Free Welcome to My World by Miranda Dickinson

very much.’ The door opens a little wider and Harri can hear a step onto the dull magnolia tiles. ‘Harriet? Am you in here, chick?’
    Harri holds her breath. She can’t face a conversation; not yet.
    ‘She isn’t there, Eth— Mrs Bincham,’ Tom whispers, his embarrassment as obvious as the acne on his chin.
    ‘Mmm. Well, maybe you’re right, Thomas, maybe she’s gone. Better just check the hall again then, eh?’
    Harri breathes a sigh of relief as the voices disappear and the door closes.
    Ethel Bincham was the cleaner at Sun Lovers International Travel. At least, that’s what it said on her contract. However, with eyesight as bad as hers, coupled with her penchant for long chats with the staff, and George’s unwillingness to let her go after her many years of more or less faithful service, cleaning was not exactly top of her list of priorities. She prided herself on her ability to listen and fancied herself almost a surrogate mother, provider of pure Black Country wisdom and nothing less than a soothsayer for the assembled workers each Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning, seven o’clock till nine. In days of yore, every village would have its local wise woman, a source of mystical wisdom, cures for all ills and an understanding ear in time of need; now, the fortunate residents of Stone Yardley had Mrs Bincham.
    ‘Would you run the Hoover round this evening before Mrs B comes in?’ George often asked Harri on a Tuesday afternoon (knowing full well that she would be the last person out of the office and probably the first in next morning).
    The irony of the request was never lost on Tom. ‘Doesn’t that kind of defeat the object of having a cleaner?’
    George couldn’t really argue with this reasoning, but knew that his initial lack of courage to let Ethel go when he realised she could hardly see the office , let alone the dust, had inevitably made a rod for his own back.
    The morning after her late-night bout of ill-judged spontaneity, Harri arrived at work to find Ethel attempting to water the artificial aspidistra in the window.
    ‘It’s looking a bit peaky,’ Ethel informed her cheerily, ‘and no wonder – it’s bone dry!’
    ‘It’s artificial,’ Harri began, but Mrs Bincham was having none of it.
    ‘No, it’s an aspidistra , Harriet,’ she corrected, tutting loudly. ‘You youngsters don’t know anything about plants these days.’
    Harri gave up and retreated to her desk. She switched her computer on and began to leaf through the morning post, most of which seemed to consist of stationery catalogues nobody could remember requesting and offers of business loans from banks she’d never heard of. As she worked, she was aware of Mrs Bincham surveying her carefully, although exactly how much Ethel could see was anyone’s guess.
    Harri picked up a pile of new brochures and walked over to the display units, wistfully gazing at each cover as she restocked the shelves: azure harbours with dazzling white yachts and jade-green waves lapping against white sand beaches, as smug couples stalked possessively along the shore. A sharp razorcut of longing sliced through Harri’s heart at their blissful expressions. If only she could step into the pictures and leave everything far behind . . .
    ‘Thought you might need this,’ Ethel’s raspy voice said right by her ear, bringing her sharply back to reality. Harri jumped and almost knocked the mug of super-strong tea from Mrs Bincham’s hands as she did so.
    ‘Oh! I’m sorry, Mrs B, I was miles away.’
    ‘I could see that,’ Ethel replied as Harri accepted the mug. ‘Where was it this time, eh?’
    Harri looked sheepish. ‘Grenada.’
    ‘Don’t they do Coronation Street ?’ Ethel asked.
    Harri stifled a giggle. ‘Um, no, that’s—’
    ‘No matter,’ Ethel cut in, rummaging in her tartan shopping trolley and producing a large off-white Tupperware box that looked at least a hundred years old. ‘I’ve been baking again.’
    ‘Oh . .