a hairdryer to save time.

  “Clean clothes on the bed for you dear,” she tells him, “hurry because Jules has your breakfast ready and you don’t want it getting stone-cold.”

  “Ooh, I’ll be quick.”

  She comes back into the living room and I watch while she swipes a cloth around the place. I wonder if I should be doing more than just standing here, watching. I don’t know.

  “It’s okay Jules,” she reads my mind, “you’re doing great.”

  James joins us, licking his lips when he sees me. I pop his breakfast on the tiny circular table in the kitchenette and watch as he sits and begins devouring what is surely a paltry meal.

  “Thanks, Jules,” he says, and the sudden familiarity of his tone catches me off guard. I somehow know that voice. It’s dark in his flat and I never really realised how dark until now. As I stare at the toast in his hands, it looks like the bread is as green and mouldy as this entire accommodation block. He continues biting into his toast anyway and I notice from the scent drifting around the place, his bath has done him the world of good and gotten rid of the body odour he had when we first walked in.

  “Cheryl will be back later to feed you your dinner, Jim, okay?” Lilah says and I begin following her as she heads for the door. This place is making me feel a bit sick and I don’t know if it’s the mildew smell or what it is, but it’s not pleasant and I want to be going. So does she.

  “Thank you girls. Have a good ’un.”

  Lilah opens the front door so we can get out and when light streams in through the front door, I see he is eating mouldy toast! What? I don’t know what’s going on?

  She shuts him inside his flat again and we’re walking away fast. I don’t know where to start with the questions. I don’t know if I’m seeing things or what is happening, so I simply ask, “What is the deal with that man? There’s something not right about his situation. I don’t know what it is.”

  I just feel sick, to the pit of my stomach. It was like death in his house. Living, death.

  I almost want to cry and I don’t know why.

  She nods as we get back in the rickety lift, which makes me feel even more sick. “Well, there’s a man who’s lived, made mistakes, done things wrong. We just do what we’re sent to do.”

  I think back to the training, to taking initiative in a situation. Why did I just feed him mouldy bread? Why did she let me? Why is he happy to eat it? It was so dark in his place, how do I know I even really gave him a cup of tea and not arsenic loaded liquid?

  At the end of another horrific ride down to ground level, I escape the calamitous lift and race for outside. On a patch of yellow grass, I heave up my guts. Whatever was inside of his house is making me ill.

  Lilah stands at my side, waiting for me to finish. After I do, I stand against a mildew-covered wall and catch my breath, wiping my mouth with a tissue from my pocket.

  She folds her arms. “He once told me he made a big mistake. He did wrong by his daughter. Lost his wife in an accident. Later in life, he found love even though he didn’t think he deserved it. It wasn’t even sexual, but he loved her… this second love. I think he’s content living like that. Don’t ask me why, but maybe he thinks he deserves it. People live in their own personal hells for a reason.”

  I wipe my eyes. I’m crying and I don’t even know why. “It’s not right.”

  “Nope. Now, are you okay to get going? We have Hilda next and she’s the least pleasant.”

  I’m sweating. I still feel sick. It can’t be that I’m pregnant again because I’m back on the pill and I’m careful to take it, plus I had my period last week and we haven’t even had sex since. My worries are running away from me when I look directly into Lilah’s green eyes and ask, “What happened to his second love?”

  “Died. Seems strange, doesn’t it? All the women in his life dying on him. Except the daughter of course… but I expect she’s long gone b’now. Good for her, eh?”

 
; “Suppose.”

  We climb back into the car and drive away. “She’ll be mad. We’ve overran because of your need to evacuate.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I swallow the bile threatening to rise back up into my throat.

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t. However Hilda may shock you. I want you to be prepared.”

  We hit a small stretch of motorway and travel for three minutes at the most. We pull off at a rather random junction that’s more like the entrance to a farm trail. Hilda must live in a remote sort of place. I never knew this trail existed.

  In stark contrast – this place is even bigger and much more grand than the twin’s house. We pull up in a courtyard, gravel crunching beneath the tyres of Lilah’s Ford Fiesta.

  It’s a country pile, fashioned by huge big blocks of limestone. I don’t know what to call it really. It’s just big and intimidating. It’s scary in fact.

  We get out of the car and Lilah collects her cleaning set from the boot. “We have a double appointment here, Jules. Prepare to be worked. Prepare to see what happens to those whose pride stands in the way of everything else.”

  Lilah presses the doorbell and it chimes away, a sing-song in a ding-dong fashion. I look to her side and notice her carrier contains all manner of cleaning products. So, what is this?

  An intercom system crackles to life and a croaky voice asks, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s us.”

  “Us? There are more than one of you?”

  “Yes, two of us today. I’m training someone up.”

  “Huh, I see, you’d better come in.”

  The huge wooden door clinks open and Lilah pushes it fully inwards. I follow her inside and she shuts the door behind us, quickly. I sense the lady of this house has some issues with security, or something.

  Hilda comes storming down the hall in a motorised wheelchair and addresses Lilah. “It’s bad enough when you go on holiday and I have to put up with other second-rate carers and now, you’re leaving and replacing yourself with this skinny strip. Hmm?”

  She skids to a halt in her chair, just inches from our feet. Hilda’s still in her nightclothes but has somehow lifted herself out of bed into her chair, all by herself if the eerie quiet of the house is anything to go by.