Why did Lucy feel the need to help an elderly lady struggling with a massive bag? It wasn’t just that the handles broke, and under a string of choice words, Lucy was gathering almost ruined groceries from the pavement. It seemed like the woman had collected those from the nearest dumpster. Because of that, Lucy ended up being late for work.
Her excessive compassion was to blame. She couldn’t just walk by. Like the time someone was sprawled on a park bench, barely showing signs of life. Lucy rushed to help, thinking it might be serious. The strong stench of alcohol didn’t deter her from calling emergency services. The result? Paramedics shouted that the man was just intoxicated and questioned why she had called them. The police took the man, barely able to drag his feet, into custody, glancing at Lucy with sideways looks. Did they need that? Sobered up, the man would’ve left the bench himself.
Lucy was genuinely kind. Although some called her crazy and twirled their fingers by their temples behind her back.
She even handed over her flat to her stepfather after her mother passed away. Largely due to him. He didn’t work, while her mum had to do her regular job plus clean staircases. It wore her out. Yet, Lucy felt pity for him. The man was old; he wouldn’t find new housing. But what about her? Still young, she could earn a living. Neighbors barely convinced her not to sign it away completely.
Lucy decided to head to the city…where jobs and accommodations could be found. Her savings managed to cover a room in a shared apartment. At first, she cleaned floors in a supermarket, but the salary only covered her room rent. Despite some perks, when leftover food items were distributed, she got her share. So, at least she wasn’t starving.
But clothes? They don’t last forever. Wash them as much as you like, they wear out at the speed of sound. Don’t even get started on shoes, only managing to keep up with the glue.
She decided to try her luck as a maid. Yet, with zero experience, she wasn’t hired. Until, at one company, where pay was always delayed, and staff weren’t treated well, they begrudgingly accepted her on a probationary period.
Her first client was a sweet old lady with a commanding voice.
“Tea’s too hot, you’ve brewed it wrong; the bathroom’s not clean, dishes are greasy…”
This was how her working life began.
But Lucy was Lucy. Constantly apologizing, she re-did the work instead of slamming the door. After all, who typically hires help? Bored pensioners who need to vent their negativity onto someone else.
That’s exactly who Lucy was sent to, and it puzzled everyone why no complaints came in after she left.
And when she was late that day, she wasn’t even scolded. Instead, she was urgently dispatched to care for a bedridden woman. The usual worker had quit, you see.
Lucy entered and was astounded. Just how shameless can people be? If a woman is unable to stand or see how her home looks post-cleaning, does that mean anything goes?
Mrs. Jean Collins was surprised when Lucy gently changed her dirty bed linens. She dressed her in clean clothes and tended to a small bedsore. Then she lay quietly, smiling, listening to Lucy bustling about, clattering dishes, rushing to and fro with a cloth and a vacuum. Only when everything shone and a delicious smell wafted through the house did Lucy stop. She brought Jean a tray with hearty soup and a fragrant cup of tea.
“I thought while taking out the trash that you might enjoy a homemade soup. I noticed only boxes from pre-packaged meals. Eat up, and I’ll wash the dishes and head out, no more work for today.”
Jean finished the soup happily and asked Lucy to stay. She wanted to learn more about the lively young woman and her plans for the future. Just some conversation. For the previous helper, Sophie, would dash in for half an hour, shove a defrosted burger at her, and run off.
Lucy openly shared her life story.
“But isn’t it hard, cleaning others’ homes daily and enduring constant complaints? Was this your dream?” Jean asked.
“Oh, Mrs. Collins, I’ve dreamed of many things. Being a singer, a ballerina. But no voice, legs too short. Couldn’t get into any group. When mum was ill, I wanted to be a doctor and heal everyone. But fate was against it. I barely finished school, juggling work too. Worked at a stall for Mr. Ahmed. He praised me, even gave bonuses sometimes. Because I kept everything spotless, only accepted good fruits. Some suppliers tried sneaking in the spoiled stuff. Now, no time to dream. I whiz around like a hamster on a wheel. Worn out from work, home to my shared place. The corridor’s a mess, toilet’s dirty, no paper again. Clean it up and straight to bed. Once, believe it or not, I fell asleep with the brush in hand,” she laughed.
Jean smiled. She liked this cheerful woman a lot.
“Would you like to work only for me? I’ll arrange it with your boss. My caregivers have been questionable. Some steal, others rush through work to get home. Initially, when I fell ill, I hired a resident girl. She seemed okay but started going wild. Off to clubs at night, while my meds were hourly. Came back reeking of alcohol, thrust a pill at me saying: ‘I’m off to sleep. I’ll handle everything later.’
After a month, I warned her that continued behavior would see her out the door. Then she started bringing her boyfriends over, thinking if I was bedridden, I’d gone deaf. Eventually, I let her go. And began approaching various agencies. Had to find the right fit. After messy Sophie, I made one more request at your agency. Figuring if another like her came, I’d try elsewhere. Don’t think I’m alone, though. I have a son, a grandson. They live in a different country, with stable jobs. Help financially greatly. Visit, albeit rarely. I’ve been bedridden five years now. Slipped on a slick staircase. Treatment took long. Doctors promised I’d at least sit but…no luck. What do you say, will you move in?”
Lucy nodded. “Of course. You need help. So much needs doing, drapes untouched, windows grimy, dust under furniture,” she began listing.
“Whoa, Cinderella, stop right there. I’m hiring you officially today. Head to your shared house, pack up, and move in. You’ll have the next room. Meanwhile, I’ll call your boss,” chuckled Jean.
Lucy hurried off. Jean called the agency. The conversation was unpleasant, they hiked rates claiming Lucy was their best employee. Jean recalled Lucy’s words and burst out laughing.
“Yet you underpaid the ‘best worker’ and assigned her to the fussiest clients. Enough chitchat. She’s resigning tomorrow. I’ll handle her pay. Don’t mention a two-week notice, or I’ll sic tax authorities on you. I’ve got connections,” and hung up.
Lucy moved in with Jean. Every morning there was either pancakes, cheese fritters, or scones for breakfast. Essential wash-ups, sponging, brushing teeth. Chatting merrily, Lucy efficiently handled tasks. The windows sparkled. The dust vanished. Clean, everything sorted, still Lucy couldn’t rest.
She visited the library, returning with heaps of magazines, books.
“What’s this for?” laughed Jean.
“For you. Maybe there are exercises to help you sit. Then, we’ll get a wheelchair, and I’ll take you outside. Four walls don’t bring joy. The fresh air, birds singing,” Lucy dreamed.
Jean wept.
“Lucy, doctors couldn’t help, yet you speak of exercises. Don’t stir my soul. I know you mean well, but sadly, I can’t be helped,” Jean sighed.
But Jean underestimated Lucy. Each day, Lucy sat by her, magazines and books spread out, silently reading, marking interesting parts with a pencil.
Jean couldn’t resist.
“Show me, what have you found?”
Lucy leapt with joy, fishing out a magazine to hand over.
“Simple exercises here. Regularly, multiple times daily. But it’s on me. Are you up for it?”
Jean sighed deeply.
“You won’t relent, will you?”
Lucy shook her head.
“Alright, let’s try.”
The work was hard. Jean cried, laughed, occasionally threatened to fire Lucy. But gradually, she adjusted. The exercises grew more challenging, though progress was scant.
Until one night, Jean yelled:
“Lucy, come here!”
Lucy shot out of her room, rushing to Jean.
“What hurts? Where? Phone?”
Jean grumbled at her.
“No need to panic. Just look. My big toe moves.”
Lucy hollered with joy.
“Hooray!” Whoops, it was the middle of the night.
“Is your doctor’s number saved? Let’s call him in the morning. Let him assess,” she twirled about the room.
The doctor visited. Restless Lucy was sent to her room, her excitement became a hindrance. Later, she was summoned.
“Well done, young lady,” the doctor remarked, surprised. “Another surgery is possible now. Shall we, Mrs. Collins?”
Jean beamed.
“Absolutely, Dr. Matthews.”
Lucy spent the entire operation waiting in the corridor, occasionally helping pass crutches or transport medicine boxes.
When Dr. Matthews emerged, Lucy asked eagerly:
“How did it go?
He removed his cap.
“Only time will tell. The rehabilitation will be long. Our patient isn’t young.”
Lucy declared:
“I’ll treat her like she’s made of glass. Thank you so much. May I kiss you?”
“Be my guest,” Dr. Matthews nodded.
Rising on tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his stubbly cheek.
During Jean’s hospital stay, Lucy rarely left her side. Only to cook meals. Broth, vegetable soup, all doctor-recommended.
“That your daughter or granddaughter, tending so well?” women in the ward asked.
“No, even better. My carer and guardian angel sent by fate,” Jean replied, proud.
When Jean, in a special brace, first sat in a wheelchair, they embraced, weeping tears of joy.
When Jean’s son and grandson arrived, she brightened up.
“Now, Mum, we can bring you home,” her son stated.
The clatter signaled Lucy dropping a dish with cakes.
“What? Why?” she asked, upset, fleeing to her room to cry.
Jean glared reproachfully at her son.
“How tactless of you, Stephen. Lucy, stop crying. Come here.”
Lucy emerged fifteen minutes later, baggage in hand.
“I’ll leave now or clean the smashed dish first?” she sniffled, nose red from crying.
“Sit down!” Jean commanded. “Enough tears. And packing can wait. You’ve got documents to process. Foolish girl, where’d I be without you? You’re coming with us. Visit a while, then we’ll return.”
Lucy and Jean’s new neighbor, Brian, soon hit it off when he helped her open a stiff door lock, suggesting a replacement. That’s how they met.
Jean couldn’t be happier. The highlight of Lucy’s wedding with success among the guests, wheelchair and all. A year later, Lucy presented her with a granddaughter, not by blood. Lucy’s husband, Tom, often takes them to the countryside, where they enjoy fresh milk and berries straight from the garden. After all, Lucy could never sit still. What kind of countryside doesn’t have fresh greens and berries at the table?
