Lottie Project (7 page)

She charged out at seven in the morning on Friday to buy the local paper and she skimmed through all the small print looking for jobs.

‘Nothing!’ she said despairingly. ‘Well, no proper jobs. There’s bar work. But I’m not leaving you alone in the evenings.’

‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be fine. Go for it, Jo! You could learn how to make all those great cocktails with the little cherries and toy umbrellas. It would be fun,’ I said.

Jo went to the pub to see what it was like.

‘It would not be fun,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t be making any cocktails there. Just serving pints of bitter to a lot of boring old men trying to look down my front. I could put up with that, but I wouldn’t be free till half past eleven every night and then I’d have to walk miles home unless I forked out for a taxi – and they were only paying fifty pounds for five
full
evening shifts. We can’t pay the mortgage with that.’

Jo went back to the local paper. ‘The only other jobs are cleaning,’ she said.

‘What do you mean, cleaning? Like at Sketchley’s?’ I said.

‘No, not a dry cleaning shop. Cleaning ladies. You know.’

I looked at Jo.

‘I can clean, can’t I?’ she said.

‘But you hate cleaning. Look at all the fights we have over whose turn it is to vacuum.’

‘OK, OK. But this is in a supermarket. You get socking great industrial cleaning machines. I quite fancy charging about with one of those.’

She didn’t mean it, of course. She was just being brave.

‘It’s two hours every morning, that’s all. Sixty-two pounds,’ said Jo, tearing out the advert.

‘That’s not enough to pay the mortgage.’

‘I know. But look, there are heaps of other adverts for cleaners. I could go after them too. Listen. “Private house, cleaning, some ironing, nine to twelve, Mondays and Thursdays, thirty pounds”. And then there’s this one here, they want two hours’ cleaning daily plus someone to look after a little boy after school.’

‘You don’t want to be lumbered with someone else’s little
boy
,’ I said.

‘I don’t want to be lumbered with my own great
big
girl if she’s going to be so picky,’ said Jo. ‘Look, Charlie. I haven’t got any choice. I’ll keep on trying to get a proper job but until that happens I might as well earn what I can. It’s lousy money but it all adds up. So shut up about it, OK?’

I shut up. Jo phoned the supermarket and they told her to come along for an interview. She rushed off. I sat by myself, feeling fidgety. Then I got out my notepad and a big fat felt tip pen. I wrote out my own advert.

STRONG RELIABLE SCHOOLGIRL WANTS WORK. WILL DO SHOPPING, RUN ERRANDS, WHATEVER YOU WANT. APPLY MISS C. A. K. ENRIGHT, NO. 38 MEADOWBANK.

WORK

I’VE GOT WORK
. I earn eleven pounds a year. One pound for every year of my age.

I did not tell anyone my real age. I swore I was thirteen, going on fourteen. I do not know whether anyone believed me. I put my hair up and lowered the hem of my skirt as far as it would go. At least I looked respectable in my mourning clothes.

I went to a domestic service agency in town. They said they had just the job for me. But when I went to the house and saw the cross sulky face of the Mistress I wasn’t so sure. I did not find out what the Master did for a living, but it was easy to tell he was not a gentleman. They wanted a maid-of-all-work and I could see at once I’d be toiling all day long and well into the night, and scolded all the time no matter what pains I took. I am willing to be a servant but I will not be a slave.

I went back to the agency and said the first position wasn’t suitable. They seemed astonished at my effrontery, but sent me after another position. I
thought
at first this was more likely. It was in a grand house with six servants. I was to be the nursery maid, helping the upper-nurse care for a little boy.

I do not care for little boys. My brother Frank has always been a great trial to me. I believe he takes after Father. I certainly did not care for this little boy, who stuck out his tongue in a very rude manner and then kicked me hard upon the shin. I did not care for the upper-nurse either, who had a face like a boot and long nipping fingers like button hooks. But I would have taken the position even so, if it weren’t for the Master of the house. He was a widower, and I was all prepared to feel sorry for him if he were still mourning his late wife. Ha!

This gentleman patted me at the interview and said I was a fine-looking girl fresh from the country. His eyes slid sideways and I detested the way he was looking at me. He might be a gentleman but he didn’t act like one. I knew he would be quick to take liberties and if I complained I would be sent packing with no reference. I am young but I am no fool.

I went back to the agency yet again and said the second position wasn’t suitable either, and I said why, too. This time they were appalled at my impertinence. How dare I criticize my Betters? But
they
gave me one last chance. I knew I had to take it this time.

I do hope it is third time lucky. I am employed by a mistress who wants a young nurse for her three children, Victor who is six, Louisa who is four, and baby Freddie who is still in petticoats. I did not meet the Master, but I shall have to hope for the best. There are two other servants in the household, a cook and a housemaid. I hope they will be friendly.

I am not sure about this mistress. She does not look cross but she seems very firm. She told me my duties in great detail. I must light the fires when I get up and dust the day nursery, I must dress Louisa and help Victor with his boots and buttons, I must attend to the baby, and then we have breakfast. Victor and Louisa are then to be sent down to their mother while I wash and dress baby Freddie and give him his bottle and put him back in his cot. I must then clean and tidy the night nursery and then dress the children in outdoor clothes and take them for a walk. They will have a rest on our return while I brush their clothes and clean their boots, and then I must get them ready for their dinner. We are to take another walk in the afternoon when possible, and then after a light tea I must put baby Freddie to bed while Victor and Louisa go downstairs. Then I must put them to bed and tidy the nurseries and eat my supper and then go to bed myself.

‘Do you feel you can manage all this?’ she said. ‘You look very little.’

‘But I am strong, Madam. I will manage,’ I said determinedly.

‘Very good. You can start on Monday. I will give you the print for your uniform and a bolt of cotton for your apron and caps. I hope you are satisfactory at sewing, Charlotte?’

I blinked at her. ‘Charlotte, Madam?’ I said foolishly.

‘That is your name, is it not?’ she said.

‘No, Madam. I am called Lottie, Madam. It was the name of Mother’s doll when she was small. No-one’s ever called me Charlotte.’

‘Well, I do not think Lottie is a suitable name for a servant. You will be called Charlotte whilst you are working for me.’

FOOD

JO PHONED ME
from the town.

‘Guess what! I’ve got the job.’

‘Great!’

‘Well. It’s not really. It wasn’t even a proper interview. It obviously doesn’t matter what you’re like when you’re a cleaner.’