Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 3-4.

by BigBird74

3.

Home at last! Travelling through the centre of town was never a good idea and late on a Friday afternoon was probably the very worst moment. Dahlia took a deep sigh of relief as her car wended its way up the hillside to her remote outpost atop one of the hills overlooking Barton. Hilltop was an exclusive kind of place. The grey, drab and overcrowded apartment blocks that predominated Barton’s heartlands gradually gave way to ever more greenery and wide expanses of countryside. Dahlia’s magnificent home was perched on the side of cliff face. Far below in the shallow below sat Barton, a slight haze sitting over it, the result mainly of traffic pollution but also natural weather patterns that conspired to keep the bad air down there, while up here, the air was crystal clear.

The house itself was massive and pristine. The whitewashed stone walls kept the building comfortably cool in the summer, while retaining its warmth in the winter. Nothing had been overlooked in the design of this palatial home. Dahlia had taken some credit for the munificence, but in reality her involvement had been as token as picking between one of three pictures displaying an artist’s rendition of how the place could look. Her heels clicked loudly on the solid stone floor as she slinked her way indoors, where her maid, Petra, was waiting for her.

Whether by conscious design or happy coincidence, Petra was the perfect foil for showing off Dahlia’s brilliance. Whereas Dahlia was slender, with perfectly shaped hips, thighs and bust, Petra was a large girl, well built in the sense of a shot putter. Her short cropped hair, dark with greying streaks throughout, contrasted horribly with Dahlia’s perfect mane of thick hair, which hung beautifully down one side of her face, like a frame for her, also near perfect, face. When Dahlia entered a room, everyone turned to look at the embodiment of Venus. When Petra entered, it was usually to bring them something. No, both looks and good fortune had smiled down upon Dahlia, while missing Petra almost completely. But not absolutely.

See, Petra had decided to leave Dahlia’s service to go work with her husband, Robert, on a new business venture. Sick and tired of her picky boss – a hard lady to please – she had finally decided to jack it all in and seek newer pastures. Today was her last day and she was in good spirits. So much so that the mask of deference had slipped off almost completely. Dahlia had been desperate to keep her and she had enjoyed saying no. It had left Dahlia in a terribly difficult position. Adding to her woes was the unexpected arrival of her sister, Melissa just a few days ago. Whereas Petra was Dahlia’s root opposite, Melissa was just an ordinary copy of Dahlia. Whereas Dahlia’s breasts were breath taking, Melissa’s were smaller and had encountered gravity somewhat earlier. Even though Dahlia had the cutest button nose, Melissa’s hooked itself in a less appealing downward trajectory. All those years Dahlia had spent in the gym, Melissa had spent studiously avoiding exercise of any sort, laughing a little at all the agonies her sister put herself through. That said, as their fortunes diverged rapidly, the smile receded from her face and a growing sense of jealousy that focused on those small, but important differences between the two took hold.

Melissa’s run of bad luck – as she would term it and not the series of poor choices her sister would call it – had led to her being evicted from her flat in Barton. It is easy to blame the economy for many a person’s woes, but Melissa’s inability to hold down a job, partly because of poor aptitude to work, but mainly due to a venomous tongue, had seen her traipse through a series of short lived jobs. So when Melissa turned up at her sister’s door, Dahlia was reluctant to engage, but having always felt responsible for her little sister, she took her in. After all the death of her brother had put into plain perspective how important it was to maintain her links to what remained of her family.  

So that was the situation back home when Dahlia arrived that evening to present Petra with a leaving gift and a cursory peck on the cheek. Once out of the door, her current dilemma made itself plain. It would take only a week for the house to collect dirt, she had to find a new maid. It was then, at that moment, Melissa happened to wander by dressed in a pair of loose baggy sweatpants and a light bulb went off in Dahlia’s pretty head. 

4

Those first few weeks of cohabiting with her sister had put Dahlia on eggshells. Earlier on, she had dared to suggest that, maybe, just possibly, Melissa could help around the house, only to feel the full weight of her sister’s rebuttal as she blazed at her about her feeling superior and assuming SHE must be the one who had to clean and cook.

However, Dahlia was not one to be easily put off and she continued suggesting that Melissa might want to help in some way. Naturally that was not the way it seemed to Melissa. She had spent years feeling a keen sense of inferiority to her sister. Dahlia had always been the pretty one, the sweet one, the one to be doted on with gifts, while Melissa was seen as second best in virtually every way imaginable – except one.

Whether by design or nurture, Melissa had a prodigious ability to lie. She was manipulative and cunning in a way Dahlia lacked almost totally. This is not to say that Dahlia was a pushover, far from it. Just she relied on steely resolve and willpower, while Melissa always opted for the easier option.

Dahlia never fully appreciated this about Melissa and assumed, as her sister, that they shared one another’s best interests. It was this block in her side vision that made her believe her sister’s tears one night that she simply needed help, like Dahlia. Perhaps a visit to the therapist would bring her thinking more into line.

Dahlia was a little taken aback. She may have mentioned seeing a ‘doctor’ in passing, but how did Melissa know she was seeing a shrink? Before she could ask this, Melissa played on her insecurities.

“Of course not everyone sees the use of a shrink.” She opined, playing immediately to Dahlia’s fears of being judged. “I mean, people may think you are crazy, what with all you have going for you”. Her voice was light hearted, but suggestive.

Dahlia wanted to shut this conversation down immediately and just nodded silently, agreeing that it may be good for her sister to see him too. She had no idea why Melissa might have suggested this, but took it at face value, displaying a little too much trust in her sister’s motives.

So a new routine established itself. At first all seemed well, as far as Dahlia was concerned. Melissa went to see Dr Mark on Thursdays, while Dahlia visited two days earlier. Almost instantly, Melissa’s attitude around the house changed markedly. She began doing small chores and soon seemed to be complying with Dahlia’s wishes, if somewhat grudgingly.

Even so, Dahlia’s attentions were increasingly drawn elsewhere. Dr Mark’s knack for getting under her skin had grown only more adept as the weeks drew on. Their conversations had focused on a great deal of Eastern spiritualism, covering how everything we experience is a ‘game’ of sorts and how with greater consciousness we can control our anxieties. Almost everything about our lives has a degree of unreality that can be observed from without. Dahlia was not a very deep person, but his philosophy made sense. It sat comfortably with the reasons that drove her to visit him each week: a desire to control her anxieties.

The fact she fancied him so intensely helped as well. Indeed one might question her judgement a little when the doctor’s remarks began to drift away from the comfortable ground they had occupied to now, to a place far less inviting. While never liking the limelight and sometimes questioning her looks and suitability for a job, she never once had deep thoughts about whether she as a person deserved her success.

Yet this was where the conversation with her therapist had led that morning. The idea had left her like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. She muttered and felt completely lost for a time as she cycled through her mind for a reason why she should be who she is. Seeing his arrow had landed accurately, the doctor left the subject for now and returned to more safe ground.

However, like an acorn planted in fertile ground, that moment lived with Dahlia for the next few days and she was never far from its pernicious logic. It was a natural partner for her chronic lack of confidence and proved a toxic enough brew that she began to seriously contemplate it.

It was around this time that Melissa’s attitude started to return to normal. The breezy, if offhand, way she had gone about her household duties evaporated and her sharp tongue returned. It was during one of these arguments that she laid down her view that Dahlia “simply did not deserve to tell her what to do. After all, look at all the advantages you have! And you think that makes yourself better than me.”

Those words rang a bell inside Dahlia’s head, so loud and pervasive, she just walked away from the moment, her anger dissipating as she simply ran out of juice.

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