The Cleaner

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The restaurant is full of conversation, nice smells, good people, decent music, and a warm atmosphere. The waitresses all have perfect hair and trim bodies, shown off by tight clothing. Everybody else has gone to a lot of effort to look casual-jeans, tidy T-shirts, smart shoes.

Sally’s father is working away at a chicken dish, her mother tackling a salad, while Sally pushes a fork back and forth in her tortellini. The day has gone well. For the first time in ages, her father, fifty-five now, looks close to his age rather than several years beyond it. The DVD player went down well; it was no problem for her to install it, and her father spent ten minutes playing with the remote, learning how to drive it. The buttons were difficult to push with his shuddery hands, yet his frustration stayed at a minimum. Whether that will still be the case in another year, or even another few weeks, is anybody’s guess.

She stabs a few pieces of pasta and puts them into her mouth. She loves pasta. She could live on it quite happily, yet tonight her appetite isn’t allowing her to enjoy it. Her mother and father are laughing. She is happy for them, happy that for an hour or two they don’t look so empty.

When she finishes her meal, the friendly waitress who has been helping them all night comes over and sweeps away their plates, then just as quickly replaces them with dessert menus. She scans through the choices. She doesn’t really feel like any of them, and looking at the waitresses, she doubts any of them have touched any type of dessert in their entire lives. She looks up at her dad and identifies the strain in his features as he tries to keep his body under control. He won’t be able to hold on much longer, she thinks.

Sally is a few bites into a chocolate sundae when she starts to feel guilty about Joe. She hopes he wasn’t relying on her for his lunch today. Of course what makes her feel really bad is what he said this morning. Somebody like me. She hadn’t been aware till then that Joe knew people were treating him differently, and she was doing so too. Nobody else was making him lunch. Nobody else was pestering him to sit outside on the banks of the Avon River and throw stale bread at the ducks.

Two things occur to her then. The first is there’s a reason why Joe always has turned down her offer to have lunch together, or to be given a lift home. She has been treating him differently.

The second thing is that this sundae isn’t going to help her waistline. Anyway, it’s starting to taste plain. Just chilled soggy cream. She pushes her spoon around it, making it even more runny. What she needs to do, she realizes, is to make an effort to get to know Joe while pretending she isn’t making an effort. She smiles at her parents, glad they are having a good time. Her mother’s metal crucifix is hanging outside her blouse, the light from the candles glinting off it. Through everything, her parents still have their faith. Again she thinks that she can use faith to bring herself closer to Joe.

She looks back down at her sundae. Today is day one to become a better person, a more caring person, a thinner person. She pushes her dessert aside and promises herself never to touch one again.