Stan and Mand of Squeaky Clean Ltd!

I had no real problem with those who had cleaned my home and surgeries over the years, but at one point, there seemed to be no one available. My house is not small, and with Wendy and me both working, a cleaner was more than necessary. And so I engaged a contract cleaner. But which?

Ready Maid Services immediately seemed attractive to me (I can’t think why), as did Meticulous Maids and Maid in Norwich. But the price had to be as attractive as the company name, and I eventually opted for Squeaky Clean Ltd. 

“I’m Stan. Pleased to meet yer. Now let’s ‘ave a gander at yer premises”, said the proprietor, who clearly came from outside the county. South. London.

Stan was short, overweight and sweaty. His light grey suit was a trifle tight, but he seemed to know a thing or two about cleaning houses. 

“All girls fully trained by yours truly. Good girls, they are, and I keep ‘em on their toes. Spot checks. I just call in and make sure they’re doin’ it proper. We’re the kiddies. Trust me”. Not a professional presentation exactly, but I would reserve judgement. I handed over a house key, and details of our security system.

Returning home after their first session, I was more than satisfied with the cleanliness of my home. After a month, I was satisfied that Squeaky Clean had been a good choice.

“Bad news,” said my receptionist, entering the surgery at 11am one morning. “Your next patient has just cancelled. Taken ill at work. You’re now free until after lunch”.

There may have been no work in the surgery for the rest of the morning, but there was always paperwork (and computer work) that needed attention. After a quick coffee with my associate dentist, and a quick catch-up with my book shop manager next door, I drove home. Parking on the drive, I felt that all was not well. Two other vehicles were there, a years old Mini, and a rather snazzy red sports car. And the sitting room curtains were drawn.

The front door was locked, but as I turned the key, the sitting room curtains swished back. I strode through the hall and into the sitting room, where Stan and a young lady were sitting on the mat in front of the grate.

“And this is the brush, and this is the shovel, and I’ll show yer ‘ow to clean the fireplace proper,” said Squeaky Clean Stan, red-faced and looking generally uncomfortable. “Just training up a new employee. Shows promise, don’t yer Mandy”.

From where I stood, Mandy was showing more than promise, with her plunging neckline and rather brief miniskirt. Peering out through heavy mascara, she smiled with glistening scarlet lips, and mumbled, “Oi dew moi best, Stan”.

“So yer sweeps the ashes up wiv the brush, like, and into the li’’le shovel, like, and then yer tips them into this plastic dustbin bag”. Crouched together on the hearth rug, they both stared intently at the ash. And the brush. And the shovel. Maybe she was a slow learner, and perhaps he paid much attention to detail, but I suspected my arrival had interrupted something rather more intimate than learning to clean a fireplace.

“Why were the curtains drawn?” I enquired. There was silence as Stan started thinking.

“Cos the sun is bright, and was giving Mandy a headache. Didn’t it, Mand? But it’s not so bright now, and you’re feeling be’’er, aren’t you Mand?”

“Yes Stan. Oi feel much be’’er now. Thank yew Stan”.

I explained that I had paperwork to do in my study, and would be at home until after lunch time. Stan handed his trainee a feather duster, with the words, “Go find some cobwebs, Mand,” as he continued brushing, shovelling and bagging ash from the hearth. Around half an hour later, I heard two cars heading up the drive, out through the gate, onto the lane, and away.

I completed my paperwork, including a letter to Squeaky Clean, terminating their contract. 

(An extract from TALES FROM A COUNTRY BOY – A Treasury of Norfolk b y Barrie Lawrence. Available from Jarrolds, Waterstones, Amazon and all good book shops, £12.50.