‘No!’ I blurt, but quickly recover myself. ‘No, it’s all good. Thank you, Eleanor. It’s actually very motivating, a hard deadline. I’ve never been so prolific,’ I add lightly.
‘Oh, that’s so good to hear. But you must take care of yourself, Harry dear. You must be exhausted with the house, and your work.’
The question blindsides me to the extent that I find I don’t really understand it. ‘The house?’
‘Running the house, and working full-time,’ she clarifies.
‘Oh, well, it’s just an apartment really. And we don’t make much mess, so—’
‘Yes, Edward mentioned you hadn’t managed to find a suitable housekeeper in town yet? You know, I’m not surprised. I know it can be a real nightmare when you first move to the city. People hoard the good ones.’
I find myself once again lost for words. Edward thinks we need a housekeeper? ‘Er, well, we actually don’t really need a housekeeper, I don’t think.’ Yet even as I say it, I’m wondering if I’m wrong. Apparently, Edward needs to make excuses for the fact we don’t have one. Suddenly I wonder if he finds it weird that we don’t have a cleaner, that I hoover and tidy myself, that he sometimes has to cook?
‘Harriet, darling, you’re not cooking and cleaning yourself, are you? Not on top of everything?’ she asks, as diplomatically as is possible to, given the inference. I look at the limp half-eaten sandwich beside me as she continues. ‘You will run yourself ragged trying to do it all. But who am I to tell you how to do things? I’m sure you know your own mind. Here’s the thing: we’re dyed-in-the-wool democrats, my dear, to a man. We’re all liberal, woke, pro-union, patrons of the arts, what-have-you, but let’s be honest here: chapped hands help no one.’
I stifle a giggle. This is the strangest conversation I’ve had with a partner’s mother. And I’m pretty sure there’s some blurred definitions in there.
‘You certainly make a robust argument for it, that’s for sure, Eleanor. I’ll give it some serious thought,’ I tell her, and bizarrely I mean it. I don’t want to fight any battles I don’t have to, especially the further into pregnancy I get. I chose to enter Edward’s world and it looks like this is what it is.
‘Do, my dear. And thank you for the advice. I’ll let you get on with your important work. All my love.’
* * *
There’s a knock at the front door early the next morning. Luckily, I’m up and dressed this time and already two hours into my day. The view through the peephole is still blocked by the Christmas wreath, so I’m none the wiser when Edward quizzically pops his head out of the wet room and asks who it is.
‘No idea,’ I tell him.
‘Right, if it’s any of them, I’ll deal with it. I promise, just give me a minute to put some clothes on,’ he calls, disappearing back into the steam of the bathroom.
I wonder if it’s odd that I don’t mind his family’s attention half as much as he does. But, then, this is all new to me too. I’ve never really had relatives before, and now there seems to be a lot of them.
I lift the latch and swing open the front door to reveal a beaming and incredibly tall Maori woman in her forties. She’s dressed in a pristine grey uniform, and in her arms she is carrying cleaning supplies and a large brown bag of groceries.
‘Ms Reed? My name is Ataahua. Mrs Holbeck asked me to come over, if it’s okay? I’m so excited to be helping you with the house for the next few weeks. Is it okay if I come in?’
I stare completely dumbfounded at my newest employee. Eleanor has sent us a housekeeper.
‘Hi, Ataahua. This is, wow, yes, this is so exciting. Thank you so much,’ I say with a smile as I wonder how in God’s name I am going to explain this to Ed when he gets out of the shower.