The Cleaner. A Reminiscence
“Morning, Vera…”
It was Mrs Jenkins from upstairs, and I was oddly glad to see her. There was something gently fortifying in her presence.
“Just the person I needed!” she began, chipper as ever. “We’ve been talking at the office, Vera, and listen, it’s probably not a job that would suit you, but Well, were looking for a new cleaner. I can hold the spot for you. Dont worry, it’s ever so tidy one of the students worked for us before. Its minimum wage, but they throw in a cleanliness bonus.”
“A cleaner, Jane? You mean a cleaner?” That certainly wasnt the offer I expected.
“Just that, yes. But you see, the schedules flexible andlike I saidits a nice office. Theres no shortage of applicants, mind. We took on a woman after Lucy, the student, but it didnt work out.”
“So, how soon do you need a response?”
“I can keep the job today, but after that, Im afraid The buildings kept tidy enough for now, but we really do need the help. I know youre a teacher perhaps youd rather take up some tutoring? A lot of good money in it these days, you know.”
Never, not in all my fifty years, did I think I’d find myself in such straits. It had only been six months since Alanmy husband of three decadespassed so suddenly from a lung abscess, discovered far too late. He was there in August, gone before the leaves even turned.
Once the worst of the grief lifted, the question of what next? pressed in with a kind of panic.
We’d never wanted for much. Our flat, a humble two-bedroom on the fourth floor of a redbrick post-war block, with a trim garage behind and a patch for vegetablesit was modest, but it was ours.
Our son had long since moved to York. He and his wife had just welcomed a second daughter. He juggled a job and a mortgage; his wife had been out with the children for nearly four years.
For years, I’d taught geography. Five years ago, the deputy head asked me to let her niece, newly graduated, take some of my lessons. She’d been a bright pupil in my dayhow could I say no? I did her a good turn.
Now Mrs Carter, the new teacher, had a timetable twice as full as mine. I didnt even have a full position, just a handful of classes.
While Alan was alive, it had barely mattered. I took the train to York, helped our daughter-in-law with the girls, minded the flat. Alan earned well, we had a little put aside. But almost all those savings were swallowed up in funeral expenses quick as a heartbeat.
In August, I went to plead with the headmistress for more hours. She admitted times were hard for everyone. Still, seeing my position, she gave me form duties for Year Seven£50 more a month, and five times the responsibilities to boot.
Of course, I was foolish. Id depended too long on good fortune, convinced myself things would see themselves right, that our money would suffice. That curious assurance every woman feels, living with someone she can lean on. It was hard to acceptI was on my own.
I tried the other schools in the city, but all the timetables had been made up. Outlying village schools were the same; travelling further was expensive anyway. Few pupils took up geography for their exams; private tuition was scarce.
It was at this moment that Jane, my neighbour, brought up her offer. Her office, a law and medical firm, was just a few streets away. Cross the lane, and you were there.
It was late October when my first salary as a form tutor came: rent, food, a little for medicine, travel fare… It ought to have been enough, but there’d been a whip-round for the deputy head, a collection for new meters in the building, and I overspent on groceries.
I borrowed from my son. I knew it was a stretch for him, but, bless himno questions, just sent the money. Still, it didnt ease my pride.
How was I to live like this? Even trimming my hair needed careful budgeting.
Jane’s proposal seemed almost outlandish. Me, a university graduatea senior teacherbecoming an office cleaner? But my teachers wages barely matched the living wage. At least as a cleaner: no lesson plans, no anxious parents, no unruly pupils.
I needed advice, so I rang Suemy oldest friend, who, by happy twist of fate, was also my ex-sister-in-law. Sues eldest was my niece. Shed remarried and moved to a house in the countryside, and I often visited her when I could.
“Vera, just give it a go! If it doesnt suit, you can always leave. Why not?”
“But you see, Im a teacher. Its not”
“All work is honourable. I trained as a solicitor, and yet Ive been keeping pigs for years now. Theres no shame in honest labour.”
After school, I flicked the hall light on and caught sight of myself in the mirror: deepening frown lines, puffed eyes, sallow skin. “Heavens, Ive aged this year!” I mused. Without overthinking it, I rang Jane and arranged to come for an interview that afternoon.
The office was in a business centre, third floor, one whole wing. The corridor was shared with travel companies and shops. The place was immaculate: laminate flooring, beautiful tiles. The manager was straightforward, cheerful, about my own age.
“All that matters to us is a pleasant working environment. You can clean of an evening, or early before work starts. Five rooms, a loo, the corridor. The security guard downstairsGeorge or Suewill give you the keys. Please check everythings locked, especially the main office door. Let me show you around.”
Strangely, starting there felt easysomehow, I never even asked about the details. I just nodded, attentive as a schoolgirl.
“Heres your gloves, cleaning supplies, and your little corner. Inn, our bookkeeper, sorts out the money for suppliesjust get whats needed, yes?”
The “supplies corner” was conveniently near the loo. I liked that they even had three kinds of mopwide, spinning, and even one with a wringer. Sturdy buckets. Finer kit than Id ever owned.
“When can you start, Lily?” I made up my mind.
“Tomorrow morning, Inn will do your paperwork. Wed be glad to have you.”
Never did I imagine how much Id enjoy cleaning. But so it was. There were about a dozen staff, Jane told me seven in daily. The other rooms were often emptypeople out on business, or at home.
People lunched next door at the café; in the office, just the water cooler. The laminate floor was a joy; bins lined and mostly empty, filled with scrap paper. Two toilets, gleaming whiteId slip on gloves, wipe them down, pour out the cleaner. That was all. I misted the palm trees by the windows, wiped down wide leaves of the monsterawork as peaceful as it came.
I never saw the staff; for anything, I called Inn, cheerful and efficient.
“Inn, do you want the flowers watering?”
“No, noSvetlana takes charge of those. Wouldnt want to overwater! And windows? Once a year, just before Easter, we wipe them in and out. Thats it. But youll notice, everyones delightedthe office is spotless.”
Id take my time, heading over just after seven, and fetch the keys. Clean, stroll the empty rooms, gaze over the city from high windows, feeling almost the mistress of the place.
Recently, Id made friends with Sue, the night watch, herself a retired teacher. Wed chat over tea, swap stories. “We do one night in four here. Why didnt I do this all my life? Youd not believe the nerves wasted on my students!” shed sigh.
The first pay packet surprised me. I rang Inn at once.
“Inn, theres a mistake. Ive received nearly one and a half times the minimum. I wasnt there the whole month!”
“No mistake, Vera. Theres a bonus for keeping the place so tip-top. It isnt up to me. Next month youll get a regular paybe ready for two payments, the 25th and the 6th. The last cleaner barely turned up, but you anyway, the bonus depends somewhat on firm profitsits shared throughout the staff.”
I was delighted. Astonishingly, this brought in more than teaching did. And I could return home without papers, online reports or fretting about how to discipline a difficult lot.
One evening, as I was finishing up, my phone rang. From the display, I knew it wouldnt be pleasant.
“Mrs Grey, good evening,” it was Mrs Watson, mother of a boy in my class, straight to business. “Can we speak?”
“Of course.”
“You know about our problem and frankly, I dont see you taking it seriously. I shall take the matter to the head, and the powers that be.”
“But I am, I have spoken to Miss Phillips, to your sonhoping hed see his part and change his ways…”
“Its not about him! She hates him. She embarrassed him in class, called him a clown!”
“Well, today he came without kit or shoes. You know its gymno trainers, no kit, no sports hall.”
“He changed but she still excluded him.”
“Mrs Watson, your son attended the lesson in his underwear and muddy trainers, made a show for laughs, disrupted the lesson entirely”
“She publicly insulted him! Do you know what its like at home? I wont have it! Im filing a formal complaintsee if I dont!”
“Wouldnt it be best if we all met togetherme, you, your son, Miss Phillips?”
“Ive nothing to say to her! Im shocked at you; I looked to you for support. I shall go to the head tomorrow. Good evening.” The line went dead.
It was nothing newtroubles with parents always unsettled me deeply.
David Watson, after all, was a complex boya leader, often pulling others off task. When he didnt feel like working, the lesson ground to a halt. I reported, met with his mother, did what I could to keep teaching. But so it often went.
More than anything, the relentless flow of online surveys, urgent uploads of materials to school websites, new duties all well beyond my job. Cleaning the office took two hours; at home, I prepped lessons till midnight, submitted endless administrative forms.
The matter with David ended as such things do: he simply stopped attending PE at all. His mother sorted it, as she always did.
That winter, the snow was thickthey barely managed to clear the pavements. Despite exhaustion, my mood held up. Sue and I grew even closer. After our shifts, wed chat over endless mugs of tea in the guards room.
Both of us were aloneboth young grandmothers, living close by, visiting each others homes. Sue was retired; Id started teaching later, so no pension for me yet.
One Friday evening, I arrived at the office a bit earlyneeded to stop for supplies. Id arranged with Svetlana to tend the plants, which always cheered me. Id just fetched my keys and started about, not realising two women from the shopping centre were following up behind.
I didnt lock the office doorjust the cupboards. As I was about to wipe the windowsill, I heard a voice.
“Vera Grey! So its true?”
Mrs Watson was standing in the hall, alongside Emmamother of another boy in the class, looking uncomfortable.
“Oh, hello! What do you meanhow did you,” but, of course, I understood.
“Well, explains why our form groups in such a state,” Mrs Watson sneered, arching her brow.
I set down my bucket, put on some glovesout of habit, I suppose.
“And why should that be?” I asked simply.
“Well,” she flicked her hand at the mop, “Youve no time for the class. Imaginea teacher, reduced to this!”
There was nothing to say in reply.
“Excuse me, I must get on,” I said.
“Sorry, Vera,” Emma mumbled, backing away.
“Times we live inteachers as cleaners,” Mrs Watson scoffed, as I closed the door behind them.
No doubt, the whole school would know by Monday, and the parents’ WhatsApp would be on fire. I’d have to discuss it with the children.
Oddly, a few hours of quiet cleaning soon soothed my nerves. The plants waved their leaves in the lamplight, the floor shone, heavy thoughts wiped away.
Let things be. Monday, Id talk to the pupilsI was already composing what Id say.
But Sunday, the headmistress rang.
“Vera Grey, is it true? Rumours”
“Its true, Helen.”
“For goodness sake, why didnt you say you were struggling?”
“I did, at the start of term.”
“Well, we gave you form duties. But, Vera, dont you understandthe reputation of a teacher? The schools name! If youd come to us, perhaps wed have found something.”
“You said yourself at the last staff meeting our professions lost its former standing. Besides, all honest work is valued now. Im not stealing, Helen. Im simply taking honest work.”
“As a cleaner? Youre a veteran teacher, a geography specialist! Your value is”
“My values listed in the wage slips. If it werent for this job, I couldnt buy my granddaughters gifts, or give my son help. And it doesnt interfere. Theres no conflict of interest here.”
“Is that so? Youll have to handle parents on your own. I cant forbid it, but I cant support it either. No one would.”
Theres always one parent truly on the teachers side. If youre lucky. Mine wasntSally, my maths-teacher colleague, was one of the mothers.
“So its true?” It was always the same opening these days.
Apparently, people imagine cleaners as some down-and-out types. I was always well groomed, hair neat, modestly but smartly dressednot what people pictured.
“Its true, Sally.”
“I thought it was rubbish. Frankly, with these salaries well all scarper soon. The parents group is in uproar! Even the children know. But plenty are on your sideincluding me. But Watsons livid”
In ten minutes, I was up to date on every last detail.
That evening, I rang Sueshe invited me over, husband away on contract work. She always had solid advice.
Her kitchen was warm and welcoming.
“Vera, my advice: ignore them. Do you enjoy this job?”
“Well, works work, and lying on the sofa is always easier, but yes, I do, Sue. I like seeing a tidy office air, green, damp leaves, even shining toilets. Odd, isnt it?”
“Why odd”
“Theres satisfaction. I see disorder, know what needs doing, and see the result. Not like schoolthere you never know, no matter how hard you try. But here”
“I get you, Vera. And the thing isnobody has the right to dictate your choices, or expect an explanation. Just do you.”
And so I did. That was the advice I needed. Why should I justify myself? It was my own business.
Monday, first thing, during my form period, I said simply, “Alongside teaching, I now work part-time as a cleaner in a law office. Its helped since my husbands passing. Im grateful to have found the work. Now, a riddle: the office has five rooms. Two to the left, three to the right. The last, at the end, has a second room. At the start of the corridora loo. What do you think that reminds me of? How would you name those spaces?”
They puzzled and tossed ideasbright as ever, they got it in the end. Continents: two leftAmericas, next roomEurasia, then Africa and Australia, the loo at the startAntarctica.
They jokedair conditioning in Africa! Penguins in the loo! If there was any tension, it vanished in laughter.
I never gave another speech on the matter. As for the staffs opiniondidnt ask. Whether parents lost respectnever checked.
“Your friends wise, Vera,” Sue told me. “Bang ontheres no need to justify anything to anyone.”
“Yes, Sue. I bought my eldest granddaughter a coat and new hat for spring. A birthday game, as my daughter-in-law suggested. Is that not reason enough? It helps them, too.”
“Thats the spirit. Seelook, the plants flowering at lastyour care, no doubt.”
Spring arrived all at onceflooding the streets, a real thaw. The hard third term wound downproblems for everyone, but sharp when the headmistress, stiff-backed, announced in the staffroom:
“Teaching isnt like mopping floors! Its analysis and care!”
Everyone knew who she meant. I said nothing.
At the office, they surprised me on my birthday: a ring, a call, kind wishes all around, a day off. On my return, balloons, a blossom in a pot, a box with a sky-blue ribbonbrand new blender. I cleaned with joy. For kind people, effort was nothing; pay irrelevant.
And the next morning, call from Sue.
“Vera Grey, someone wishes a word with you.”
Why so formal? But it was someone else.
“Good morning, Mrs Grey. Im Head of Department at Blue Horizon. I hear youre a geographer by training?”
They asked about my qualifications and invited me for interview. I camethey needed not just a worker, but a senior specialist at their travel agency. I was their best fit.
Tourism season was upon us, quick decisions required.
“Whats the news, Vera?” snapped the headmistress, a note of irritation, “Are matters with Mrs Watson settled? Shes threatening the governorsshe claims our maths teacher insulted her sons genius! Can you imagine?”
“Yes, she told me. Hes a genius in his mothers eyes; Mrs Jones and the exam scripts dont agree.”
“So what now? She said, If our class is led by a cleaner, what hope for our school?”
“Thats what I wanted to discuss. Youll need to replace me immediately. I resign.”
“What? And where are you going? Not”
Two weeks later, I started at the travel agency. Soon, the office filled with flowers. The pay, tied to commissions, was far above my teaching salary. I gave it my allhonestly, with care and enthusiasm.
I never left my cleaning post. Everything was close by. After a day at the desk, it was a pleasure to don my apron and sweep across my continents.
By the next summer, Sue and I were off to Italy on a last-minute deal; later, with Jane, to Turkey.
I helped my son with his mortgage, bought him and his wife a cheap trip.
One day, I caught my own eye in the mirrortanned, bright, circles gone, eyes alive.
“Good afternoon! OhMrs Grey, is that you?”
It was Mrs Watson, come for a holiday package.
“Hello, Mrs Watson. Yes, Im the manager today. Where are you hoping to travel?”
“Turkey, I think. My word, you look splendid! David and I often recall youyou were a real teacher, a born teacher. Form group hasnt been the same since you lefta disaster. And as for the rest”
I didn’t care for the songs refrain.
“Lets not wander. Heres what we have on offerthough Id recommend this one Weve holidayed there ourselves”
“But do you still clean?” she gestured towards the law office next door.
“Yes, I do, Mrs Watson. If youd rather another agent, Ill fetch one.”
“No need! Its justso odd. Youre so”
I turned my monitor to her.
“Lets look at your options.”
Her opinion didnt matter at all. I simply loved my workboth sides of it.
