Part I

Walking down the street the other day, I spotted her slipping between the shadows. It was her first appearance in weeks, so I asked her where she had been all this while.

"I needed time off. I still do."

"So why are you here? You won't get any space here. There isn't enough of it."

"There's never enough of it", she sighed. "I'm not the only one looking, you know."

"You still haven't explained your presence here."

"Do I have to, now?" she shot back.

"Yes." I didn't want to begin, but then, she'd started it. "You're never here when you're wanted. Never around when needed. You come and go as and when you please, and the rest of the world be damned. You aren't as dependable as you claim to be, do you know that? And I'm not sure you're wanted here, either." She'd asked for it, I rationalised.

"You didn't invite me over", she pointed out, calmly. "I came on my own. You don't have to bother with me. You were going somewhere, weren't you? Carry on, please."

I turned. Something didn't feel right.

"And how have things been with you?" She was quick to notice my face softening.

"I've been OK", I lied. She had no business knowing, anyway. "Good, in fact. I've been good. What about you?"

"You know", she was looking at me quietly, "if you can't look me in the eye when you're talking to me, it doesn't matter whose eyes you can meet."

"So how many friends have you made? Fallen in love yet?" Light-hearted banter is always a safe way out.

Or is it? Her face fell, then hardened.

"I have nothing left to give. It's not like I don't try, you know. Sometimes", she went on, her voice low and uncertain now, "I miss my days as housekeeper. They called me The Girl with the Broom. I opened windows every morning, all of them, and I loved flicking my checked duster over the furniture and the curtains. Ever seen a shaft of sunlight enter a room?", she sounded like a little girl now, "Ever seen dust dance in the sunlight? Little gray specks?"

"I don't know", I said, doubtfully. "I suppose it's a pretty sight."

"Not pretty", she said, straightening. "Fascinating. Do you know rain is the purest form of water?"

"Natural distillation?" I hazarded a guess. I was never the chemistry teacher's favourite. Geography, though, I was a natural at.

"The purest form", she was saying, "the cleanest. Ever heard the wind blow past the reeds? It whistles."

"Where were you housekeeper?" I was curious now.

"Don't pretend you don't know", she sighed. "That's where you came and borrowed me from."

"But you haven't told me why..."

"It doesn't matter", she said, abruptly. "There's nothing left to keep house for. They moved out long ago. There's nothing there. They were foolish...they took neighbourly charity a little too far, if you ask me. But there it is. It's none of my business, really. I was sent by the agency. I have excellent references, by the way."

"And what do you propose to do with them?" my question sounded sardonic. I was only being curious.

"I'm teaching myself French. I use the backs of the sheets to scribble notes on."