The Undomestic Goddess

I cut the phone dead and get to my feet, bubbling with panic. I should have gone back. I should have gone back straightaway, not wasted time here. I don’t know what times the trains will be, but I don’t care. I have to get out of here.

I grab a piece of paper and a pencil and scrawl,

Dear Mrs. Geiger,

I am afraid I must resign as your housekeeper. While I have enjoyed my time

Come on. I haven’t got time to write any more, I have to leave now. I put the paper down on the table and head for the door. Then I stop. I can’t leave the letter unfinished in the middle of a sentence.

While I have enjoyed my time with you, I feel I would like a fresh challenge. Many thanks for your kindness.

Yours sincerelySamantha Sweeting

I put the pen down and push my chair back with a scrape. As I reach the door my mobile vibrates again.

Guy, I instantly think. I reach for it—and am already flipping it open when I see the caller ID. It’s not Guy.

It’s Ketterman.

Something cold grips my spine. As I stare at his name I feel real fear in a way I never have before. Childish, nightmarish fear. Every instinct in my body is telling me not to answer.

But my phone’s already open. It’s too late. Slowly I lift it up to my ear.

“Hello.”

“Samantha. John Ketterman here.”

“Right.” My voice is scratchy with nerves. “Hello.”

There’s a long pause. I know this is my moment to speak, but my throat feels wadded by cotton wool. No words seem adequate. Everyone knows how much Ketterman despises apologies and excuses and explanations.

“Samantha, I’m ringing to tell you that your contract with Carter Spink has been terminated.”

I feel all the blood drain from my face.

“A letter is on its way to you giving the reasons.” His tone is distant and formal. “Gross negligence compounded by your subsequent unprofessional behavior. Your P45 will be sent to you. Your pass has been disabled. I don’t expect to see you at the Carter Spink offices again.”

He’s going too fast. This is all happening too fast.

“Please don’t …” I blurt out. “Please give me another chance. I made one mistake. One.”

“Lawyers at Carter Spink don’t make mistakes, Samantha. Nor do they run away from their mistakes.”

“I know it was wrong to run away.” I’m shaking all over. “But it was such a shock.… I wasn’t thinking straight.…”

“You’ve disgraced the reputation of the firm and yourself.” Ketterman’s voice sharpens as though he, too, might be finding this difficult. “You have lost fifty million pounds of a client’s money through your own negligence. And subsequently absconded with no explanation. Samantha, you cannot have expected any other outcome, surely.”

There’s a long silence. My forehead is pressed hard against the heel of my hand. I try to focus on just breathing. In and out. In and out.

“No,” I whisper at last.

It’s over. My entire career is really over.

Ketterman starts on a preprepared speech about meeting with the human-resources department, but I don’t listen.

Everything I’ve worked for since I was twelve years old. Gone. Everything ruined. In twenty-four hours.

At last I realize Ketterman has disappeared from the line. I get to my feet and stagger over to the shiny fridge. My eyes are huge, burning holes.

For a long time I just stand there, staring at my own face until the features blur.

I’ve been fired. The phrase echoes round my mind. I’ve been fired. I could collect the dole. I imagine myself with the men from The Full Monty. Standing in the unemployment queue, moving my hips back and forth to “Hot Stuff.”

Suddenly I hear the sound of a key in the front door. I can’t be found in this condition. I can’t face any probing, any sympathy. Otherwise I’m afraid I might just collapse into sobs and never stop.

Distractedly, I reach for a cloth and start sweeping it in meaningless circles over the table. Then I glimpse my note to Trish, still lying there. I crumple it up and throw it in the bin. Later. I’ll do it later. I feel as though I can barely function right now, let alone give a convincing resignation speech.

“There you are!” Trish comes tripping into the kitchen on her high-heeled clogs, holding three bursting shopping bags. “Samantha!” She stops at the sight of me. “Are you all right? Is your headache back?”

“I’m … fine. Thanks.”

“You look dreadful! Goodness me! Have some more pills!”

“Really …”

“Now, sit down … and I’ll make you a cup of tea!”