The adventures of mop bucket Mary

Martin has been gone long enough now for me to realise my life is no longer about anyone else's needs. So, when Shirley waltzed into my house without knocking I continued to sit on the toilet and finish reading my book about the quiet rebellion of women who take their time. And in the absence of a "non-wiper" I decided to nip my poop off and finish my business later.

Shirley was uncharacteristically quiet. I couldn't work out if it was because I had caught her red handed reading my diary or if it was because she had caught me mid-shit. Either way she did a good job in making me feel like the guilty party for being uncouth.

"Let me stop you right there Shirley," I said with my hand held up to her face.

"For the last forty years I have only been allowed to shit when Martin was at work. And these last few weeks I have been shitting on my own terms and quite frankly I like it that way. This is my house and you lose the right to complain about what shit you find in it, if you insist on walking into my house without knocking first."

"Well, I come round here in my own time to help you in your hour of need and if that's the thanks I am going to get... then huh."

"Shirley, I never asked you to come here, this was my mother's doing. I might be in my "hour" of need but you are the last person I would turn to for help."

"Ha! is that right? and I was going to offer you a job today. Well, if that's your attitude then I'm not going to waste my precious time here with someone who speaks to me like that."

She didn't look in a hurry to leave, so, by the time it took for the awkward silence to lapse I came to the conclusion that her child like words were just an attempt at emotional blackmail.

Whilst I was used to such toxic tactics I was however, still desperate for money, and the word "job" spiked my interest so I reluctantly shut my mouth and decided to listen to what she had to say.

Shirley made herself at home and made herself — but not me — a cup of tea.

“Right,” she said, as her face morphed into what looked like a quiche after a punch‑up at a buffet.

“Things are going to be tough for you now Martin has left you for a younger woman. I have an opportunity for you today that could change your life.”

My shoulders deflated and I knew in that moment that she was only there for one thing...

"I am not interested in that pyramid nonsense, I am desperate not stupid," I said defiantly.

Shirley launched into her saleswoman stance, the one she reserved for the women she thought were ripe for rescuing. She told me she was offering me something good, something life‑changing, something that could be my way out. She smiled that rehearsed smile and squeezed my hand as if she were delivering news of a miracle rather than a sales script.

She painted a picture of a “big, happy family” waiting to welcome me, a sisterhood overflowing with friendship and opportunity. Apparently her team was full of women earning more than two thousand pounds a month, including one who had supposedly abandoned her full‑time nursing job because the money was that good. The products, she assured me, practically sold themselves — as if they were enchanted objects rather than overpriced lotions in glittery bottles.

"I have one spot left on my team and I immediately thought of you. If you don't grab this opportunity now then someone else will."

"Err... NO! absolutely not." I said as I removed my hand from the awkward grip she had me in.

"I'm trying to help you Mary and you are pushing me away."

"I'm not pushing you away I am telling you that I am not going to be part of a pyramid scheme. Those are my boundaries Shirley. DO NOT CROSS THEM."

And just like a sat-nav it took her all of three seconds to re-calculate her journey.

"Well, if you won't do that then you are going to have to come and clean for me."

"Clean for you after the years you exploited my mother?."

Shirley shifted gears the moment I pushed back. The smile vanished, and it was replaced by that pinched expression she wore whenever she thought someone was being “difficult.” She told me I was being negative, as if my entire life had been one long mood swing rather than a series of disasters I’d survived without her help. According to her, that negativity was the reason things never worked out for me. At my age, with no qualifications and no work history, I was—her words, “unemployable.” Employers weren’t exactly queuing up to hire me, she said, but she was willing to give me a chance.

I reminded her that she’d paid my mum a pittance for over twenty years, and that I wasn’t about to be manipulated the same way. That was when she really dug in. She insisted she hadn’t manipulated my mother at all; she’d given her a lifeline. Just like she was doing for me.

In Shirley’s mind, Mum and I were cut from the same cloth—women abandoned by men, women who had “wasted their lives,” women who should be grateful for whatever scraps were offered. She talked about how Mum had needed a job after my father left, how she’d cleaned for her and for her friends, how it was “all money” and I wasn’t exactly in a position to demand anything more for myself.

The way she said it made it sound like she was doing me a favour, rescuing me from myself. As if my entire existence could be boiled down to a cautionary tale about women who didn’t try hard enough.

I sat there and reflected on what she had said and my defensiveness slowly drained from me like air from a popped balloon. Only there was no loud bang just a silence between two people from two very different walks of life, who in that moment seemed to have a common goal. So, against my better judgement I agreed to clean for Shirley as I knew in my heart she was right. I hated to admit it but, I was following in the footsteps of my mother.

The next month passed in a way I hadn’t expected: quietly, successful and lucrative. Cleaning for Shirley turned out to be fine. She was pleasant, almost warm, and she even lined up six more houses for me. Suddenly my days had structure again. I’d come home with that soft ache in my legs that meant I’d worked hard, rather than the dull ache in my heart because I had failed.

The money came in steadily, those little brown envelopes of relief, soothed the chorus of I‑told‑you‑so’s from my Mum and Shirley. It soothed something deeper in me too — the part that had been convinced I was useless.

The house — my house now, my guilt‑present from Martin — felt less like a mausoleum and more like a place I could breathe. Life was turning around. I could feel it. The future didn’t look terrifying anymore. It looked… possible.

And then something happened that made me realise that nothing stays the same forever despite how much you need it to and that I have no control over other people's actions... and also, despite my mother telling me I am the common denominator in all my problems I realise now that it doesn't always make me the problem.

I was cleaning for Shirley in my usual Tuesday morning slot. The house was unusually clean on account that the kids had gone off to university. So, I thought now was a good time to get some extra jobs done.

The garage was going to get the Mary treatment. So, I set about organising years of dumped clutter that had no real place to call home. I spent 3 hours on it and I left myself an hour to whizz round the house to keep things fresh till next week. I was finishing up in the garage when I banged my head on the inner gubbins of the up and over garage door.

I touched my head where it hurt and felt wet on my hand, I had drawn blood. All of a sudden I had that fuzzy feeling you get when you wake up for a pee in the middle of the night and I felt like a human pinball as I stumbled up into the house.

I was stood in the hallway feeling confused when there was a knock at the door. Shirley came rushing out of her office shouting "That's my mother and sister at the door, they can't know I have a cleaner you need to go and hide."

If I was not confused enough, Shirley's weirdness made me think I was now hallucinating and that my head injury was probably worse than I thought. Shirley lunged at me. I felt like my reactions were on slo-mo compared to hers which seemed to be on double speed. In my confused state I felt unable to react to her pushing me so hard into the cleaning cupboard that I fell backwards.

I remembered feeling like I was falling and a loud bang on the back of my head and then nothing, my world as I knew it slowly disappeared into what looked like the retracting lens of a camera.

I woke up feeling confused, my head hurt and I thought I was going to be sick. I thought I had lost my sight as all I could see in front of me was darkness. The floor I sat on was cold, hard and rough and I could feel dust in my fingertips as I tried to feel around. In the absence of never drinking alcohol I wondered in that moment if this is what being hungover felt like.

I sat there for a moment trying to figure out what the just happened and all I could see was the fury and panic in Shirley's face as she shoved me into the cleaning cupboard like an object she didn't care about. Her voice was shrill and frantic and nothing like the calm woman who I had been cleaning for this last month. And then it dawned on me that not only was I Shirley's cleaner but I was also her dirty little secret.

I managed to get on my feet, though the room spun and the darkness didn’t help. It was my own cleaning cupboard — a place I should’ve known like the back of my hand — but in the pitch black it felt unfamiliar. I put my arms out and followed the walls, letting the familiar shapes of bottles and brushes guide me. The cupboard was small and L shaped and as I turned the corner a thin strip of light glowed beneath the door. Relief washed over me — I wasn’t blind, just trapped in a dark room. I reached for the handle, but it didn’t budge. Locked. Of course it was. Fuck.

I tried to find the light switch, patting the wall beside the door, then the other side, but nothing. Then I remembered: the bloody switch was on the outside. Inside, there was only a pull.

I turned away from the wall — my only anchor — and something brushed my face. I panicked instantly, flailing my arms like someone had just fast forwarded the karate kid. When I realised it might’ve been the pull cord, I forced myself to try again, sweeping my hands through the darkness until my fingers finally caught it.

Just then, I heard Shirley’s mother and sister saying their goodbyes. I froze. I didn’t know whether to shout for help or stay hidden. I didn’t know if that strip of light meant safety or danger. Instinct told me to stay quiet, stay still. So, I held my breath and waited.

"Thanks for your visit and the cake!." Shirley shouted as I heard her shut and lock the front door.

I was about to yank the pull cord when I heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened slowly, and in the door frame stood the silhouette of a woman I no longer recognised.

“I’ll be docking this last half hour from your wages, Mary,” Shirley said, as if locking me in a cupboard was a normal part of the working day.

I stepped past her without speaking, moving the door just enough to reach my bag and coat that had hung there like silent witnesses to what had just happened. I decided that silence was the best thing to say and my heart thudded as I walked towards the front door.

“Where'd you think you're going? The least you could do is finish the cleaning before you leave.”

I turned to face Shirley and rather than imagine her naked as a way of coping, I chose to allow something in me shift. Instead, I felt a strange, steady calm. The kind that comes when you realise you only have to stop giving someone what they want for you to find out what they are capable of.

I couldn’t blame the bus driver for hesitating when I stepped on. One look at myself in the wing mirror and I understood why — dried blood down my face and dirt on my hands. I looked like I was on my way to collect the rest of my Halloween costume. I fumbled in my bag for money before remembering I’d walked out of Shirley’s without my wages.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” the bus driver said, and the kindness in his voice soothed my aching head.

“You alright love?” he asked.

“I think so. It probably looks worse than it is,” I said, trying not to make a fuss. “Could you shout when we’re near the hospital? I’m going to get my head looked at.” and I internally smirked at the irony.

As I sat down I heard my mobile phone buzz. I saw I had a message from Shirley. I should have known that when I walked away from her my silence was not going to be the last word.

I was about to read the message when she called me and I pressed answer by mistake. I figured she was only going to keep calling me so I took a deep breath and spoke to her to get it over and done with.

"What." I said sharply.

"How dare you walk away from me and leave me in a dirty house. I've now had to arrange for a cleaning company to come and clean your mess up and that is going to cost me four times what I pay you. I don't have time for your nonsense. I knew it was a mistake giving you a chance, your mother was right you are hopeless Mary."

I could feel tears well up in my eyes and the front of the bus became a blur. I closed my eyes as I listened to her rant on the other end of the phone, when I felt the presence of another person and I realised an old man was now sitting next to me. I wiped my eyes and I hung up the phone call with Shirley.

I could feel the old man staring into the side of my head and it felt awkward. He didn't have a smell and he was dressed in old fashioned clothes. He asked in a soft voice if I wanted to talk about it. I looked at his kind face and I felt disappointed he wasn't handsome or had a horse. But, his kindness was alluring and he made me feel safe.

“It looks like you’ve hurt yourself love. Did someone do that to you?”

“Well… a woman I clean for hid me in a cupboard because she didn’t want her mum and sister to know she had a cleaner.”

He laughed and said, “Right… ok. I don’t think even the wildest imagination could make that up. How did you get the blood on you? Did the woman you clean for do that?”

“Not really. I fell backwards and hit my head. But I’d already hit it earlier on the garage door, so… it wasn’t all her fault.”

“I couldn’t help hearing your phone call. Whoever that was sounded pretty pissed off at you.”

“Yeah. That was her. She’s just annoyed the cleaning wasn’t finished.”

“I see. So where are you going now and what are you—”

My phone rang again. Shirley. Against my better judgement, I answered. She didn’t even wait for me to speak before she started screaming

"And don't think you are going to clean for me or any of the people I have gotten you jobs with because they all know now how you can't be trusted..."

I hung up on her for a second time only this time I cut her off mid-sentence. I looked at the old man. “Do you know how to block a number?” I asked.

“Is that you out of work now?” he asked, handing me my phone back.

“I guess so. She’d been nice to me. Got me a lot of work. She’s right — I’m unemployable.”

“And what makes you think you are unemployable love?”

“I’ve never had a job. Just been married. This cleaning job was my first job ever. I'm on the wrong side of 50, I’ve no qualifications… and my husband left me. So, I don’t have much going for me.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Well… if nobody else will employ you, why don’t you employ you?." He said as he pressed the bell for his stop.

He looked at me with raised eyebrows and said nothing as he just sat there looking at me. I blinked to hide the tears as his words stung like hand sanitiser to an open wound. And when I opened my eyes again, the kind, old man was gone.