Since that day, Mel had been fighting every cell in her body not to go steaming into the head’s office at Portman High. It was getting harder each day to keep the promise she’d made to Kate.
‘Claim what’s yours, as in?’ Kate continues, scraping her plate. She knows as well as Mel that food is not to be wasted. Several times in the last month, Mel has gone without dinner so Kate can eat.
‘Didn’t look to find out,’ Mel says, shrugging and bagging up the recycling into two bulging refuse sacks. She dumps them by the door ready to take out when they leave. ‘Right, love, go and finish getting dressed and I’ll drop you at school on the way to work.’
Kate clears away her plate and heads off to her bedroom. A few minutes later, she reappears, her hair neatly brushed and secured in a long ponytail down her back, her tie straight, her blazer buttoned up – admittedly now on the snug side, stretching across her shoulders. The sleeves are riding up past her wrists.
Mel stares at her daughter as she stands there, her school bag slung over her shoulder.
‘Oh, Kate…’ she says, wanting to hug her, scoop her up, do everything she can to make this better for her.
‘Don’t say a word, Mum, please.’
‘But…’
Kate holds up a hand to silence her. ‘It would have been worse if I hadn’t done it, OK? There’s a chance one of them might actually think it’s… you know, cool.’ She gives a little laugh then, makes a coy face at the thought of anything associated with her being construed as cool.
Mel closes her eyes for a beat before dropping her car keys and bag on the table. She gets down on her knees in front of her daughter. ‘Wait,’ she says, folding up an inch or two of the freshly hacked fabric of Kate’s school trousers. ‘Try them like this,’ she adds, standing back to admire her work, while also heartbroken that her daughter has felt the need to do this. There was no way Mel could have afforded new school trousers this month. Kate dashes off to her bedroom to check the mirror, returning with a grateful smile.
‘Thanks, Mum. They look much better,’ she says quietly. ‘Proper pedal-pusher chic. Who knows, I might start a new trend.’
Half an hour later, Mel pulls up at work, her heart sinking as she spots Josette’s brand-new white BMW parked in a disabled bay outside the care home, even though her boss wasn’t due in until lunchtime. It about sums her up, Mel thinks, squeezing her beat-up Fiesta into a spot under the trees where the pigeons always mess on the bonnet.
‘Hi, Angie,’ Mel says cheerily as she heads into the staff room. Her colleague, another carer, is just coming out, already in her uniform and ready for the handover. Angie smiles, returning the greeting.
Mel knows that, despite her worries, her anxiety and fears for what the future holds for her and Kate, it’s a sum total of nothing if she doesn’t keep her job. Josette seems to have eyes everywhere, and zero tolerance for her staff’s personal lives. The only time Mel ever took a sick day, her boss docked her pay. While it was most likely outside of HR law, Mel wasn’t about to argue and risk getting sacked. She needed every hour she could work while Kate was at school, and every penny that brought in.
‘Michael…’ Mel says, reminding herself to reply to him as she hangs up her coat in her locker. In the morning’s rush, she’d forgotten to text him back. Just like she’d also forgotten to take down the recycling bags.
Oh yes, please do call round later! I need some Micky cheer. And I can work 10–5 in the shop on Sat again if you need xx
She hits send and puts her phone back in her bag, wondering what she’d do without him – her best friend, confidant and all-round go-to guy. She changes into the clean uniform hanging in the top of her locker, turning a blind eye to all the junk that’s accumulated in the bottom over the months. She checks herself in the full-length mirror, tucking back a strand of dark hair that’s escaped her ponytail, before heading off to get the handover reports.
It’s as Mel’s heading out of the staff room later that afternoon when her shift is over, having changed back into her own clothes, pleased as punch with her lucky find and keen to pick Kate up from school to give her the bag she’s clutching, when she literally bumps into Josette, who’s striding down the corridor, a large mug of coffee in her hand. The scalding liquid sloshes down Mel’s front, making her jump back and let out a squeal as her hands sweep frantically at the mess, pulling her T-shirt away from her smarting skin.
‘My office, if you would, please, Melanie,’ Josette barks. ‘Now,’ the taller woman adds, ignoring the look of pain on Mel’s face.
Two
Standing in Josette’s office – all antique furniture, plush carpet and a huge potted palm in front of the tall window – Mel tries to ignore her throbbing skin, wanting nothing more than to douse it in cold water. But she knows it’s more than her job is worth not to listen to Josette. She’s got that look on her face.
‘It’s about Bob,’ Josette says, not having even uttered an apology. Rather, in the corridor, she’d thrust her half-empty mug into a passing care assistant’s hand and ordered her to bring her a refill immediately. ‘Do you always have to wear such ridiculous tops?’ she adds, scowling as she sits behind her desk.
‘Bob?’ Mel asks, suddenly panic-stricken, glancing down. KEEP CALM is printed across the front of her T-shirt, which Mel is now struggling to do. ‘Is he OK?’ She’d only been with him yesterday afternoon and, while he seemed fine, she can’t deny that his respiratory issues have worsened over the last few months. She prays he hasn’t been taken into hospital overnight.
‘As fine as you can be at ninety-six with COPD,’ Josette replies, sipping on the coffee that’s just been handed to her. ‘But there’s been a complaint.’
‘A complaint?’ Mel says, wondering if she should also sit down. ‘About what?’ She sits down anyway, dumping her handbag and the carrier bag on the floor beside her. Her mind races, wondering what Bob – dear, kind, gentle, affable, funny, good-natured Bob – could ever have to complain about. He’s her favourite resident. Yes, he’s not been in the best of health lately, but he’s all there mentally. Sharp as a button. And he loves life at The Cedars, getting involved with all the home has to offer. Not to mention his daily constitutional walk around the grounds, albeit with two sticks now and an accompanying carer.
‘Yes, Melanie. A complaint. From his son.’
Josette sits sideways behind her mahogany desk, her long legs crossed, her tight skirt rising above her knees, tapping a pen on the edge of the desk with one hand. She flicks her glossy dark hair back over her shoulder with the other hand, still looking as fresh as she did at the start of the day. Mel only gave herself a cursory glance in the staff room mirror as she changed out of her uniform, preferring not to look too long at the tired face staring back, the dishevelled hair and smudged eyeliner.
‘I… I don’t understand. Is everything OK?’
‘No, Melanie. No, it’s not,’ Josette says, suddenly standing and striding over to the huge window facing out over the lawns and the ancient cedar tree. She turns abruptly – a tall, slim silhouette against the sunlight streaming in. ‘Bob’s son says a large amount of cash has gone missing from his father’s room.’