Private Sorrow, A Read Free Page B

cleaning and this room needs dusting.’ He led the way into the kitchen and Deanna saw that it did indeed need some cleaning. The basin in the sink was full of dirty dishes and the entire room was untidy.
    ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ said the professor. ‘I’ll wash up if you dry the dishes and we’ll tidy up the room together.’ Deanna wasn’t too sure about his arrangement. Surely she was meant to do all the work and she said so. ‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘We’ll get the work done quicker if I help.’
    Later, Deanna went around the living room with a feather duster while the professor cleaned the bathroom and at dinner time he made another cup of coffee before she finished her shift. When she was leaving, he said, ‘I’ll speak to Miss McQueen and book you every Monday morning to give the house a clean.’
    As she waited at the tram stop, she was bemused by the morning’s events. She hadn’t even got her hands wet and if this was all there was to this job, then she was well pleased.

    Maisie climbed the stair to Mrs Jankowski’s flat. A large bell was situated by the side of the door and when she rang it, it emitted a shrill noise. It seemed ages until the door was opened but she heard loud mutterings long before the occupant appeared: ‘I come, I come. Wait till I come.’
    When the occupant opened the door, Maisie saw an elderly woman leaning heavily on a thick walking stick. Maisie held out her card. ‘McQueen’s Agency cleaning service.’
    The woman moved aside with difficulty. ‘Ah come in, come in. I expect you.’ Maisie was ushered into a large living room with a bay window which overlooked the street. Mrs Jankowski inspected the card. ‘Mrs Watson.’
    ‘Yes, Maisie Watson.’
    Mrs Jankowski hobbled towards the window. ‘Now, Mrs Watson, I need these curtains down and clean curtains put up. You find small ladder in lobby cupboard.’ She pointed her stick in the direction of the lobby cupboard, which Maisie thought wasn’t needed as she had just passed through the lobby.
    However, she wasn’t sure which door housed the cupboard. Mrs Jankowski hobbled towards one door and opened it. ‘Ah, here is ladder.’ Maisie pulled the stepladder from the deep depths of the cupboard, dislodging an assortment of household items and what looked like a collection of boxes that had been stuffed away.
    ‘Next week I get you to clean out this cupboard.’ Maisie, who usually wasn’t afraid of work, was dismayed but she carried the ladder to the window. The curtains were heavy brown chenille ones and they hung from a thick wooden rail. The minute Maisie touched them, a thick cloud of dust made her sneeze.
    ‘You have flu?’ asked Mrs Jankowski, looking a bit alarmed.
    Maisie assured her she was well. ‘It’s just the dust from the curtains.’ This statement was borne out when the first curtain landed on the floor in a dusty pile, throwing up thousands of dust motes that hung in the light of the pale morning sun. After a great deal of pulling and tugging the hooks from the rings, the second one followed, which made things worse. Maisie noticed a thick film of dust on the windowsill and she realised the floor would be as bad.
    Mrs Jankowski pushed one of the curtains with her stick. ‘I not know where all dust comes from. The curtains just up for two years.’
    Maisie was astonished. ‘Two years?’ she said as she climbed down from the ladder.
    Mrs Jankowski pointed her stick at the lobby cupboard again. ‘Clean curtains in there.’ Maisie hadn’t noticed any but Mrs Jankowski bent down to pull a brown paper parcel from the detritus around it. Maisie took some time to undo the string from the parcel but when it was finally opened she saw a carbon copy of the curtains she had just taken down. ‘I buy four pairs before war. They a bargain.’ Maisie groaned inwardly. Where were the other two pairs she wondered?
    Still, after a bit of a struggle, the new curtains were up. Although they