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Authors: Kathleen Tessaro
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radio was on, Madonna pounded out her latest dance tune. She was chatting, laughing away on her mobile while simultaneously chopping up vegetables.
Spotting Cate, she waved. ‘Oh, sorry! Gotta go. Call you later, OK?’
Whoever it was took no notice, rambling on without a break. Mrs Williams rolled her eyes and Cate smiled sympathetically. She gestured to Cate, pointing to the coffee-maker on the counter where a fresh pot had just brewed.
‘Look, Mum, I gotta go!’
Cate took a mug down from a shelf and poured a cup.
‘I’m going to speak to you later, OK? And never mind what he says. You just wait for me before you even think about the guttering, do you understand?’ She finally managed to hang up. ‘Sorry about that! My mother,’ she explained, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’m Jo, by the way.’
‘Cate.’
Jo pumped Cate’s hand with a firm handshake.
‘The woman’s in her eighties,’ she continued, scraping the chopped vegetables into a saucepan, ‘and she still thinks she can go cleaning her own gutters! Insane! I’m telling you, she gets up before I do, goes to bed later thanI do and gets out more than I do. What am I doing wrong? Are you a vegetarian?’
‘No,’ Cate laughed, leaning against the kitchen worktop.
‘Thank Christ for that! There would’ve been bugger all to eat last night if you had been.’ Jo opened the fridge and took out a chicken wrapped in foil. ‘Thought I’d do you cold roast chicken for lunch and a chicken hotpot for dinner. I know, chicken, chicken, chicken! A bit dull but I’m trying to clean out the freezer and everything. When you lot pack up that’s the end of it. End of an era.’
Cate watched as she drizzled some oil into the saucepan and popped it on top of the Aga.
‘How long have you been working here?’ she asked.
‘I grew up on the estate. My mother was the housekeeper all her life. To be honest, I was dying to get away from here when I was younger. Used to run a bed and breakfast with my second husband over on Majorca. Crazy, really. Just swapped one beach for another. But when that marriage split up, I came back to keep an eye on Mum. And I just fell into looking after Irene as well. She was a good woman. But she used to be very funny about having new people in the house. She paid me twice the going rate just so as not to have to break a new person in. “Let’s keep it in the family, shall we?” That’s what she used to say.’
‘It’s a wonderful house.’
‘Hmm.’ She gave the saucepan a shake. The kitchen filled with the savoury smell of browning onion. ‘It hasits charms. And what about you? Are you from London?’
‘Yes. Well,’ Cate shifted, ‘yes and no … I’ve been living in New York.’
Jo’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I love the States! The people are so friendly! If I had the chance I’d move there and never look back.’
‘It has its charms,’ Cate agreed.
‘It’s more than that.’ Cate watched as she unwrapped a fresh loaf of bread from a shopping basket on the table. ‘Have a slice of toast,’ she commanded, taking down a breadboard and a knife. ‘I mean, they haven’t got all this class malarkey going on. No one’s listening to the sound of your voice, trying to figure out which drawer they should shove you into.’
Cate took a sip of coffee. ‘Hmm.’
Mrs Williams had undoubtedly been seduced by the things all English tourists were enchanted by on their two-week holidays in Florida — the ruthless chirpiness of the American service industry; bright helpful hotel staff, smiling waiters who beg you to ‘Have a nice day’ while pouring you a second cup of coffee.
‘In New York, class matters a great deal. It’s just what defines it that’s different.’
‘Really? I went to Disney World two years ago and everyone was just wonderful. I loved it!’
‘It’s a great country,’ Cate agreed, slicing a piece of bread. It was fresh and soft. She tore a bit off and popped it in her
Spotting Cate, she waved. ‘Oh, sorry! Gotta go. Call you later, OK?’
Whoever it was took no notice, rambling on without a break. Mrs Williams rolled her eyes and Cate smiled sympathetically. She gestured to Cate, pointing to the coffee-maker on the counter where a fresh pot had just brewed.
‘Look, Mum, I gotta go!’
Cate took a mug down from a shelf and poured a cup.
‘I’m going to speak to you later, OK? And never mind what he says. You just wait for me before you even think about the guttering, do you understand?’ She finally managed to hang up. ‘Sorry about that! My mother,’ she explained, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’m Jo, by the way.’
‘Cate.’
Jo pumped Cate’s hand with a firm handshake.
‘The woman’s in her eighties,’ she continued, scraping the chopped vegetables into a saucepan, ‘and she still thinks she can go cleaning her own gutters! Insane! I’m telling you, she gets up before I do, goes to bed later thanI do and gets out more than I do. What am I doing wrong? Are you a vegetarian?’
‘No,’ Cate laughed, leaning against the kitchen worktop.
‘Thank Christ for that! There would’ve been bugger all to eat last night if you had been.’ Jo opened the fridge and took out a chicken wrapped in foil. ‘Thought I’d do you cold roast chicken for lunch and a chicken hotpot for dinner. I know, chicken, chicken, chicken! A bit dull but I’m trying to clean out the freezer and everything. When you lot pack up that’s the end of it. End of an era.’
Cate watched as she drizzled some oil into the saucepan and popped it on top of the Aga.
‘How long have you been working here?’ she asked.
‘I grew up on the estate. My mother was the housekeeper all her life. To be honest, I was dying to get away from here when I was younger. Used to run a bed and breakfast with my second husband over on Majorca. Crazy, really. Just swapped one beach for another. But when that marriage split up, I came back to keep an eye on Mum. And I just fell into looking after Irene as well. She was a good woman. But she used to be very funny about having new people in the house. She paid me twice the going rate just so as not to have to break a new person in. “Let’s keep it in the family, shall we?” That’s what she used to say.’
‘It’s a wonderful house.’
‘Hmm.’ She gave the saucepan a shake. The kitchen filled with the savoury smell of browning onion. ‘It hasits charms. And what about you? Are you from London?’
‘Yes. Well,’ Cate shifted, ‘yes and no … I’ve been living in New York.’
Jo’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I love the States! The people are so friendly! If I had the chance I’d move there and never look back.’
‘It has its charms,’ Cate agreed.
‘It’s more than that.’ Cate watched as she unwrapped a fresh loaf of bread from a shopping basket on the table. ‘Have a slice of toast,’ she commanded, taking down a breadboard and a knife. ‘I mean, they haven’t got all this class malarkey going on. No one’s listening to the sound of your voice, trying to figure out which drawer they should shove you into.’
Cate took a sip of coffee. ‘Hmm.’
Mrs Williams had undoubtedly been seduced by the things all English tourists were enchanted by on their two-week holidays in Florida — the ruthless chirpiness of the American service industry; bright helpful hotel staff, smiling waiters who beg you to ‘Have a nice day’ while pouring you a second cup of coffee.
‘In New York, class matters a great deal. It’s just what defines it that’s different.’
‘Really? I went to Disney World two years ago and everyone was just wonderful. I loved it!’
‘It’s a great country,’ Cate agreed, slicing a piece of bread. It was fresh and soft. She tore a bit off and popped it in her
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