So here I am. Two weeks in and already counting down the days until I can hand my notice in. Still, the job’s a doddle, really. It didn’t take me long to work out there was nothing wrong with the old woman. She just wants a bit of pampering and companionship. She can get to the toilet by herself, thankfully. And I make her laugh. I like that. I like to see her throw her head back so that her throat goes all crêpy and she properly belly-laughs. It’s like, in that moment, she forgets she’s some posh, stuck-up pensioner. It’s the most honest I’ve seen her. And when I came she didn’t look like she’d laughed for a long time. There’s a sadness about her blue eyes, too, as though she’s lost many people in her life, and I can relate to that. Not that I’ve lost many people. Just a few important ones. Just enough to make me feel as though I’m adrift in the huge rough ocean that is my life.
I don’t think I’m the cleverest person in the world – probably one of the reasons why I didn’t pass my first year of nursing. But I believe I can read people, that I’m tuned in to them and can sense what they’re feeling. And, in a weird way, I feel like that about Elspeth.
The daughter, on the other hand, I don’t feel attuned to her. She’s got a barrier around her so strong it’s like a forcefield.
I’m allowed Wednesdays and Saturdays off, and apart from those days – when her daughter stays to cover me – I’m expected to be on hand 24/7. Not that I’ve got any friends in Bristol anyway. I’m not really familiar with the place, although I enjoy exploring on my days off. I quickly realize that Clifton is the posh part, with its Georgian houses, boutique-style shops and upmarket cafés, which are very different from the one where I worked in Weston-super-Mare. It’s fun at first, accompanying Elspeth on her excursions to the hairdresser, or to the shops she owns. The other day I had to take her to a council meeting – something to do with the funding she raises for impoverished artists. Sometimes she just likes me to take her for a walk, and Clifton is beautiful in the spring, with the cherry blossom lining the pavements, like confetti, and the smell of flowers in the air. I love spring – it’s like a fresh start. A renewal. Everything wakes up, like Sleeping Beauty, after a long sleep, blinking and marvelling at the sunshine with the birds singing and the smell of cut grass.
Elspeth likes to hear my stories of growing up in a hippie commune in Norfolk, or my experiences of moon-bathing. She’s even fascinated by the strands of pink I have running through my dirty-blonde hair. I’d contemplated changing them after the interview, especially when the daughter, Kathryn, made some sarky comment about how could I expect to be taken seriously with ‘coloured bits that look like dental floss’ in my hair.
While I wouldn’t say I actually enjoy the job, I’ve fallen into a routine. Kathryn tries to psych me out sometimes but I ignore her. I’ve met worse than her. Aggie, the cook, is a little cold towards me. She’s perfectly polite and makes small-talk over lunch or if I’m in the kitchen preparing one of Elspeth’s many cups of tea, but I feel she’s holding something back. I’m sure I’m one in a long line of companions who have come and gone over the years. Perhaps she thinks I won’t last long so there’s little point in getting too attached to me. Or maybe she thinks I’m a weirdo with my pink-streaked hair, the ring in my nose and my tie-dye harem trousers. I don’t look like I fit in with this posh house and all its finery, I know that. Frankly, I’m surprised they gave me the job. Maybe there weren’t many applicants.
It’s Saturday, my day off, and I decide to head to Gloucester Road for a change. It’s a sunny day, fresh, hopeful. Hot-air balloons float in the distance, children are running about on the green fields adjacent to the suspension bridge, and couples walk arm in arm, their dogs beside them. There are people sitting outside cafés, families, lovers and friends. There’s still a nip in the air but next week it will be April. I’m wearing my favourite floral bomber jacket with loose-fitting silk trousers and cherry-coloured DM boots. I’ve got an appointment at a hair salon. I found a card in my room – it must have been left by my predecessor. The card was funky with bright colours and snazzy fonts. I knew I’d never be able to afford the place Elspeth goes to, so I thought I’d give A Cut Above a try.
The place is just as I’d imagined, all bright lights and loud music and hip stylists with radical haircuts. Radical is good. I’m waiting in Reception as instructed and flicking through Cosmopolitan when a girl with bright copper hair approaches me. It’s so long it has to be extensions, I think, as I follow her through to a chair right at the end of the room next to the sinks.