Marjorie hated visitors, yet the one she was about to get came with a bigger surprise that she could ever imagine.
Taken by the Cleaner.
Marjorie wasn't looking forward to her nephew coming to visit. It wasn't any secret that she hated having visitors. Very much a loner, she despised intrusion. A woman in her late fifties, she had never married. Her first love was horses; in fact she was mad about them but not too fussed on humans.
Allison, her sister had written to say that her son, Nigel was intending to pay her a visit and stay for a few days. He had just graduated from teachers college and he wanted to spend some time in the country before starting his new job in London, teaching mathematics to thirteen year-olds. A period of rest he said he badly needed.
"I don't know why he wants to come here for," she grumbled madly to herself, "he'll only get in the way, make a nuisance of himself. Besides," she continued, "I've got my horses to attend to."
She leant forward and patted Maurice, her beagle who was lying in front of a roaring fire. She looked dejectedly at the letter again, "There's a million and one things to do around here, I don't have time to entertain people," she moaned bitterly.
Letting out a groan, she sat back in her chair and took a large mouthful of stout. "I wonder if he likes a. drink," she muttered. "Knowing those college types theses days he probably sips mineral water."
Marjorie glanced at the letter again. Three days time and he would be here. "It really is most awkward," she continued to complain, leaning forward and scratching Maurice behind his ears. "Well I'm not going to tidy up for him, if that's what he thinks," she wailed, casting a non-critical eye over the shambles that her lounge had fallen into. "He can take me as he finds me. I won't be waiting on him hand and foot. And if that's not good enough, tough cheese."
She tossed the letter on top of a six-legged sideboard that she had picked up at a yard sale and went out to the kitchen to fetch herself another bottle of stout.
The next day bought more bad news. The Inland Revenue was demanding an exorbitant amount of money from her; back taxes that they said hadn’t been paid.
"Damned parasites," she screamed, as she read the letter. "How on earth did they come up with a. figure like that? It’s flamin’ daylight robbery!"
She telephoned the tax department and the person she spoke to assured her that the figure was indeed correct and she should count herself lucky that she had not incurred any penalty tax.
The next day Marjorie mood was black. It was blacker still when one of her favorite horses smashed itself against the gate as it pranced in the yard, injuring its leg to the degree that it needed thirteen stitches.
"You stupid girl Melanie!” she bellowed, "I told you to watch her, that she was in one of her moods and what happens." Marjorie pulled her hat off and slapped it against her thigh in frustration. “What ever next?"
The unfortunate Melanie slunk away and avoided Marjorie for the remainder of the afternoon.
"Philip!" yelled Marjorie, her voice reverberating around the yard. "I want you to muck out those two end stables and make sure there's plenty of feed and clean water in them. There are two new horses arriving later today and don't take all afternoon about it either."
Philip, a thin, wiry lad of nineteen, looked at her with wide staring eyes, and knees that almost knocked with terror, nodded vigorously and sped to his task. He had seen and heard how Marjorie had rebuked Melanie and was keen to avoid the same scolding.
Marjorie strode, purposefully towards the house. She noticed as she approached the backdoor that the dahlias in the china pot by the door jamb were beginning to flag and grabbing a nearby bucket that was half full of water, dumped the brown liquid onto the wilting plants and then tossing the pale to one side, marched into the house.
She filled the kettle and crashed it down onto the stove. While she waited for the water to boil she sat at the kitchen table and brooded. Maurice came sniffing into the room, his nose covered in a film of dust from his foraging. Marjorie looked down at him as he approached and reaching her feet he began to sneeze, his head jerking up and down and his ears flopping
wildly.
While she was searching amongst the unwashed dishes for a cup, there was a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" she bellowed towards the half open door, not looking up from her task.
"Aunt Marjorie?" a weak voice came back.
Marjorie paused, the spoon heaped with coffee held in mid air, as she contemplated the voice. As the recognition registered she exclaimed, grumpily, "Blast! I'd forgotten about him," she mumbled.
The door opened slowly and a bespectacled figure peered in.
Marjorie stared back at him. "You must be Nigel?” she said flatly.
“Er, yes. May I come in?" he asked a little anxiously. “Is this a bad time?”
“It’s always a bad time,” she complained then looking up, waved him in.
He crossed the threshold and stood blinking at her somewhat nervously
"Coffee?" she asked neutrally, showing him the jar.
Nigel stood his ground. "Yes please."
"For crying out loud!" she boomed. “Don’t stand there on ceremony. Come and help me find a mug or a cup."
Nigel put down his suitcase, and his bag and began to sift through the mountain of dirty dishes, found a mug and washed it under the tap.
"How long you planning to stay for?" she asked pointedly.
"A couple of weeks, if it's all right. If it's not too much trouble."
"Humph," she snorted. "I suppose it will be okay,” already hating the situation. “But I warn you," she said looking directly at him, "I won't be able to spend too much time with you, I'm pretty busy at the moment. As you can see I haven't even had time to do the washing up."
Marjorie had been watching Nigel as he cast his eyes over the disheveled mess that was his Aunts kitchen. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him. Must be ten, fifteen years. Gawd, what a drip, she thought.
"I don't mind doing a bit of housework for you, if you have no
objections, he said. “It’s my way of paying you back for letting me stay with you.” He smiled. “Mom says not to drive you nutty with my cleaning habits. You see, I like things neat, clean and orderly,” he said gazing about him and taking the equally squalid mess that he could see in the living room from where he stood, “and I think you need a little help in that area.”
Marjorie gawked in total bemusement as he spoke, then shaking the incredulous feelings she was having vigorously from her head replied, “I don't care what you do, just so long as you don't get in the way of me and the others out in the yard, that's all I ask. Oh, and one last thing. Those two idiots that work for me usually eat with me in the evening. It’s the only perk they get and the only one they deserve."
"I shall be a shadow on the wall, "he crooned, "a zephyr in the trees at summertime. I shall be like the gentle flap of a butterfly’s wing. A . . ."
"Yes, yes," she interrupted impatiently, "I get the picture. Gawd strewth, I hope you're not going to go on like that all the time."
He smiled at her and asked, "Where shall I sleep?"
"Top of the stairs, second on the right. The toilet is at end of the hall, bathroom last on the left."
Marjorie finished her coffee and stood to her feet. "How your mom?" she asked.
"She's fine. She sends her love."
With a nod of acknowledgement Marjorie didn’t let the awkwardness of her nephew being in her house show and getting to her feet, the chair scrapping on the floor, swept out of the house back into the yard.
“Melanie!” she yelled, her voice receding as the walked away, “come here a minute you useless individual.”
Nigel turned his attention back to the task he had set himself and made his way slowly through the house. All the rooms were in a terrible mess. It appeared as if his aunt had moved from room to room as the chaos in each became too much for her, to the point where she now looked as if she had almost completely run out of living space. He found his room, where he was to
sleep, in the same condition as the others.
“Oh auntie, he whispered. Mom said that housekeeping wasn't your strongest point and I fear she was right. Still, we'll have things looking a little better by the time I leave."
Nigel spent the remainder of the day cleaning first the kitchen and then his room. When Marjorie came into the house she stopped suddenly the moment she crossed the threshold, her hand still on the doorknob. Philip and were taken by surprise and crashed into the back of her huge frame.
"Good grief!" she exclaimed. The two teenagers behind her craned their necks, their eyes bulging as they took in the clean surroundings. The room was now spotless and neatly arranged.
"We got the right house?" Philip quipped.
Melanie jabbed him in the ribs. “Hush,” she hissed.
"I've also prepared a meal," Nigel said. "I hope you like stew, it was all I had time to make after I had finished everything else."
The four of them ate their dinner in silence. Melanie and Philip's eyes never stopped roving around the room, their faces showing the wonder they felt. To Marjorie, Melanie and Philip it was almost like eating in a completely alien environment
The next day he cleaned the entire upstairs of the house, except his aunt's room, feeling it would be an invasion of privacy if he were to do so. The day following that, he started on the downstairs. The mountain of rubbish in the yard was growing ever taller.
It was while he was going through the piles of papers in the lounge that he came across the tax demand that Marjorie had received. He whistled in astonishment when he saw the figure. How was she going to pay that, he wondered? Making sure that he wasn't going to be disturbed, he sat at her desk and went through her drawers, quickly glancing through an assortment of cash books. They were badly kept. But it told him enough. Marjorie could pay her bills and her tax but that was it, there would be no cash left over. And try as he might, he couldn't see how the stables were going to able to function for
very much longer in its present state. The silly old woman was going to go under. He smiled to himself in quiet satisfaction as he took in the sideboard that stood beside the desk, made a mental note, then carried on working.
Each evening when Marjorie and her two young workers came in
to eat, dinner was ready.
"You carry on like this and I'll have to keep you on full time," Marjorie said good-naturedly. Her mood had softened considerably in the short time Nigel had been around.
Nigel looked at her but made no response. He merely grinned.
Later that evening, she wandered around her home. The transformation was incredible. She could not remember the last time it was in this condition. The floors had been vacuumed. Furniture polished. Windows cleaned, inside and out, even the drapes had been laundered. It was only then that she realized the squalor that she had allowed herself to sink into.
After cleaning, the remainder of his first week saw Nigel sitting out near the duck pond. Scene, upon scene he painted. The pond, the nearby barn and shed: which were both in serious decay. The surrounding hillside and trees, all were captured by Nigel's brush.
Nigel sat down at the kitchen table to begin his meal when Melanie asked, "How come you're going to be a math teacher and not an artist?"
He finished his mouthful before answering. "I like math better. Ever since I can remember I've enjoyed it. Painting I like, because it helps me to relax. I derive equal pleasure from both but I find problem solving much more rewarding, keeps the mind active. I know it must sound strange but that's the way it is."
"What do you do with the pictures you paint?" she asked.
"One or two I keep," he answered, smiling, "but mostly I sell them. A friend of mine has an art gallery and antiques shop and she gets them framed and then sells them. She takes a percentage of course and I get the rest."
"Do you make much out of it?" Philip asked.
"It'll help me to supplement my income from teaching."
There was a gap in the conversation then Marjorie asked, "Where did all those books come from that are in that bookcase in the living room?"
He looked at her with a bemused expression his face. "Their yours aunt. They were scattered throughout the rooms. So I collected them up and put them all in the one place, the bookcase."
“They're quite an impressive collection," she added.
He smiled and shrugged.
Marjorie was getting used to having Nigel around. He wasn't the nuisance she thought he was going to be. He never imposed. He had transformed her house from a hovel, into an orderly, well kept home. And he was a good cook into the bargain.
Feeling guilty, she wanted to something for him in return, bestow a gift upon him for all the hard work he had done.
Marjorie decided to give him the bookcase and library of books. She put her thoughts to him.
"Oh no aunt, really, I couldn't," he protested.
"Nonsense boy. I don't need them. I never even knew I had them, so clearly I won’t miss them. You'll get far more use from them than I will."
Despite his remonstrations, she insisted.
"Oh very well aunt, if you say so." He reached across the table and held her hand for a few moments, giving it a tight squeeze.
She blushed at the show of affection. No one had ever done that as far as she could remember.
Melanie and Philip could see the embarrassment on her face but neither commented.
When she regained her composure she asked, "Have you got anywhere to stay in London?"
"I've got an unfurnished flat not too far from the school."
"That's handy," she remarked.
"It'll save me a heap on bus fares."
"What furniture have you got?" Marjorie asked pointedly.
Nigel thought for a moment. "Apart from the bookcase you've just given me, I've got a bed . . ."
"Single or double," interrupted Melanie.
"Don't be so nosey girl," Marjorie bawled at her.
"It's alright, I don't mind," Nigel responded.
"Well I do. It's downright rude. Apologize this instant."
Melanie, her eyes downcast, muttered, "Sorry."
Marjorie gave her a cold stare then turned her attention back to Nigel. "You were saying."
"Yes, apart from my double bed," he said, looking at Melanie and extracting a grin from her young face, "Nothing else."
"Humph," Marjorie snorted. "Well why don't you take that old sideboard that's in the lounge. I'm not that fond of it. Don't really know why I bought it. I think I got it to store some old bits and pieces in but I now think it's an ugly old thing, so you might as well have the use of it."
Nigel held his hands up in objection. "Now aunt, this is going too far."
"Rubbish, boy, "she retorted. "What do I need it for? It'll only get cluttered up after you've gone. That's if you want it of course."
Nigel’s eyes lit up.
"It's frightfully disgusting, " she continued, "at least I think it is. You can have that grubby old china pot that's by the back door too. I saw you looking closely at it the other day, so clearly you must like it."
Nigel shifted nervously in his chair. "Actually I was admiring the dahlias.”
Marjorie regarded him for a few moments. "Well do you want it or not?"
"You really are too generous. Honestly, you are. I don't know what to say." Nigel paused before taking a small jug from the sideboard that was now his, and showed it to her. "I found this the other day when I was clearing out the kitchen." He leant toward and handed her the jug.
She turned it over a number of times. “Nah. I don't know what it is. I think I got it the same time as I picked up that china pot. You have it.”
Melanie and Philip were totally bemused. They had never seen their employer act this way before. The show of generosity was a whole different side to her that was completely foreign to them.
She swept Nigel's vigorous protests aside as being of no consequence. She was only too glad for him to have them.
The remaining few days of Nigel's visit flew by, and despite her aversion to people in general, she was sad to see him leave. He had done much to restore her faith in humanity, albeit in his own quiet way.
The small van that he had arrived in, bounced as it wound its way along the rough road away from her house. The sideboard, the bookcase and books, now in boxes, were in the back. The two china pots wrapped in newspaper, nestled in two small boxes, sat on the floor of the front passenger side. Nigel was positively beaming.
As he drove towards the road, he leant forward and pulled a thick book out from under the passenger seat, “Knowing and Collecting Antiques,' glanced at it and grinning broadly, slipped it into the glove-box.
"I'm going to miss his cooking," said Philip.
"Me too. He was such a sweet person, warm and friendly too.
He'd do anything for you and not ask for anything in return," added Melanie
Marjorie went quietly back into the house, sat down at the kitchen table and wrote out a check for the tax that she owed. She could just about afford to pay it. Things would be a bit tight for a while but she would get through it, she always did.
A month had passed since Nigel had left and Marjorie was in the village getting some groceries, when she bumped into one of her neighbors, Tom Harris.
He stopped her in the street. "Hey Marge. You should check, over some of that old stuff you've got lying around your place. It could be worth a bit of
money.”
"What makes you say that," she asked warily. He was always snooping where he shouldn’t.
"This young lad, a college student just made a fortune selling an old sideboard and a couple of pieces of china. Said they were given to him by a
relative."
She stared hard at him. "Where did you hear that?" she growled.
"Here, in the paper." He showed her the article.
Marjorie’s eyes nearly flew out of her head when she saw the headline and Nigel’s picture below it. "Give me that!" she said as she snatched the paper from his hands."
"Here, steady on."
But his protests fell on deaf ears. Marjorie wasn't listening. She read the article and while she did her temper fumed:
Chippendale commode. Satinwood, marquetry and other woods. Neo-classical piece c1773; Spouted drug jar. Maislica, Savona, Italian c1670; Seau A Boutelle, porcelain, decorated in ‘Chinoiserie.’ The shell and foliage scroll handles enriched with guilding and painted, ‘En Comieu Rose.’ Vincennes c1773. French.
When she read the sums that all the pieces sold for she had to reach out for support. "He knew," she exploded. "The pious little worm knew. All the while he was putting on a performance. No wonder he couldn't wipe that grin off his face when he was loading the stuff into the back of his van. The cunning little toad knew."
Marjorie flung the paper back at the unfortunate Tom Harris and stormed off.
"It says here, he has a collection of rare books he has considering selling, " he called after her.
"He might as well," she shouted back. "If ever I see him again I'll poke his eyes out."
Three days later Marjorie received a letter and recognized her sisters writing. She ripped it open with utter disdain
Sitting at the kitchen table she began to read. Within a few sentences she had tears running down her cheeks. She finished the letter and with trembling fingers opened the envelope and peered
inside. Then gently pulling out a slip of paper unfolded it and glanced at the writing on it.
It was a check for exactly half of what Nigel had received from the auctioneers. In her letter, Nigel's mother had explained that it was never Nigel's intention to deceive her. He knew that if he said anything that nothing would ever get done properly, that more than likely she herself would be taken advantage of. That is why he kept silent and did things quietly and without comment.
Marjorie sat back in her chair. That was typical of Nigel. Always doing things without any fuss, and always for the betterment of others. That was Nigel, the quiet achiever and she thought that she’d been taken for a ride.
Looking at the check that had been enclosed she wept tears of joy. The money had arrived at just the right time. The past few days she had been tormented with the thought that she was going to have to let Melanie and Philip go and close the stables.
A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
