Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Monday

Monday morning came with a cacophony of birdsong at around six o'clock. A combination of cockerel's crowing and doves cooing and heaven-knows-what else had forced Hilary awake. Never mind. She wasn't planning on sleeping much after John arrived. Have slept awkwardly, her neck needed patient massage before it would allow her to stand up straight. After dressing in Sunday's clothes she made her way downstairs. In the cold light of day she saw that the house was not quite as Ooma had described. Her words had been "rustic and olde worlde". What this translated to in practice was "a tip." Paint peeled from the walls, moisture stained the ceilings, light fittings hung from the walls by their wires. And they were sending their daughter here? Hilary decided to put off screaming until she had unpacked the car.
Dragging her suitcases into the hall, Hilary wondered if she would have enough time to get the house the way she wanted it to be, the way she had imagined it, before John arrived. She had two days, but experience had taught her that time flew when she had a deadline. She went back to the car and lifted out the cardboard box that contained her groceries. An oily residue on the inside of the boot reminded her that she had bought perishable goods the day before. The milk and steaks might be fine, but the butter had probably had it. Setting the box down on the corner of the kitchen table, she felt the vertigo of a woman behind in her schedule. Most of the food looked fine and she put it away in the refrigerator, leaning behind to switch it on. The machine made unfamiliar gurgling noises as its pumps and valves restarted. As she had feared, the butter had become a soft puddle in the bottom of the groceries. She also binned the cheese, which looked a bit sweaty. Being in the kitchen she decided to start the cleaning there. Donning a pair of yellow washing up gloves, Hilary opened a packet of scourers and soaked one with cleaning fluid. She started to scrub.
An hour later and the kitchen looked a lot better. Whilst it wasn't gleaming, you could at least see every surface and there were no more coffee rings or grease stains on the counter. She snapped off her rubber gloves and took up a chamois and some furniture polish. The dining room was already quite tidy and a once-over made all of the woodwork shine like new. She had a quick look through the cupboards, finding plates and cutlery. That was a relief - she didn't want to live on finger food for the rest of her stay. Putting down her chamois, Hilary looked to see what else was there. Under the stairs, amidst a pile of old newspapers and mouldy coats, she found an old vacuum cleaner and a feather duster that had begun to mault. The vacuum was one of those with a face on it. Its expression made Hilary distrustful. She took it into the kitchen, banging its face into a chair and knocking it over. She opened its plastic skull and found that its brains had been removed, in so far as there was no bag, just a lot of loose dust. Another thing to add to the shopping list. Hilary decided to get some fresh air.
Hilary took a long hard look at the garden and abandoned her plans for an al fresco dinner. Straw-like strands of yellow grass covered most of the lawn and scratched her feet through the holes in her sandals. The rest of the lawn looked like some sort of moss. In the middle, surrounded by potted plants and swamped by ivy, was an old statue. It looked like a redundant Greek goddess with one guano-covered arm raised towards heaven. Picking her way around the back she found that there had once been a pond behind the house, in view of the kitchen. A thick ring of scum around the brickwork and concrete showed how much the water had been reduced by evaporation.

* * *

Jack was the only pupil left at the school after term had finished. All of the others had somewhere to go, but he had to wait a couple of days until his aunt got to the house where he would be staying. The school felt eerily quiet without the usual screams and taunts of four hundred under-stimulated children. It seemed to Jack like a theatre between performances, or an empty sports ground.
His form tutor found him sitting in the library.
'The taxi's here, Jack. Have you got all of your bags packed?'
'Yes.'
'Okay. Let's go then.'
As the taxi pulled away, the tutor waved to Jack who merely pressed his small hand to the window.

* * *

Looking at the road map in the light of day, Hilary could easily see the route that she had taken. The house was not, as it had seemed late at night, so far from the nearest village. Only a couple of miles, at the most. Those miles had been populated with sharp turns and potholes. She was relieved to have got her car through in one piece. Ooma's directions had been vague, of course, but no sense in worrying about that now. Hilary realised that she was dotting the map with dirt and went to take a shower.
At first the house's plumbing refused to cooperate and she had to open, analyse and finally kick the boiler to make it work. She drew the shower curtain around her and let her mind drift in the steam. As Hilary stepped out of the puddling shower she noticed the mildew. It seemed to coat everything with a six o'clock shadow of fungal blackness. One more thing for the shopping list. Hilary gave her towel a cautionary flick and wrapped it around herself. She would dry off in the bedroom.

* * *

The throb of the engine had put Jack to sleep but he was woken by the strong, regional voice of the taxi driver.
'I said we're nearly there now.'
Jack sat up but didn't reply.
'I do a lot of these runs. Kids from your school. Amazing. All that money and parents don't have the time to drive their kids. I expect you'll be glad to see them when we arrive.'
'My parents are on holiday.'
'Who's looking after you then?'
'Aunt Hilary.'
Miles of fields passed by outside the car windows.
'Sometimes I envy you kids. Sometimes I don't.'

* * *

Hilary was putting her rubber gloves back on when she heard a car horn outside. She pulled the gloves off and dropped them on the hall stand on her way to the door. A grey-haired man was pulling bags out of the boot. He looked up.
'Expecting a Jack Peterson?'
'Jackie.'
Hilary went over to the car and opened the rear door. Jack slowly stepped out and straightened his tunic.
'Give your Aunty Hilary a hug.'
'I'll be off then,' said the driver.
'What do we owe you?'
'It all settled with the school. Take care Jack. Hope you have a nice time.'
The taxi did a three-point turn and headed off.
'Let's get your bags inside, hey?'
Jack let his aunt pick up his bags and lead him indoors. The house was quite big, with high ceilings, but smelt strange, like the school changing rooms at the start of term. His bags were left in the hall and Hilary put the kettle on for tea.
'I'm afraid we've got lots of cleaning to do before John gets here.'
'Who's John?'
'He's a friend of mine who'll be arriving on Wednesday and I want to get the house looking neat and tidy before he gets here.'
'Okay.'
After finishing their tea, Hilary and Jack put on rubber gloves and started cleaning out the space under the stairs. They bagged up the clothes and newspapers and left them outside the kitchen door.
'It stills smells funny under there,' said Jack.
'Then you'll just have to sleep in one of the rooms upstairs,' Hilary replied, tousling Jack's hair.
'Okay,' said Jack.


* * *

They stuck at the cleaning until Jack complained that he was hungry. Hilary agreed. She made bacon sandwiches for lunch and served them with a tossed salad. If Jackie didn't like the food she showed no signs of objecting.
'Did your school give you any work to do over the holidays?'
'Yes. I have a project to do on science.'
'What's that about?'
'We have to find something to write about.'
'Do you know what you're going to write about?'
'I don't know yet. Maybe plants.'
'That sounds very interesting.'
'Do you know about plants, Aunty Hilary?'
'Not much, I'm afraid. What sort of things do you want to know?'
'I'm not sure. How they grow. What flowers do.'
Hilary felt a couple of decades float away from her and suddenly she was a small schoolgirl caught out by the teacher.
'I'm afraid I don't know much about that sort of thing. Botany was never my strong point.'
They left it at that and continued to munch on in silence. Once lunch was over, they took up their sponges and once more resumed the operation of making the house presentable.

* * *

'What's this?'
Hilary looked to where Jackie was pointing. She had lifted a rug in the corner of the kitchen and was pointing at a trapdoor. Hilary left the sink and went to look.
'Well... that rug will have to go. It's filthy.'
'No. Under it.'
'There must be a cellar underneath the floor.'
Hilary lifted up the trapdoor and peered down. There were steps leading down, but the rest was lost to the darkness.
'Can I have a look?'
'It might be dangerous.'
'I'll be careful.'
'Okay. But take the torch. And be please careful.'
'I will.'
Jack switched on the torch and lowered himself onto the wooden steps. Carefully, he made his way down, shining the torch all around him. Suddenly, when he got to the bottom, a striplight came on over his head.
'I've found the light for you,' his aunt shouted through the hatch.
Jack squinted around and saw that the cellar was only a narrow room – smaller than the kitchen. Around the walls were shelves covered in dusty bottles. It was an ordinary wine cellar and not the dungeon-cum-grotto that he had hoped for. He prodded piles of rags and papers with his foot but nothing of interest fell out. Under one of the shelves was a large metal box that scratched his hand as he levered the lid open. It was an old tool box and, inside, what wasn't covered with grease was covered in rust. He picked out an old bottle and tipped it up to read the label. White and brown goo flowed out and onto the floor, covering Jack's shoes. When he saw what he had done, he decided that he had had enough of cellars for the day.
'Aunty Hilary?'

* * *

Hilary had wondered what the matter was when Jackie hurried out of the cellar, but a pointed finger led her to the cause of the alarm. As a child who had grown up in a very practical family, Hilary was not shocked by the sight of a pair of paint-stained shoes, but it was obviously a cause of great distress to Jackie.
'I can't wear shoes covered in paint, I can't'
'Don't worry about it.'
'But I can't...'
'We can always get you some more tomorrow.'
Hilary had hunted around for some white spirit but had ended up giving the offended shoe a wipe over with some rags from under the sink. Eventually, Jackie calmed down and they were able to get some cleaning done. Between them, they made quite a good team. Jackie went along with the duster and scooped up all the cobwebs and bits of detritus that clung to the walls and Hilary followed behind, scrubbing with a wet sponge. By the middle of the afternoon, they had got most of the house looking presentable. At least good enough for jazz, as Hilary's ex- would have said.

* * *

The rest of the day was a drudgery of domestic gentrification. Hilary and Jack sponged and dusted and disinfected the bulk of the house, saying little to each other as they worked. Hilary was a woman consumed with her task. Jack was used to the lack of conversation and did his best to keep up. By supper time they were both exhausted and Hilary fixed a simple pasta dish for dinner. They ate mostly in silence, with the odd exchange of information about Jack's school. At nine o'clock Jack went to bed at his own behest and left Hilary alone in the sitting room.

* * *

Hilary switched on the light in the kitchen, which flickered angrily before complying and filling the room with warm light. Her muscles ached in places long unused. Compared to what she had done today, the washing up would be light relief. She filled the kettle and set it going. Passing her hand under the hot water tap, Hilary was at peace. Few people look forward to washing up, yet Hilary found it the most relaxing of all the household chores. Dusting meant ungainly stretching; gardening was hard on her knees and proved ultimately thankless. But to submerge her hands in warm water and wipe away the day's mess always left her feeling supremely relaxed and clear-headed.
Her hair fell forward as she got stuck into scrubbing the frying pan.
'Jackie is such a sweet child,' she thought as she picked a stray sliver of onion from the spatula. 'Hardly like her mother at all.'
At home, Ooma had always been the focus of their parents' attention and it had left her self-absorbed and vain. Jackie seemed the total opposite: so interested in the world and always asking questions. Hilary's latent parenting instincts made her wish that she had been able to answer more of them. She was not stupid, by any stretch of the imagination, but her work left her with little time for current affairs. She had not read anything about science since school and felt at a disadvantage for not having done so.
Hilary had always been the responsible one, excelling at school, whilst Ooma had gone off the rails at fifteen and hit rock bottom at eighteen when she was thrown out of school and into prison on a drink-driving charge. But no sooner had the lucky bitch been paroled than she was shacked up with a millionaire and being first rehabilitated and then introduced into society. Now, in the eyes of the world, she was a paragon of modern womanhood, if somewhat gaunt. Those intervening years had left Hilary financially secure, but divorced, childless, overweight and wondering where her next orgasm would come from. Being called “aunty” didn't help. Sexy young go-getters don't get called “aunty.”
A noise outside the window made her look up again. The night was dark and she could barely see the trees in the garden. Her reflection in the glass looked back at her. All of a sudden, her reflection was joined in the window by a pair of malevolent yellow eyes. The surprise made Hilary lose her balance and fall back, heavily, against the kitchen table. In an instant of blind fury, she hurled her dishcloth, which slapped noisily against at the window. The black cat turned and vanished into the night.
Hilary pulled herself upright and, holding her bruised hip, limped upstairs to bed.


* * *