I nod, thinking of what to say so the conversation doesn’t lead her to question where I have just arrived from – if Mum hasn’t already told her.
“Are you coming to visit your mum?” the girl asks, looking down at the delicate watch on her wrist to check the time.
Good, it seems like she doesn’t know that I’m fresh out of jail.
“I’m sure your mum’s not home. She went out this morning with the set of printed photos of that dog; that was one cruel lady you used to live next door to,” she explains, as a black cat with half an ear rubs itself against my bare leg.
“What photos of a dog?” I ask, trying not to act too surprised.
“The ones she took, you know, when your old neighbour kicked her dog,” she replies.
I shake my head because I didn’t know of any photos. I remember the fuss Mum always made about the dog not being looked after, but I didn’t know about any photos. “What is she going to do with them?” I ask, confused.
She shrugs.
“Don’t know; she just wanted to print them to show them to the lady,” she explains halfheartedly. “Listen, sorry, I didn’t ask your name; I am sure your mum told me before, I can’t recall,” she says.
“Amy,” I say.
She clicks her fingers and says, “That’s it, now I remember your mum telling me your name. Amy, I’m Beth, It’s nice to meet you. I need to get back to painting the walls; you probably want to go and get changed, not that you don’t look nice in that dress,” she says giving me a wink.
“I can give her a call for you to let her know you are here, would you like that?” she asks
“Sure,” I nod.
Beth walks to a bench, her hips gently swaying, the paintbrush she holds brushing against her leg. She dials a number and gives me a pretty smile, I feel a familiar flop in my stomach, and I have to look away from her.
“Your mum’s not answering, are you all right to get inside her apartment?” She asks.
“Yeah, no need to worry, Mum left me a key,” I say, my heart starts to beat a little faster. The water park and a smokin’ hot neighbour, Mum definitely didn’t have anything to complain about in her life. Beth puts down the phone and walks back to the back of the room and gets back into the squatting position I found her in.
I take a few steps to stand in front of Mum’s door. The letter said that her key was under the doormat, so I lift up the rough welcome mat and peel the sticky tape with my fingernail until the key is in my hand.
I put the key into the door and push down the long handle as I turn it. The room I step into is dinky, and comprises a kitchen area and a space that is occupied by an unmade small bed and square plastic table. Drawing in my breath, I sense a tightness in my chest; this room is the same size as my jail cell was, constricting. On the bed, I put down my plastic bag and look at the object lying on Mum’s table, a new mobile phone that looks like it has recently been unboxed. I walk to the kitchen and open a tiny fridge; there is a container of sliced cheese and a loaf of white bread. I am happy to see that there aren’t any beer cans.
I scan the room to see if there is a TV, but apart from a small radio that sits on the kitchen bench, there are no electronics. Staying here is going to be boring, I think to myself. I take the bread and cheese out of the fridge and begin to assemble a sandwich. I pull open some drawers to look for a butter knife. On top of the cutlery sits a crumpled paper. I think that Mum has written me another note, but as I begin to read, I notice that this time the letter is not addressed to me. I take out the piece of paper and flatten it out on the bench, careful not to wet it on the pool of water that surrounds a glass.
Hello Carlana,
I won’t waste too much of your time on writing a long letter because you only have three hours to complete my requests. Why only three hours? You may be asking.
Do you remember me, your neighbour? The last few years I have lived in a certain environment where I had my work cut out for me. I think I have handled life well given that I have already lost too much precious time with my daughter because of you.
And because today Amy is finally coming home for us to begin a new life together, I can’t greet her empty-handed. When I return to her, it will be with the promise of a secure future, sponsored by you, because today you need to pay for the time we lost. There is a certain amount of selectivity in weighing up what I want to take from you.
I have cherry-picked my options and have come up with three alternatives for you to choose from:
Option 1 – I need a written statement from you that you will employ me to work as your assistant, ie teaching me everything you know about the wellness industry, with salary of 40k a year (see, I’m not greedy!); or
Option 2 – You have three hours to deposit one million dollars into my account.
The funds should be paid (details on the second page in this envelope) within three hours, or the photos that are enclosed with this letter will be leaked online; or
Option 3 – You can take this letter to the police if you wish. I am sure they will not look favourably on the enclosed photos. Furthermore, I do not care if I am arrested for blackmail. I pretty much don’t have anything to lose. I might lose my job at the shoe shop, but I don’t like it there, anyway.
Carlana, I am looking forward to your response; It will be wise for you not to ignore this letter.
So sincerely,
Jean Hima.
Jean, 11:45AM
“Do you have any children, Jean?” Evan asks, putting down his spoon, picking up a napkin and tapping his mouth, concentrating on the edges of his firm lips. I swallow my mouthful of tomato soup and look over at Carlana. She grips her silver spoon tighter.
“I have a daughter, Amy, she is twenty-one,” I reply. I have a flashback to Amy’s twenty-first birthday. Instead of sitting inside the visiting area, the guards had let us sit outside in the courtyard, and Amy blew out a pretend candle on her pink frosted chocolate cake. I clench my fist at thinking about how Amy had to spent her birthday, and I think this may be the right moment to introduce my proposal. It is becoming evident that Carlana has given up on helping me.
“Amy, that’s a nice name,” Evan replies half-heartedly. “Our daughter has a gorgeous name; Maia. Do you like it? Though I can’t take credit for naming her, because when I met Carlana, Maia had already turned one,” he says, reaching out to take Carlana’s hand, which she pulls away, Evan focuses his attention back towards me.
He leans back in his chair and folds his slender arms.
“Do you get jealous of people like us?”
“People like you?” I balk.
“I apologise. What I am trying to say is, would you like to learn about the way we live?” he rephrases his question.
‘No, I don’t want to live a fake life, I just want a steady income for security,’ I hear myself screaming internally, but I don’t answer, even though every part of me wants to.
Instead, I compose myself. I have to remind myself that I put myself into this situation. I didn’t come here by accident, I wasn’t dragged here, and now I am being asked these bizarre questions. I am sitting with these two people because I conjured this up, I am sitting here at this table, with this seemingly wholesome husband and wife, with a gun in my bag. And I will use it if necessary, or if I want to. So I utter what, to me, are the most sensible words that come to mind.
“I don’t mean to come across as sounding rude, but a moment ago you were telling me you don’t have time to talk to me about the possibility of me being a nanny for your daughter, and now you want to teach me how to live life?”
Evan shakes his head.
“When you came into the room, Carlana introduced you as a potential nanny. The first thought that occurred to me was that we don’t need a nanny for our child, we like to teach Maia our own values. The question is, is that what you want, to be a babysitter? How old are you, if I may ask? Forty-eight?”
“I am thirty-eight,” I reply, perplexed at his question
and his off estimate about my age.
“If Carlana trusted you enough to consider allowing you to look after our child, our only child, then I would like to offer you a job, though not as a nanny, but as a wellness consultant in training.”
“Pardon, what, why?” I stammer, not understanding what he has said. Perhaps Carlana put something in the soup, and now what I imagined and wanted to happen, actually is happening.
“As I mentioned earlier, we don’t really need a nanny. Do we, Carlana?” She shakes her head.
“We live our whole lives modestly,” he motions his hand around the room, inviting me to look at his house.
Gee, my apartment is scarcely decorated, but I don’t boast about it.
“This is the grounds for my proposal. We have been planning to employ help for Carlana’s wellness business for some time. I help her with her admin work because it’s difficult to recruit the right folks. I find that people who already have a strong interest in wellness have their own fan base established, and I can’t risk introducing them to our audience.”
My phone rings, I slide my hand in my bag, but I don’t want to answer it. I feel the shape of the gun and think it may be possible that I won’t need to use this today after all.
I look at Carlana, her eyes are lowered, she is avoiding meeting either of our gazes. The colour has returned to her strained face.
I look back at Evan. I am expecting him to tell me this is a joke. How could I even begin to think my plan would work, and that he would offer me a job?
“I am pleased you didn’t answer your phone, any devices at the table are banned, so you have passed that part of your training,” he says. He gives a loud laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone laugh so hard. Why is he laughing? OK, this is the part where he tells me his job offer is a joke. Why would I think my plan of walking into his house to extort cash, and walk out of his house with a job, would work so smoothly?
I think I should remain confident in my plan, as it appears to be working. I came here with the aspiration of being hired as an assistant, and because of Carlana’s brilliant manipulation of her husband, it looks like he is considering employing me as a wellness consultant. I need this opportunity to leave my job at the shoe shop, there is so much wrong with listening to customers talk about their feet all day, every day.
Evan interrupts the thoughts I am basking in, thoughts about my sudden career options.
“We are leaving soon for Denmark. I was awarded a contract for a position in waste management there, I am going to learn about Denmark’s long-established recycling system,” he boasts.
I shrug.
“By leaving soon, I mean less than a month from now, so after I check you reference personally with Hazel, or more precisely with her husband, we should begin your training in the next few days. Unfortunately, we can’t take you with us, but you would attend to the work here that Carlana can’t do from overseas. That will be very handy, actually.” Evan drums his fingers on the table. It is the only sound in the room.
I look over at Carlana, and she gives me a slight smile and a gentle nod, which I assume means take it, take the offer. If I go back now and tell Amy that I got myself a job as a wellness consultant, would she be happy for me? For us?
“I was also thinking that it’s time for someone to take over our social media management, but we don’t know if we are ready to let go control of that just yet,” Evan adds.
I clear my throat.
“Um, how much would the pay rate be for this position?” I say, looking Evan directly in his shrewd eye.
“Fair question. Once you have completed the training, I’ll start you on 60k. I assume that is a greater salary than can you make as a nanny?”
I recall my pitiful 25k salary at the shoe shop, and the amount I had requested in my letter and I pretend to be deliberating over his offer, strumming my own fingers on the table now.
“It’s comparable, I will consider it.” I lie about it being comparable, and about giving it consideration. I don’t take my eyes from his. I stare precisely between his eyes and I am thankful I won’t have to consider putting a bullet there after all.
“I guess you didn’t get paid too badly as a nanny, then. So, based upon the reference check I do, I look forward to your acceptance of the job offer. Now, if you could please excuse us, we do really need to get some work done,”
He turns to Carlana.
“Carlana, do you have Hazel’s number on hand? I can speak to her or Geoff now, so they can vouch for Jean’s character.”
Carlana freezes.
“No phones at the table, have you forgotten, Evan?” she rebuffs.
“Oh yes. I will contact Hazel later, then. Once we have that formality out of the way, I will send you the reading material along with a contract I will prepare, with conditions of employment. I do hope that you decide to join us. Regarding the work, a good deal of it will be via email, outlining the tasks you need to compete for us,” Evan makes it sound as if the job is mine. If it wasn’t for that one technicality of a reference, I would be securely employed.
For the last few seconds I had forgotten Carlana is still here, it’s just Evan and me completing an important deal. Apart from her occasional nodding, I don’t think she is even breathing. There is a possibility I may still have to use my gun or show her photos, because how will she arrange a bogus reference? Breathe, Carlana.
“Do you have your thoughts to add, Carlana?” Evan asks.
She shakes her head again and gets up from her chair.
“I will show Jean out,” she states.
“Jean, before you go, write your number down for me,” Evan says, getting up and unpinning a paper and pen from the notice board, because they have no loose pieces of paper just lying around the house. I scribble my number down on the paper he gives me, quickly taking note that the paper I am writing on is a note from Butter-River Public School. Information on which school their child attends could be handy, if the blackmail situation goes awry.
I tuck my chair under the table, clutching my bag full of goodies, and follow Carlana through the hallway to the front door.
“Satisfied?” she hisses. “Because that set-up could have gone extremely wrong, if I didn’t know my husband’s pragmatic nature so well,” she adds.
“You’re telling me, it could have gone wrong,” I reply.
“You came here with nothing and left with a promise of a job, you make sure no one ever sees those photos, and I will arrange that reference,” she instructs, pointing to my handbag.
“Yes, boss,” I respond, laughing, but I am the only one of the two of us that finds my humour funny. “Carlana, why didn’t you just ask Evan to employ me as an assistant, without introducing me as a nanny?” I whisper.
“Because a nanny makes you sound vulnerable, trustworthy, being someone’s old assistant does not have the same appeal,” she replies, screwing up her face as though admitting she spent time considering how to get my plan to work has left a bitter taste.
“It was a brilliant idea, Carlana but… oh yes, that small glitch. You had better make sure someone can vouch for me being a fantastic nanny. And they’d better be convincing,” I warn. Her mouth is twisted, and when I look down at her fingers, I can see they are entwined together. It seems as if she wants to reach out for the photos but is restraining herself.
She is watching me. I put my hand in my bag, brush it against the hard shape of the gun. I take out my phone and notice that the missed call earlier was from Beth. She can wait. I will be home soon, to share the good news of my new career opportunity.
“Carlana, look, I can stop the countdown timer at one hour to go. The delicious lunch you offered me made time go so fast. Was the meat in the soup cooked in a slow cooker?” I ask innocently, then add with a hiss: “If you tell your husband the truth and try to change his mind about me working for you, remember what the facts really are. I will be back here, to start from square one, presenting the photos to Evan, so don�
�t you dare screw this up for me,” I threaten.
Carlana spins around and walks back inside the house. She turns to face me, not breaking eye contact until the door has slammed shut in front of me.
What if offering me a job was just a ploy to draw me out of the house?
I form my hand into a fist and hold it up inches from the door, then drop it back at my side again.
I should not doubt the authenticity of his job offer, because Evan thought his wife trusted me enough to consider me for a position looking after their child. Coincidentally, he might have seen me as an experiment too good to refuse. He could have thought my flamboyant clothes needed calming down, and that I needed some more lessons on recycling as, during the delicious lunch, I asked him why coffee cups are so harmful to the environment. Carlana had loved it when I asked that question.
Evan could see it was possible to transform me, because my years of living in desperation had given me a special look – that ‘I will conform to anything to save myself from my miserable predicament’ expression. But most importantly, as Evan himself mentioned, I’m not a risk, to him. As far as he is aware, I am a thirty-eight-year-old nanny, not some twenty-year-old blogger, with her hopes set on internet fame. Though he should be smart enough to know that anyone without a permit isn’t a threat to their business.
For the second time today, I’ve been at the ideal place at the right time, I think. As I walk past Carlana’s car, I give the boot a gentle tap, grateful for the bravery I displayed this morning. If I hadn’t hidden in the boot when I did, I would be sitting on a park bench waiting for the confirmation of a bank transfer. I glance back at the house and expect to see a figure looking through the window, watching their newly-appointed employee walking down the street, but there is no one there. I head home, hoping to borrow Beth’s computer for my new role.
Amy, 12:10PM
When she smiles, because she has noticed that I am still wearing the dress that clings and exposes my body, her top lip lifts up, her whole gum uncovers. What have I just revealed?
The Plastic Seed Page 9