The newlyweds went away on their honeymoon and Mother came to spend some time with Agatha. They had a frosty relationship, to say the least. So much so I was relieved when my mother finally left. Agatha doesn’t seem to like people, especially those she’s related to. My mother is always on eggshells, sucking up to a woman she despises. She’s also begun treating me more like a servant than a son. In fact, I don’t recall her asking after my welfare once during this last visit. She did say my perm looked nice though… so at least she noticed something other than my uniform. I began to tell her how much easier it is than using rollers, but she clearly wasn’t interested. I guess she’s too busy thinking about how long it’ll be before Aunt Agatha pops her clogs.
I’d be lying if I said that thought didn’t cross my mind too. It’ll be a shame when the old battleax goes, but it will mean the end of the daily drudgery that my life has become. I’ll be twenty soon. When I was fifteen, I recall wondering what I’d be doing when I was no longer a teen. Fighting in a second Great War maybe. Working as a clerk for some prestigious company. Traveling to far-off lands or receiving my degree in whatever subject I might have studied. It wasn’t long after that when Mother told me that Mabel couldn’t become Aunt Agatha’s maid and I’d have to do it instead. It seemed preposterous at the time but here I am in the closing weeks of my teenage years and I’ve spent almost a quarter of my life living, working, and dressing as a maid. Funny thing is… now when I imagine what I’ll be doing in five years’ time, I can’t imagine doing anything other than what I’m doing now. My mother claimed that Agatha only had a year or two left. That was over four years ago and the old crone is still as fit as a fiddle.
Agatha’s passing was both unexpected and upsetting. Neither of us saw it coming. It was early one afternoon when she requested I fetch her spectacles. Initially, I thought she’d simply dozed off in her chair so I gently nudged her hand. It wasn’t cold but it didn’t feel alive. I knew something was wrong and instantly called the doctor. He arrived within twenty minutes and suspected a massive heart attack. He told me that she wouldn’t have suffered, suggesting she’ll have just closed her eyes and… gone. I contacted my mother that evening and wept as I broke the news to her. “I don’t know why you’re upset Peter… this is what we’ve been waiting for.” Mother said. The truth is, for all her berating and belittling ways, Aunt Agatha was the nearest thing I’ve had to a friend and companion in recent years. I knew she appreciated me in her own little way. She didn’t have to show it. Mother on the other hand has become increasingly selfish in recent years. I hope Agatha has left her entire estate to charity because my mother is the last person who deserves to be the sole beneficiary.
Mother comes to the house the day after Agatha died and immediately began acting as if she owns the place. As on her previous visits, my mother tends to treat me more like a servant than a son. I suggest getting some clothes since I’ll at least need a black suit for the funeral. “You’ve got plenty of clothes.” my mother replied.
“I’ve only got what Agatha made me wear… I need some clothes of my own.”
My mother tells me that money is tight and the funeral costs are far higher than she’d expected. I’d have assumed that a woman of Agatha’s standing would have had some sort of insurance in place to cover the costs of her funeral, but it appears that all funeral costs are to be paid for by Mother as a condition of inheritance. Until the Will is read and the estate transferred to her, there is no money. Father left enough money to see her right for the rest of her life, enough to put me through university… but that’s all but gone and he’s been dead barely a decade. I berate my mother for her constant overspending, living beyond her means, spending money like there’s no tomorrow, pretending she’s stinking rich when in reality she isn’t. “Just who on earth do you think you are? Speaking to me like that!” my mother retorted as she rose to her feet.
“I’m your son!” I barked.
“You’re the maid!” my mother snapped.
“Not anymore I’m not,” I growled as I pulled the lacy band off my head. “Agatha’s dead!” I spat.
“But she’s not buried yet!” my mother spat back. “So long as this is Agatha’s house, you’re the housemaid… and when it’s mine, I have a good mind to keep you on indefinitely.”
“No no!” I shook my head, hastily removed my lace-trimmed apron, and scrunched it into my fist. “This. Ends. Now.” I stated, staring straight into her eyes. I dropped the apron at her feet and marched myself out of the room. I was in a good mind to slit the bitches throat for what she’s done and what she’s doing. I had everything to look forward to before all of this began, before my money-grabbing mother sold me into a life of servitude, and now the grouchy old Agatha is gone, my own mother is moving herself into her house and filling her shoes. “How dare she even think about keeping me on as the maid!?” I growled as I stormed up to my room.
Meanwhile, Peter’s mother is rummaging through a folder full of paperwork. Eventually, she finds what she’s looking for and spends a good few moments perusing it.
“What.” I snap as I hear a knock on my door. It opens. “I didn’t say you could come in!”
“I wasn’t waiting for permission.” my mother retorted. “I thought this might interest you,” she said, showing me a contract of some sort. “I can read it for you or you can read it yourself,” she said. “Section 4, paragraph C.” I snatched the document and read the terms whilst my mother paraphrased. “It specifically states ‘until the day I’m buried’ so like it or not, you’re still the maid for a few more days. You breach this contract, there’s no inheritance, and no inheritance means nothing for me, and nothing for you.” she paused whilst I finished reading the document. In her other hand, she held my cap and apron. She offered them to me and suggested I get back to my duties.
I wanted nothing more than to plant my forehead bang in the center of her smug fucking face… but the document I’d just read does appear to be binding. After everything I’ve put into this, I’m not going to come out of it with anything. With a heavy heart, I took hold of the cap and apron. My mother snapped the document from my fingers and folded it two. She turned on her heel and left.
“Bitch.” I growled as I slumped on my bed. Ever since I agreed to become Agatha’s housemaid my mother has been treating me differently. At first, she was supportive and empathetic, apologetic yet encouraging. She assured me that I was doing the right thing and whilst not ideal, we’ll all come out on top when Agatha passes. She taught me how to style my hair, tend my eyebrows and apply my make-up, how to walk with grace and elegance in high heels, how to curtsey, how to sit, stand and crouch like a lady… but all the time reminding me that I’m the maid, the skivvy, the doer, the fetcher, the carrier, the cleaner. When she and (occasionally) my sister came to stay, they seemed to enjoy having me running around and tending to their every need, emptying their chamber pots, changing their bedding, laundering their garments, polishing their shoes as well as doing all Aunt Agatha’s bidding too. I was always glad to see the back of any overnight guests… but none more so than my mother. I donned my cap and made sure it was correctly positioned. I tended my hair and re-applied my lipstick before standing and donning my apron. Three more days isn’t going to make much difference, I figured as I returned to my duties.