the month thanks to you having to be the Goody Two Shoes. “It was me, Miss Philips, I did the ironing.” ’
The way they looked at me, the way they imitated my voice, it was as if I were some lesser mortal. And it was so unfair. ‘That’s not how it was at all,’ I said. But they had made their minds up. They didn’t hear me. I felt my eyes tearing up. ‘She was being told off for not doing it properly. I was trying to help her.’
‘Sure you were,’ Rose said. ‘Great help running to Miss Philips to say you’d been left doing her laundry.’
‘That’s so unfair. I . . .’
‘Save it for someone who cares,’ Portia said. She turned to Rose. ‘Let’s join the back of the queue. Air’s better there.’ She swung around and her straight fair hair fanned out and danced round her shoulders.
‘Rice or potatoes,’ the cook asked me.
‘Both,’ I said.
‘It’s a choice menu, dear, so you have to pick one or t’other. The rice is good today.’
I looked at her, at her stupid red face, and then I fixed her with a princess stare. ‘I said I wanted both. You’re not a teacher. You can’t tell me what I can eat or cannot eat. Do you know how much we pay to come here?’
You wouldn’t have thought it possible but she turned even redder. ‘There’s no need to talk like that, young lady. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you can be rude, you know. Now what will it be, rice or potatoes?’
‘Neither,’ I said my voice calm and haughty. ‘You can shove your disgusting food.’
Actually, I almost liked her for thinking I was one of them .
Nine
Eliza
The doorbell rang the evening after my return from Sweden. I was sitting at the kitchen table working on a Staffordshire piece of Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf that some misguided interior designer had made into a lamp. I was at a critical point of my work. It was the turn of the Wolf’s grin to be retouched. The painter’s vision appeared to have been of a wolf who grinned sheepishly. Not my take on the story, but I had no right to interfere with the creator’s vision, so I would make sure it remained sheepish. I decided to ignore whoever it was. The bell rang a second time and for longer. Reluctantly I got to my feet and ran down the stairs. I looked through the peephole. It was Ruth. Ruth is my stepsister, my mother having married her father, Claude, the summer after I left school. Ruth, her husband Robert and their daughter Lottie, had remained safely on the other side of the world until six months ago when they had moved, rather suddenly, to London. My mother had muttered something about ‘a fresh start’, adding that her lips were sealed. She had gone on to say that it would be nice if I introduced my stepsister to some of my friends. After a pause she had added, ‘Well, to Beatrice.’
‘I have other friends.’
‘Of course you do,’ my mother had said.
‘Eliza, is that you?’ Ruth called through the door.
With a sigh I hoped she had not heard I unlocked the door. We touched cheeks. I realised I had paint on my fingers so I wiped my hands on the back of my dress.
‘Oh I’m sorry.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Should I have phoned first?’
‘No no, this is fine.’ I stood by to let her through, as it appeared there was no polite way of stopping her.
She followed me up the stairs to the little landing. Looking around her she said, ‘So this is where you live.’
‘But you’ve been here before, haven’t you?’
‘No. Never. I told Olivia I understood if you were feeling a bit embarrassed. I’ve seen pictures of that lovely mews house you and Gabriel used to live in when you were still together.’ She glanced around her at the narrow hall, which was painted in a ‘neutral’ colour like the rest of the place because the landlord had been watching too much Property Ladder . ‘This is a bit different, isn’t it?’ She turned back to me. ‘But I told Olivia, Eliza should know by now that I’m
The way they looked at me, the way they imitated my voice, it was as if I were some lesser mortal. And it was so unfair. ‘That’s not how it was at all,’ I said. But they had made their minds up. They didn’t hear me. I felt my eyes tearing up. ‘She was being told off for not doing it properly. I was trying to help her.’
‘Sure you were,’ Rose said. ‘Great help running to Miss Philips to say you’d been left doing her laundry.’
‘That’s so unfair. I . . .’
‘Save it for someone who cares,’ Portia said. She turned to Rose. ‘Let’s join the back of the queue. Air’s better there.’ She swung around and her straight fair hair fanned out and danced round her shoulders.
‘Rice or potatoes,’ the cook asked me.
‘Both,’ I said.
‘It’s a choice menu, dear, so you have to pick one or t’other. The rice is good today.’
I looked at her, at her stupid red face, and then I fixed her with a princess stare. ‘I said I wanted both. You’re not a teacher. You can’t tell me what I can eat or cannot eat. Do you know how much we pay to come here?’
You wouldn’t have thought it possible but she turned even redder. ‘There’s no need to talk like that, young lady. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you can be rude, you know. Now what will it be, rice or potatoes?’
‘Neither,’ I said my voice calm and haughty. ‘You can shove your disgusting food.’
Actually, I almost liked her for thinking I was one of them .
Nine
Eliza
The doorbell rang the evening after my return from Sweden. I was sitting at the kitchen table working on a Staffordshire piece of Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf that some misguided interior designer had made into a lamp. I was at a critical point of my work. It was the turn of the Wolf’s grin to be retouched. The painter’s vision appeared to have been of a wolf who grinned sheepishly. Not my take on the story, but I had no right to interfere with the creator’s vision, so I would make sure it remained sheepish. I decided to ignore whoever it was. The bell rang a second time and for longer. Reluctantly I got to my feet and ran down the stairs. I looked through the peephole. It was Ruth. Ruth is my stepsister, my mother having married her father, Claude, the summer after I left school. Ruth, her husband Robert and their daughter Lottie, had remained safely on the other side of the world until six months ago when they had moved, rather suddenly, to London. My mother had muttered something about ‘a fresh start’, adding that her lips were sealed. She had gone on to say that it would be nice if I introduced my stepsister to some of my friends. After a pause she had added, ‘Well, to Beatrice.’
‘I have other friends.’
‘Of course you do,’ my mother had said.
‘Eliza, is that you?’ Ruth called through the door.
With a sigh I hoped she had not heard I unlocked the door. We touched cheeks. I realised I had paint on my fingers so I wiped my hands on the back of my dress.
‘Oh I’m sorry.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Should I have phoned first?’
‘No no, this is fine.’ I stood by to let her through, as it appeared there was no polite way of stopping her.
She followed me up the stairs to the little landing. Looking around her she said, ‘So this is where you live.’
‘But you’ve been here before, haven’t you?’
‘No. Never. I told Olivia I understood if you were feeling a bit embarrassed. I’ve seen pictures of that lovely mews house you and Gabriel used to live in when you were still together.’ She glanced around her at the narrow hall, which was painted in a ‘neutral’ colour like the rest of the place because the landlord had been watching too much Property Ladder . ‘This is a bit different, isn’t it?’ She turned back to me. ‘But I told Olivia, Eliza should know by now that I’m
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