Read My Husband's Wife for Free Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Prowse
early one Saturday and Rosie had just arrived at work. She had tramped up the hill and was a little out of puff. The caravans were, as ever, fully booked. It wasn’t the grandest of holiday parks, the facilities were sparse and the trek to the beach a hike, but the caravans were spotless and the view was the best in the area. The sea was flanked by the curve of graduated hills, each peppered with fat sheep boxed in by full and ancient hedgerows. A farmhouse sat in the foreground, its chimney billowing smoke that filled the air with the distinct aroma of a real fire. The whole scene shone against its backdrop of clear, crisp, turquoise sky. Rosie smiled, thinking that if someone wanted to bottle an image of the perfect English countryside and pop it in a snow globe, this would be it.
With her tabard on, her long, thick hair fastened into a messy knot on top of her head and her bucket full of cleaning products in her hand, she walked to caravan 9A as per her worksheet. She knocked, then tried the handle. Receiving no reply, she let herself in and made straight for the kitchen, knowing that she might need to start by giving a grotty grill pan a good soak. She checked the cooker. It was pristine. Clearly the guests in 9A preferred to eat out, which was absolutely fine by her; less to clean. The kitchen areas were her nemesis. She had many horror stories of fat-clogged pans and bean-caked saucepans that could take her an hour to get clean. She ran her sponge under the hot tap and squirted kitchen cleaner on the small areas of work surface and the stainless steel sink drainer.
‘Oooow! Good Lord!’ a voice yelled from the bathroom at the other end of the caravan.
‘Shit!’ Rosie switched off the hot tap and gathered up her bucket and other bits and pieces as fast as she could. She had got as far as the hallway when the bathroom door opened and she came face to face with a middle-aged man, who thankfully had had the foresight to wrap himself in a large towel. He was, however, naked from the waist up. She tried not to look at his bare, hairy chest; it was strange and embarrassing to see a man who wasn’t her husband in this state.
‘Who are you?’ he yelled, more in shock than anger. His accent was distinctly American.
‘I am so, so sorry!’ She spoke with her free hand raised in supplication and the bucket in her other hand. ‘I knocked and waited, but there was no answer, so I came in to clean.’
‘I was in the shower!’
‘Yes, I can see that now.’ She cowered.
‘The shower ran really cold.’ He pointed behind him, as though this might be of interest and as though he wasn’t standing wearing a towel, chatting to her in a rather con-fined space.
‘That was my fault too. Sorry. I ran the hot tap, to do the surfaces. I am so sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll let you get on.’ She stepped gingerly along the hallway, towards the front door.
Rosie laughed as she rattled down the wobbly steps, off to tend to 9B, where she would make a much more thorough job of checking whether it was occupied. She hoped she might bump into Mel. Working opposite shifts meant this didn’t often happen, but she couldn’t wait to tell her, knowing her friend would find it hilarious!
She was all done by midday and after hanging up her overalls and placing her bucket in the cleaning cupboard, she said her goodbyes and started down the hill for home. Her phone rang.
‘Daddy is taking us to soft play and so we won’t be home!’ Naomi shouted, her haste and volume a combination of excitement and lack of telephone skill.
‘Oh, right! Put Daddy on, Nay.’ Rosie listened to the clunks and rumble as Phil was passed his phone.
‘Hey, love.’
‘I hear you’ve been badgered into taking them to Barnstaple.’ She laughed.
‘I don’t mind really.’ He sighed. ‘I mean, it’s not like I was actually looking forward to putting my feet up and watching a bit of sport on the telly.’
‘Oh, love, look, hang on five
With her tabard on, her long, thick hair fastened into a messy knot on top of her head and her bucket full of cleaning products in her hand, she walked to caravan 9A as per her worksheet. She knocked, then tried the handle. Receiving no reply, she let herself in and made straight for the kitchen, knowing that she might need to start by giving a grotty grill pan a good soak. She checked the cooker. It was pristine. Clearly the guests in 9A preferred to eat out, which was absolutely fine by her; less to clean. The kitchen areas were her nemesis. She had many horror stories of fat-clogged pans and bean-caked saucepans that could take her an hour to get clean. She ran her sponge under the hot tap and squirted kitchen cleaner on the small areas of work surface and the stainless steel sink drainer.
‘Oooow! Good Lord!’ a voice yelled from the bathroom at the other end of the caravan.
‘Shit!’ Rosie switched off the hot tap and gathered up her bucket and other bits and pieces as fast as she could. She had got as far as the hallway when the bathroom door opened and she came face to face with a middle-aged man, who thankfully had had the foresight to wrap himself in a large towel. He was, however, naked from the waist up. She tried not to look at his bare, hairy chest; it was strange and embarrassing to see a man who wasn’t her husband in this state.
‘Who are you?’ he yelled, more in shock than anger. His accent was distinctly American.
‘I am so, so sorry!’ She spoke with her free hand raised in supplication and the bucket in her other hand. ‘I knocked and waited, but there was no answer, so I came in to clean.’
‘I was in the shower!’
‘Yes, I can see that now.’ She cowered.
‘The shower ran really cold.’ He pointed behind him, as though this might be of interest and as though he wasn’t standing wearing a towel, chatting to her in a rather con-fined space.
‘That was my fault too. Sorry. I ran the hot tap, to do the surfaces. I am so sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll let you get on.’ She stepped gingerly along the hallway, towards the front door.
Rosie laughed as she rattled down the wobbly steps, off to tend to 9B, where she would make a much more thorough job of checking whether it was occupied. She hoped she might bump into Mel. Working opposite shifts meant this didn’t often happen, but she couldn’t wait to tell her, knowing her friend would find it hilarious!
She was all done by midday and after hanging up her overalls and placing her bucket in the cleaning cupboard, she said her goodbyes and started down the hill for home. Her phone rang.
‘Daddy is taking us to soft play and so we won’t be home!’ Naomi shouted, her haste and volume a combination of excitement and lack of telephone skill.
‘Oh, right! Put Daddy on, Nay.’ Rosie listened to the clunks and rumble as Phil was passed his phone.
‘Hey, love.’
‘I hear you’ve been badgered into taking them to Barnstaple.’ She laughed.
‘I don’t mind really.’ He sighed. ‘I mean, it’s not like I was actually looking forward to putting my feet up and watching a bit of sport on the telly.’
‘Oh, love, look, hang on five