Jessica Steele - A Nine-to-five Affair

She’d consoled herself that she didn’t want to work there anyway. And found herself another job. It had taken her ten weeks to lose it—this time for bad time-keeping. And it was true, her time-keeping had become appalling. But Aunt Hannah hadn’t seemed to want to get out of bed in the morning any more and, while it had been no problem to take her breakfast in bed, Emmie had found she didn’t love her work well enough to leave the apartment until she was sure Aunt Hannah was up and about.

Her third job after being made redundant from Usher Trading had lasted four months. It hadn’t paid as well, but it had been nearer to her home, which had meant she hadn’t had to leave for work so early. All had seemed to be well, until her employer’s son had come home from abroad and, obviously believing himself to be irresistible, alternated between being overbearingly officious with her or, despite the fact he had a lovely wife and children, making suggestive, sickening remarks about how good he could be to her if she’d let him.

Emmie hadn’t known how much more she could take, but supposed that working for fatherly Mr Denby at Usher Trading had rather sheltered her from the womanising types lurking out there. She’d recognised she was a novice at knowing how to handle them, and had been near to exploding again one day, when a call had come through from the local police station. Apparently they had a Mrs Hannah Whitford there, who seemed a little confused.

‘I’m on my way!’ Emmie exclaimed, holding down panic, grabbing up her bag, car keys at the ready.

‘Where are you going?’ Kenneth Junior demanded.

‘Can’t stop!’

‘Your job?’ he warned threateningly.

‘It’s yours—with my compliments,’ she told him absently. The fact that she’d just walked out was the least of her worries just then. She made it to the police station in record time. ‘Mrs Whitford?’ she enquired of the man at the front desk.

‘She’s having a cup of tea with one of the WPCs,’ he replied, and explained how the elderly lady had been found wandering the streets in her bedroom slippers and seemed distressed because she couldn’t remember where she lived.

‘Oh, the poor love!’ Emmie cried.

‘She’s all right now,’ the police officer soothed. ‘Fortunately she had her handbag with her, and we were able to find your office telephone number in her spectacle case.’

‘Oh, thank goodness I thought to jot it down!’ Emmie’s exclamation was heartfelt. She’d only put it in Aunt Hannah’s spectacle case because she’d known the dear soul would look first for her glasses before she thought to look for her phone number.

‘Has Mrs Whitford been—er—forgetful for very long?’ the policeman asked in a kindly fashion. Emmie explained how, if Aunt Hannah had, it was only recently, and only since she had lost her son earlier in the year. Whereupon, on learning that Emmie was away from the apartment for most of the day, the officer tentatively suggested that it might be an idea to consider establishing Mrs Whitford in a residential home.

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly!’ was Emmie’s initial shocked reaction. ‘She would hate it!’ And, getting over her shock a little, she asked, ‘Was she very upset when you found her?’

‘Upset—confused, distressed—and,’ he added with a small smile, ‘just a little aggressive.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Emmie mumbled feebly. But, fully aware that Aunt Hannah had a tart tongue when the mood took her, was in no mind to have Alec’s mother ‘established’ in a residential home. Even if, while waiting for Aunt Hannah, the kindly policeman did suggest to her not to dismiss the notion out of hand, that residential homes weren’t jails, and that if those in charge knew where residents were, they were quite at liberty to come and go as they pleased. For unintentional but added weight, he mentioned that while indoors someone was there all the time to keep an eye on residents, and see to it that they had their lunch.

Hannah Whitford suddenly appeared from nowhere. ‘All this fuss!’ she snapped shortly, quite back to normal, but Emmie, who knew her well, knew that she was more embarrassed than cross. ‘Have you got your car outside?’

Emmie was not about to give the police officer’s ‘residential home’ suggestion another thought. But Aunt Hannah, either having had a similar conversation with the woman police constable who’d looked after her, or having done some serious thinking of her own, brought the subject up herself. It was around lunchtime the following day that, having been deep in thought, Aunt Hannah suddenly seemed to realise that Emmie was not at work.

‘What are you doing home?’ she demanded in her forthright way.

‘I thought I’d look for another job,’ Emmie replied, aware that, with yesterday’s confusion behind her, Aunt Hannah was getting back to being as sharp as she had ever been.

‘Because of me.’

It was a statement, and despite Emmie telling her that she would have walked out of her job anyway, without receiving the phone call from the police station, Aunt Hannah would not have it.

Nor would she countenance—despite Emmie’s protestation—that she should become a burden to her step-granddaughter. But it was only when Emmie saw that she was growing extremely agitated that she agreed—more in the hope of calming her down than anything—to investigate the possibility of her step-grandmother moving to a residential home.

Aunt Hannah, as Emmie later realised—and might have known—was not prepared to stop at mere investigation. So they set off doing the rounds of residential homes. The first one they looked at, Keswick House, was in actual fact a very pleasant surprise. Light and airy, with its residents seemingly busy with their own pursuits, and a general cheerful atmosphere about the place. All residents were encouraged to bring their own furniture. There was, however, one very big drawback—it was expensive. To stay there was going to take all of Mrs Whitford’s income and more.

With Aunt Hannah not ready to give up the idea, they began to look at other establishments. By then Emmie was starting to realise that, if she herself was out all day—as she would be when she found herself a new job—perhaps as a legacy of when Aunt Hannah had forgotten where she lived that day, the old lady would be frightened and nervous of being on her own. Aunt Hannah, Emmie all at once knew, needed to feel safe.

But, in adjusting to the fact that the dear soul was determined to move out, Emmie was not prepared to let her go and live just anywhere. The trouble was, though, that while one or two of the places they looked at were adequate, there were others that Emmie would not dream of allowing her step-grandmother to move to.

Emmie couldn’t bear the thought that Aunt Hannah might feel frightened and unsafe in their apartment. She blamed herself that, when clearly Aunt Hannah needed company, she had left her on her own for so many hours during the day. But—Emmie had to work.

It wasn’t until the following day, when Aunt Hannah had another spell of confusion—and came out of it looking very bewildered—that Emmie knew for sure what had to be done. How, for goodness’ sake, would Aunt Hannah have coped if she’d been out at work? Aunt Hannah had to feel safe! Emmie rang Lisa Browne, the owner of Keswick House.

A week later, on the day before Emmie started her new job, Mrs Whitford moved into Keswick House. Fortunately, what with packing her personal treasures and looking forward to the move, she had entirely forgotten the stated fee required, and was happy to sign anything Emmie gave her and to leave all the paperwork to her step-granddaughter. Two weeks after that Emmie moved out of the well-maintained three-bedroomed apartment that had been the family home, to a two-bedroomed flat in a much less salubrious area.