Mrs Barker made a peculiar noise which I took to be a laugh. It was in fact more of a snuffling smirk.
‘He’s quite a character, that young man,’ she snuffled. ‘Do you want me to do the windows, Pam?’
‘Oh — let me think, do I?’ Pamela put her head to one side, apparently not affronted by Mrs Barker’s free use of a nickname. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think we can just about still see through them. We’ll tackle those another day.’
‘Right,’ said Mrs Barker. ‘I’ll get on, then.’
‘I’ll bring you your coffee in a few minutes,’ said Pamela. ‘I just need to have a word with Stella.’ I had, then, been detected. ‘Have you met Stella, Mrs Barker?’
‘I met her just now,’ said Mrs Barker. ‘Although she didn’t introduce herself. I guessed who she was, though.’
‘Jolly good,’ said Pamela.
When she had gone, Pamela turned to me and heaved a sigh, as if she were already exhausted.
‘And how are you today?’ she said. Something in her failure to pronounce my name made the enquiry seem hostile. ‘You’ve been sunbathing, I see.’
‘I fell asleep in the garden by mistake,’ I confessed. ‘I didn’t realize how hot it was.’
‘I know, wasn’t it glorious?’ said Pamela. ‘You really should have come over for that swim, you know.’
Seeing that she still bore a grudge over this matter, I felt a sense of opportunity, as if I had pinned down the source of her unfriendliness and could now tackle it.
‘I didn’t bring a swimming costume with me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know you had a pool. Otherwise, I’d have loved to have come.’
‘Why didn’t you say!’ cried Pamela. ‘Oh, silly girl! I’ve got stacks of them upstairs, I could easily have lent you one.’ It was, I saw, touch and go as to whether she would think me stupid for not confessing earlier, or would be moved to pity by the thought of my shyness. ‘And there you were roasting away all afternoon on your own and probably dying for a swim!’
I nodded.
‘Oh, poor Stella! We’re not ogres here, you know — you must just shout the minute you need anything. Look, I’ll go and root one out for you later this morning and then we can all go for a swim at lunchtime.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
I wondered if I should broach the small matter of breakfast, and then decided against it. A pause ensued. The subject of my duties, over which we had quarrelled so bitterly, was once again with us. There was, indeed, no way of my avoiding the question of what exactly I was supposed to do next; for there was no further business for me in the kitchen.
‘Now, shall we just run through today? Have you got a moment?’ said Pamela; for all the world as if I might not.
‘OK,’ I said.
She looked at me closely.
‘Are you all right?’ she said, as if concerned. I had thought that I had answered her quite cheerfully. I often have to be on my guard against morosity. ‘You do look most dreadfully burnt.’
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I said, gallantly brushing the subject away with my hand. ‘It looks a lot worse than it is.’
‘Shall I make coffee while we have our briefing?’ she said, apparently having forgotten my sunburn instantly. ‘Mrs Barker will be gasping by now.’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said, getting up.
‘You’re a love,’ said Pamela. My heart swelled absurdly at the words. ‘You mustn’t be afraid of Mrs Barker. She’s a dear old thing.’
‘Has she worked here for long?’ I said, unable to concur.
‘Oh, aeons,’ said Pamela. I put on the kettle. ‘Since the Flood. She was here when I was born. She’s very precious and I’d hate to lose her.’
There was something accusatory about this comment, as if I might be liable to take Mrs Barker away and then forget where I’d put her.
‘I’m sure you would,’ I said.
‘Shall we start?’ said Pamela after a pause.
I wondered what had wrought this change in Pamela’s attitude. She was as efficient now as she had been obfuscating before; and I interpreted this, to my satisfaction, as proof that she regretted the harshness with which she had treated me during my first evening in the country.
‘Obviously your priority has got to be Martin,’ she continued, enunciating her words clearly. ‘He’s a darling, but he does get bored just sitting around the house all day, so you have to take him out or find things to do with him at home. Now, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays he goes to the centre for the afternoon. Sometimes Piers or I take him, but usually I’d expect you to do it.’
‘Where is the centre?’ I said.
‘Oh, it isn’t far — in Buckley. You’ll take him there in the car, and then one of the carers drops him back when he’s ready. They’re terribly nice there. It’s such a boon having it, and Martin loves it.’
I calculated that, it being Monday, my downfall might lie only a few short hours away.
‘Actually, on second thoughts I think I’ll probably take him down myself this afternoon. I’ve got some shopping to do,’ said Pamela.
My hands, which were bearing the brimming coffee cups to the table, trembled with relief, and some of it slopped to the floor.
‘Careful!’ said Pamela.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll mop it up.’
‘Look, do just sit down for a minute while I finish,’ said Pamela wearily. ‘We can mop it up later.’
‘OK,’ I said, keen not to aggravate her.
‘Now, there are various things Martin can do for himself, such as go to the lavatory, so you needn’t worry about that unless he asks you. You might need to be on hand if he’s in the bath and gets stuck. The other difficult thing is getting up and down the stairs. He usually just shuffles down himself, but you may need to help him up if he’s tired, and you’ll need to carry his chair. We did think,’ she continued, ‘of getting a second chair for downstairs, but they’re such beastly things to have about and they do clutter the place up. It’s quite light, in any case. Generally, he’ll tell you what he wants you to do. He’s not shy.’ She put her hands around her coffee cup and raised it to her lips. ‘The real thing in the mornings is to get behind him to do his homework. He’s a lazy bugger. Always trying to talk his way out of it.’
‘Homework?’ I said. ‘What sort of homework does he do?’
‘The same as everybody else,’ snapped Pamela, flashing her bright eyes at me. ‘He’s not retarded, Stella. He goes to school just like other children. It’s very dangerous to assume things about disabled people, let me tell you.’
I could sense that we were in steep decline.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘When you said “centre” I didn’t realize you meant that it was a school.’
‘It isn’t!’ cried Pamela, banging her hand upon the table. ‘It’s you who isn’t clear, not I! The centre is a day centre for children like Martin to go to during the school holidays,’ She punctuated her words with further sharp slaps upon the table. ‘And school is school, just the same as for everybody else.’
I had not, of course, realized that it was the school holidays; nor, if I were to be honest, that Martin even went to school.
‘Right, so I’ll help him with his homework,’ I continued quickly, in an attempt to stem the tide against me.