Page 14 of Gold Digger
I couldn’t really blame them for being surprised. I was wearing a pair of yellow washing-up gloves and holding a bottle of bleach. I think that may have been the first time I’d ever worn washing-up gloves. And it’s unlikely that my sisters or my niece had ever donned a pair either.
“Are youcleaning?” Claire seemed more shocked than when she’d seen me in a pair of ill-advised sarong trousers a few years ago in Goa.
“This is aberrant behaviour for you,” Vicky put in. I smiled before kissing Claire on the cheek and giving Vicky a firm, brief hug. Vicky didn’t mind physical contact from me as long as there were no light touches involved. Firm hugs were much preferred to cheek kisses.
My niece, however, had no qualms about physical contact in any form. She jumped up into my arms and threw her skinnyarms around my neck for a hug, whispering in my ear, “You’re a weirdo.” She was her mother’s daughter, after all, and therefore programmed from birth to give me shit. I chuckled and gave her a squeeze before straightening up and mussing her hair.
“Oh my God, Uncle Ollie!” she shouted. “I’ve just got my fringe properly sweeping, and you’ve messed it up.” Yes, definitely her mother’s daughter.
“Nice outfit,” I said with a smirk, and Florrie snorted.
“You knownothingabout fashion,” she said dismissively, flouncing past me into the house.
“Explain,” Claire said, linking arms with me and giving me a side shove. I glanced up the stairs and then pulled her along to the kitchen, ushering Vicky to follow us.
“What’s the rush?” Claire asked as I pushed them all into the kitchen and shut the door behind us.
“My cleaner’s here,” I explained.
Vicky glanced from my still washing-up glove-clad hands, then back to me and raised her eyebrows.
“Why are you cleaning if your cleaner is here?” she asked. “That is totally illogical.”
“Keep your voice down,” I snapped. “I sent her upstairs first so I could clean up the kitchen.”
“Ols, youdounderstand the concept of a cleaner, don’t you?” Claire put in.
I glared at her. “Yes, Claire, I know what a cleaner does. It’s just that some of the guys came round last night, and this place was a serious shithole.”
“Uncle Ollie! You said the s-word!” Florrie shouted in mock horror and I sighed
“Let me get this straight,” Claire said. “You’re cleaning for the first time in your life ever because you don’t want your cleaner, whose actual job it is to clean your house, to have to clean your house.”
I huffed “Normally Mrs Higgins would have been in earlier before Lottie got here, but she had to look after one of her dreadful, bratty grandchildren.”
“Mrs Higgins?” Claire’s voice rose. “But Mrs H retired weeks ago.”
I muttered a curse as I slammed the dishwasher door shut, and the damn thing wouldn’t start. What the fuck did all these buttons mean? For God’s sake, I’d just negotiated a massive multifactorial agricultural investment deal, surely I could work my own kitchen appliance. I stabbed at it again, and it made a sad noise of discontent.
“Honestly, Ols,” Claire said, shooing me to the side and then leaning down to look at the display. “It can’t be that hard to…” she frowned, then straightened up.
Vicky came to join us. “What do the different pot symbols mean?” she asked. No help there, then.
We stood staring at the dishwasher for a full minute.
I sighed. “Christ, we’re fucking useless,” I muttered.
“Uncle Ollie!” shouted Florrie. “Children are present!”
“Yes, Ollie if you could tone it down,” Claire said in an exasperated voice. “We don’t want another call from the school.”
“Little shit knows more swears than me,” I muttered under my breath. Florrie’s bat ears clearly heard me though and she stuck her tongue out at me.
“Why on earth are we trying to get this machine working again?” Claire asked. “And why do you have a cleaner for your cleaner?”
I cleared my throat, and my hand went to the back of my neck. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” Vicky tilted her head to the side as she stared at me. “Complicated how?”
