A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) Read online

  Secretly, I had always been in love with him but had thrown off the notion, deeming it impossible to ever be realised. I told her he was too gorgeous to love a plain Jane like me.

  “He talked about you all the time. All about the jokes you shared, the quips about hotel guests, the night you commandeered a room for yourselves and drank the mini-bar bare. He really loved you so very much. He really did. He thought you were wonderful and beautiful. I suppose when we know, we just know.”

  “I didn't even make it to the funeral, I didn't even…”

  “We had him cremated, but there's a little burial site up in Arnold at St Mary's Church, where you can go and say goodbye if you like. We placed his ashes there.”

  I felt my face turn grey and my stomach began to wretch. I had to run into the bathroom. When my insides were empty, I pulled my knees up to my chest and sobbed. One thought hit me: At least now I know that what we had was real. He must have known it too. The sadness of that reality was overwhelming but the feeling of having shared something so wonderful with him was uplifting. When I emerged, Darcey was gone. I didn't blame her for leaving me. I would.

  However, a waiter came over to hand me a small package, which she had left with him. I said thanks and walked straight out.

  I headed to our lake at Pierrepont, almost delirious, and found a bench. I had worked myself up and was ready to see what was inside the package. First was a note, reading:

  Here's a book I found in Alex's flat. He was always trying to help you. He always loved you. Also enclosed is £100 for that dress. It's from the money he pledged to me but I know he would have wanted you to have it. Take comfort, D x

  When I opened the paper packet and pulled out the book, the cover read: Overcoming Low Self-Esteem. I covered my eyes and had to take a deep breath. I just knew I needed to get to that cemetery quickly.

  A taxi ride later, I reached a Norman church surrounded by thick undergrowth. I felt I was entering a separate realm of existence. I trembled with fear and loathing, for who I was, what I had done to my darling Alex and what I would say to him when I got there.

  I found the plot and read the plaque:

  Alexander James Grainger,

  Born 13.1.1976 – Died 17.4.2008

  Beloved Son and Brother

  Tragically Taken So Young

  Ever Remembered in Our Hearts

  I wanted to scream and shout. There was no mention of, And Best Friend to Charlotte Taylor, Who Might Have Been His Wife. Even the notion of wife was ridiculous and absurd, but now we would never know. I fell to my knees on the damp, mossy ground, struggling to absorb it all. There, in that earth, were the fragments of what was left of my gorgeous friend, who had filled my life with so much more than I ever could have dreamt of. Laughter, hope and love.

  He had given me the job that had rescued me from my parent's house. He had opened my eyes to culture and experience. He had brought me to a city that was diverse and swollen with myriad peoples, giving me a new sense of existence. However, the glamour of my newfound life was all down to him. Otherwise, it might have been just another grey city to hide and drudge away in. It was a different world to the one I was brought up in. Nottinghamshire people were outspoken protestors, while Lincolnshire folk were grounded in quiet debate. He had been the one to give it all to me. I would never be able to tell him how grateful I was.

  I said whatever came to mind…

  “Well, you've looked better Alex, I must say. Going for the outdoorsy look is not really you baby!” I exclaimed, whimpering with remorse. I took myself to task, taking a deep breath.

  “My angel, my love… I remember the day we met. You were totally gorgeous. I really do remember thinking I had died and gone to heaven. But, we were shielded by our split sexualities at first, I guess. Unable to be anything but amazing friends, drawn together through common cynicism and low regard for our work and the world. What we had that night, I have to say, was the most perfect way to make a woman out of me. At the time, I didn't really appreciate what you were doing. I didn't see how in actual fact, you were making love to me. Over the years, you know, it's been hard to block out all the complaints of the women I've worked with, over their husbands being useless in the sack; too big, or too small, or too quick, or too slow, or this, that and the other. I realised today, you were such a giving, generous lover, and let me have what I wanted. I always wanted more after that night. Always. I was in love with you, in every way, and our argument that day hurt me so much. Possibly, almost as much as I know it must have hurt you too.”

  I was snivelling like a baby. I continued, “Anyway, turns out, you were right. I read some of that book on the way over. I sat at the very back of the bus, of course, hiding the material engrossing me. With it staring me straight in the face, in black and white, I couldn't very well ignore the shocking truth. It is just so strange to realise that after all I've suffered and beat, this is what now troubles me, and it does so with such vengeance sometimes. How could I have not realised it was this simple? But I will try to overcome, I will, like you must have done. I'll try really hard and do all the things you would have wanted me to. I'll take a leaf out of your book. I love you so much, I always will, and I'll never let you go.”

  I sat there crying until it was dark and then I had no idea how to get back to the city. I slept in a bus shelter that night but woke up in hospital. I had to stop neglecting myself, I knew, and that was the last wake-up call I needed.

  Chapter VII

  Taking Stock

  Heath stared in disbelief. A man who rarely had words of comfort, he kept his silence. He had not anticipated any of these revelations. There was something he had to say, however.

  “That is why you hate hospitalisation. Having people take control from you?”

  “Yes, obviously, most of the time I am out of it whenever I end up there. The bedpans, catheters, sponge baths, oh god, all so horrific. Being treated like that is unbearable for me. Being the invalid. Having my privacy invaded; my privileges taken away from me. It always traumatises me enough to keep me silent, rather than tell the nurses and doctors how much their very existence is causing me agony.”

  “You'd rather die then, than receive treatment?”

  “The easiest solution would have been to not have become ill in the first place. I suppose a part of me was in denial that I was even alive, and I simply spent each day finding ways to make my life easier, to not face the things that scared me. I didn't realise that to be fulfilled is to live everyday and put yourself up against the odd challenge or two, not settle for work that doesn't become you but keeps you out of mischief and offers solitary. And, what it is, is that mental anguish can be far worse than physical pain, sometimes.”

  “Can I be frank?” Heath asked.

  “Of course, I think we are past being coy!”

  “I have absolutely no clue where this is going now. No clue. I thought you were a money-grabbing prostitute, just like all the other whores I have trailed over the years for dickheads who lost their hold over reality and had decided a one-night-stand was the love of their life!”

  She smirked and chuckled, even shrieked a little through her billowing nostrils. Shaking her head, she explained, “Of course you did Heath, of course, but you had ignorance written all over you when you walked in. Everybody has a story, however. Nobody's existence is worthless, but I am much more than your normal pursuit, as I am sure you can imagine. I am certainly more calculating than anything you have probably encountered previously.”

  “No doubt! I wonder now how you managed to ensnare Him. He has that air.”

  “We'll get to that Heath, you know we will,” she assured him, “I never leave a stone unturned, as well you know. You have nowhere to be, I imagine?”

  He shrugged, kicked his shoes off and put his feet up on a pouffe nearby.

  “Nope, I guess not,” he murmured.

  “Well, I shall let you read the next part, and then we shall have a little food and a cup of tea. Sound
okay?”

  “Your hospitality exceeds all expectations!” he exclaimed, chuckling.

  The sun was setting outside and candlelight was their only illumination. She drew the drapes and pulled a blanket over her knees, settling in to watch his reactions, sipping her whiskey soda as they travelled onwards into the next part of her story.

  Part the Second

  Chapter VIII

  A Taste for Promiscuity

  Where to start without Alex to hold me up any longer? How could I turn my life around after all I had already had thrown at me? This was a cruel life, I felt. Brutal enough to take my wonderful friend from me. I didn't know if I had the energy to rail against it. When I thought of Alex and his smile, or his voice, or the night we had shared, it would always stop me dead in my tracks. Sometimes a colleague would notice me turn grey and I would have to snap myself out of it. Often, I still went home and cried myself to sleep.

  It took a long time to come to terms with the fact that he was gone and was never coming back. Even now when I think of that loss, a sickening feeling washes over me and the memory stings my heart. I find it difficult to re-set myself and remember that I still have a life to live. I do not feel as sad about my loss as I do about my friend losing his life so unexpectedly. The regret could have swallowed me whole if I had allowed it to.

  Reading the book his sister gave me, there were tips about how to cope with this somewhat debilitating drawback I suffered, but each challenge gave me palpitations just at the thought of venturing out of my comfort zone.

  It started with a shopping trip. Small steps and all that. I tried to buy some socks. Easy really. So it might seem to many, many people out there in the world. For me, no. Not as straightforward. One hundred per cent cotton or polycotton? Ankle or sports socks or knee-highs? Patterned or plain or smart socks that went with suits? I was browsing the section in M&S when a security guard shuffled by me, giving me a look that might have resembled suspicion or inquisition, I'd never know. I dashed out of the store, my confidence knocked and my gusto deflated. Perhaps I had worked myself up too much and should have just gone in and bought whatever my hand touched. I had a tendency to over-analyse and so the littlest thing might throw me off course. Stupid security guard; foul, detestable menace that had impeded my plan to become the new me. Yet… it was so much easier to browse specifications online, with my meticulous tastes satiated by words on a screen rather than stacks of generic hosiery and what I perceived as critical eyes all around. Somehow, trying to overcome the whole shopping phobia didn't seem like the best place to start.

  As chance would have it, life sent me a free ride. Head housekeeper Millie, who had been with the company ten years or more, handed in her notice. Leaving to retire in Spain, her departure meant my immediate promotion. I didn't have to stay over anymore. That was the job of the deputy. I got given my own office and less was required of me on the so-called shop floor. This gave me a little boost, I have to say, and I knew it was only because of my very exacting ways that I'd so swiftly moved up the greasy ladder. No, perhaps, even reached the very top of my profession I suppose!

  I read in the book that it was important to start asserting myself in ways I hadn't done before. The way to tackle this was to think of the worst possible outcome of a situation or a decision, make peace with it, and realise that would never happen. So with the power that my new job offered, I began to say no to things. I told the staff I wasn't to be bothered during certain periods, normally when I was carrying out administrative tasks that I really did require peace and quiet for. I made it clear that if I had to tell them twice how to get a curry stain from a napkin, or hair dye off the grouting, I would know they hadn't listened properly the first time round. I knew some of the young girls in particular – those at college or university who worked with us part-time for the purpose of buying clothes and funding nights out – thought me quite mad for taking such pride in my work. They must have judged me a loner and a masochist, perhaps, maybe even unintelligent and lowly. Secretly, I knew, there was dignity in such a job and that having no purpose was worse. It seemed funny to me that some had a certain view of me that was so far off the mark it was ludicrous. It was even rumoured that I had a husband in prison and was working off all his debts for him while he served time. None of them knew my parents were well-off and lived in a six-bedroom house in a well-to-do, ancient settlement. Few had asked me about my childhood and therefore were never aware of the leukaemia or any of that. Alex had always been careful to keep my secrets, even when people used to ask, So why do you hang out with her again? How may tattoos does she have hidden beneath her clothes? I bet she has ten cats. That one made me laugh when he told me. Indeed, if you purposely let the cat out of the bag in a large city hotel full of blabbermouths, you were surely looking to either get on reality TV or become a porn star. I revelled in my mystery and the reputation of being untouchable I had achieved. My, it was lonely at the top, however.

  I guess the sleeping around started when I organised the first Christmas night out for the staff. Egged on by my minions, I showed them how to do shots and got rather merry. They all thought it was hilarious to see the boss getting pissed and making a total tit of herself, and in a way, I kind of liked being viewed as some kind of pariah in the workplace and a party animal outside of it. Some asked me whether I had a fella in the nick and I finally told them that the story was complete fabrication. I told them that my mother was a crack addict and that I'd had to fight my way through life to get anywhere. It was a partial truth and one that certainly shut them up from then onwards. I felt very pleased with myself during this period of my life but the partying became frequent and the next stage of my plan became very polluted. It had been on my mind to start dating, but instead, I started screwing anything that walked. All the staff kind of celebrated me for it. I was young, free, single and having fun in their eyes. The liaisons were, again, in public facilities, behind takeaways, on the back row at the cinema, in their flat but never mine, and even some occasions in hotel rooms if a lone male caught my eye. Again, some staff may have seen what I was doing but they couldn't begrudge the daughter of a drug addict a bit of fun. It was really easy. If alcohol was involved, I had no inhibition and literally the impetus to get fucked. If it was in a public place, the thrill of getting caught somehow turned me on. Maybe perhaps, I even wanted to get caught. A cry for help. It was like a drug and I succumbed easily. I lost count after a while and soon I couldn't see any of their faces anymore. They came in and out of my life as fleetingly as the hotel laundry. They were just pricks to shaft momentarily, sometimes not even that. The masses saw Charlotte the confident party girl. They saw my pristine clothes, hair and make-up but did not see what bubbled beneath. Outwardly, I gave off no clue to my malady because I appeared confident, as well as the life and soul of the party. I was hiding my true self, however; letting people believe I was this person was easier than showing them the real me. Sleeping with strangers was easier than making an intimate acquaintance with someone special.

  Then, one morning, I woke up in my own flat and didn't know how I had gotten there. It was very scary. I couldn't remember a single thing from the night before. I checked myself and found I was fully clothed. My underwear was intact and unstained. I tried to retrace my steps but couldn't recall what had happened. I was madly searching the flat for evidence of a crime, almost ready to call the police and tell them I might have been date-raped, when I found a scrappy note on the kitchen sideboard:

  You fell asleep in the pub and we really couldn't wake you up! We brought you home and put you to bed. Love us. X

  That was Alice and John who I worked with and had been partying the weeks away with. I was totally mortified and more so because Alex's fate could have been mine too, and I would have had no defence after the way I had behaved, cavorting around like I had been doing. I had to think long and hard that day. That was it, no more drinking. No more partying. It was time to get real. In fact, when I looked at the calendar, I saw
the first anniversary of his death was approaching and I realised – I'd made no progress whatsoever, despite a year having passed. I had totally been burying my head in the sand and convincing myself that by socialising on such an epic scale, I was part of society and living a meaningful life finally. It really wasn't a case of that though, and deep down, I knew. The weeks and months had rolled into one and I had begun to slide down my slippery slope. I had to yank myself up and out, for good. I had to go back to basics, I knew. The staff would go back to hating me but hell, who cared, really? I'd just have to seek new friends and new hobbies, perhaps. And that is what I did.

  Chapter IX

  A Change of Tack

  I had to start living, that was all. Funny though. Seems so simple, really. So very easy in my head, not so easy in practise. Unless you've ever had really bad low self-esteem, you can't really understand what it's all about. You may have unconsciously suffered aspects of the condition but I had been literally paralysed by it – unable to live my life without someone there who might drag me out into civilisation. It is a mindset that has no prejudice and it is something you battle or accept. You may think of yourself as fat or ugly, stupid or boring, but it is all in your mind. The perceptions you have are often false and brought on by painful mental scarring. The dark thoughts you endure are not those encountered by all people.