Helping Hands
"This is your new helper."
Rach looked across.
"Hello, come in."
She was in the middle of cooking what seemed like endless breakfasts.
And as soon as the breakfasts were served and then collected, dishes washed and then lunch.
No rest for the wicked, although she had neither time, money or energy to be wicked.
She could not even remember being wicked.
She had left school, gone to work, got married, kept working and her husband had been shagging a friend of hers. Sorry, an ex friend of hers.
"I am Rachel."
"I am Max."
They smiled at each other and they had a very quick conversation.
Max was nineteen, had come to England to work, no jobs back home. He had learned English at school, but it sounds odd to Rachel because she spoke with a northern accent and Max had a different way of pronouncing things. But they could understand each other and got on with the job..
"This is marvelous, we even have time for lunch."
They had the same as the residents had. They worked in a care home.
"So how are you here?"
"There are no jobs back home, ten or more people fighting for every job."
"Sounds like here except people don't want to be kitchen skivvies."
She had to explain what skivvies were.
By the end of their day Max understood what a skivvy was.
"Where are you living?"
"In a hostel across town."
So he had a half hour walk each way every day.
"Wow"
Max had run to work.
He was wearing a tight fitting t-shirt and tight fitting shorts.
Rachel tried not to look, or not to think, or not to imagine.
But all morning her mind was not on cooking bacon.
English weather.
It was time for them to go home but it was pouring down.
He would be a drowned rat.
"Come home with me, I live very near."
She had an umbrella.
Max had to put his arm around her waist to keep relatively dry.
By the time they were at Rachels' place they were both wet.
"Get in the shower, I will make tea."
"My clothes are wet."
"I will lend you some of mine."
