Gold Digger

Ollie

“Oliver Harding, what on earth are you doing?” my sister Claire asked as she, her daughter Florrie, and my other sister Vicky all blinked up at me from the front step of my house. Vicky I was expecting for the meeting that afternoon, but Claire and Florrie were showing up unannounced as usual.

I couldn’t really blame them for being surprised. I was wearing a pair of yellow washing-up gloves and holding a bottle of bleach. I think that may have been the first time I’d ever worn washing-up gloves. And it’s unlikely that my sisters or my niece had ever donned a pair either.

“Are you cleaning ?” Claire seemed more shocked than when she’d seen me in a pair of ill-advised sarong trousers a few years ago in Goa.

“This is aberrant behaviour for you,” Vicky put in. I smiled before kissing Claire on the cheek and giving Vicky a firm, brief hug. Vicky didn’t mind physical contact from me as long as there were no light touches involved. Firm hugs were much preferred to cheek kisses.

My niece, however, had no qualms about physical contact in any form. She jumped up into my arms and threw her skinny arms around my neck for a hug, whispering in my ear, “You’re a weirdo.” She was her mother’s daughter, after all, and therefore programmed from birth to give me shit. I chuckled and gave her a squeeze before straightening up and mussing her hair.

“Oh my God, Uncle Ollie!” she shouted. “I’ve just got my fringe properly sweeping, and you’ve messed it up.” Yes, definitely her mother’s daughter.

“Nice outfit,” I said with a smirk, and Florrie snorted.

“You know nothing about fashion,” she said dismissively, flouncing past me into the house.

“Explain,” Claire said, linking arms with me and giving me a side shove. I glanced up the stairs and then pulled her along to the kitchen, ushering Vicky to follow us.

“What’s the rush?” Claire asked as I pushed them all into the kitchen and shut the door behind us.

“My cleaner’s here,” I explained.

Vicky glanced from my still washing-up glove-clad hands, then back to me and raised her eyebrows.

“Why are you cleaning if your cleaner is here?” she asked. “That is totally illogical.”

“Keep your voice down,” I snapped. “I sent her upstairs first so I could clean up the kitchen.”

“Ols, you do understand the concept of a cleaner, don’t you?” Claire put in.

I glared at her. “Yes, Claire, I know what a cleaner does. It’s just that some of the guys came round last night, and this place was a serious shithole.”

“Uncle Ollie! You said the s-word!” Florrie shouted in mock horror and I sighed

“Let me get this straight,” Claire said. “You’re cleaning for the first time in your life ever because you don’t want your cleaner, whose actual job it is to clean your house, to have to clean your house.”

I huffed “Normally Mrs Higgins would have been in earlier before Lottie got here, but she had to look after one of her dreadful, bratty grandchildren.”

“Mrs Higgins?” Claire’s voice rose. “But Mrs H retired weeks ago.”

I muttered a curse as I slammed the dishwasher door shut, and the damn thing wouldn’t start. What the fuck did all these buttons mean? For God’s sake, I’d just negotiated a massive multifactorial agricultural investment deal, surely I could work my own kitchen appliance. I stabbed at it again, and it made a sad noise of discontent.

“Honestly, Ols,” Claire said, shooing me to the side and then leaning down to look at the display. “It can’t be that hard to…” she frowned, then straightened up.

Vicky came to join us. “What do the different pot symbols mean?” she asked. No help there, then.

We stood staring at the dishwasher for a full minute.

I sighed. “Christ, we’re fucking useless,” I muttered.

“Uncle Ollie!” shouted Florrie. “Children are present!”

“Yes, Ollie if you could tone it down,” Claire said in an exasperated voice. “We don’t want another call from the school.”

“Little shit knows more swears than me,” I muttered under my breath. Florrie’s bat ears clearly heard me though and she stuck her tongue out at me.

“Why on earth are we trying to get this machine working again?” Claire asked. “And why do you have a cleaner for your cleaner?”

I cleared my throat, and my hand went to the back of my neck. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Vicky tilted her head to the side as she stared at me. “Complicated how?”

“I just don’t want her to…”

“You don’t want her cleaning?” Claire paused with her eyebrows raised. “Your cleaner. You don’t want her to actually clean.”

“I’m gonna go practise,” Florrie said, likely bored now with the lack of swearing.

“Don’t go upstairs, darling,” I called after her as she flounced out of the kitchen. Florrie was practising her TikTok dances. Doing weird dances for TikTok, obsessing over Taylor Swift and following fashion seemed to be the fuel that Florrie ran on.

Claire crossed her arms as she stared at me, and I pulled the washing-up gloves off to chuck them in the sink.

“I told Claire what happened at the club,” Vicky said.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Claire said dismissively. She was often dismissive of Vicky. “But by the way, Ollie – I do think you were a bit OTT. Pinning someone to a table. Honestly.”

“Those fucking morons are barred. I don’t care if Blake is mates with those dickheads. They were manhandling the waitress. Totally out of order.”

Claire sighed. “They’re not all bad. I mean, Giles is a piece of shit, and I’m not keen on that Will bloke, but the others are relatively harmless.”

Visions of those harmless guys peering down Lottie’s top all night, deliberately crowding her, touching her, flooded my brain and I had to force the red haze back.

“Your husband has shit taste in friends. He’s lucky that he was too pissed to know what was going on by the time I came over there, or he’d be barred too.” Claire’s face lost colour, and she swallowed.

“Blake wasn’t…” she trailed off and closed her eyes slowly. When she opened them again, I could see real concern there. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He didn’t do anything, did he?”

I frowned. “No, Claire. I would have told you.” She sagged in relief, and I had an uneasy feeling. “He didn’t stop the others, though.” Claire looked away for a moment and nodded. “And, I’m sorry, darling, but he was pretty shitfaced.”

“Yeah, I know,” she muttered.

“Claire, is everything okay?” My brother-in-law was a bit of an arrogant blighter, but I wasn’t really one to talk on that score. Otherwise, he was a decent bloke. He was totally shitfaced that night, though, and if I thought back to the last few times we’d got together, he’d been very on it drink-wise. He’d got through a full bottle at Sunday lunch at Mum’s a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t thought much about it at the time. “If you want me to talk to Blake again, I can see if?—”

“What? No, no way. Blake would not take that well. He already…”

She trailed off, and I blinked. “He already what?”

“Never mind,” she said in a fake bright tone.

“Blake has a problem with alcohol,” Vicky stated in that stark way she had of cutting right to the point. Claire shot her a dirty look.

My sisters had a tricky relationship. We’d met Vicky for the first time when I was twelve, Claire was thirteen and Vicky was six. Up until then we had no idea she even existed, seeing as she was the product of my dad’s affair. Then, one summer, this small blonde girl who didn’t speak a word was dropped off at Buckingham Manor, and Mum was expected to take care of her for the holidays. Apparently, due to Vicky’s problems, her own mother couldn’t cope with her all year round and Dad certainly wasn’t getting involved (he was barely home anyway by that stage). After that, Vicky spent every summer with us, much to Claire’s annoyance. She never forgave Dad. By the time he died suddenly of a heart attack five years ago, they were barely speaking. I’d always felt protective over Vicky. It wasn’t her fault that her parents were shit, and I was her big brother. Claire simply tolerated her.

“Why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself, Vics,” Claire snapped then turned away from her towards me. “Well, Ollie. Everyone’s been saying you went totally Hulk on them. I was worried.”

“I feel that Ollie was justified in his actions,” Vicky said in her matter-of-fact way. “Although it was assault, Ollie, which could have resulted in a criminal record. The reason I brought it up is because the waitress was your cleaner. Correct?”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

“What?” Claire’s eyebrows were in her hairline now. “Ollie that’s?—”

Her words cut off as the kitchen door opened, and we all turned to see Lottie shuffle through, carrying all her cleaning supplies.

“Fudge nuggets,” she muttered as a couple of the bottles in her basket fell out of the side. As she bent to retrieve them, the rest of the basket tilted. I shot across the kitchen to right it before the entire contents ended up on the floor. She was so shocked when I crouched down in front of her that there was no resistance as I took the basket out of her hands. Her brown eyes went wide as they locked with mine, and it was like all the air was sucked out of the room.

“Hello.”

Lottie broke eye contact at the sound of Vicky’s voice, and the spell was broken.

“Er… hi,” she squeaked, looking around me to see both Vicky and Claire.

“Hi there,” Claire said with a smile and a small wave. “You must be Lottie.”

Lottie nodded, then did a double-take when she saw Vicky. “Oh, I recognise…” she trailed off, and for some reason, her cheeks flushed red.

“Your foot is better.” Stating the obvious was Vicky’s special talent, as was making uncomfortable situations even more so. “And you are no longer covered in wine.”

“Er… yes,” Lottie said slowly, shooting Vicky a curious look.

Then she stood up and attempted to tug the basket out of my hands, but I wasn’t letting it go. Instead, I grabbed the bottles she was holding and put them into the relevant slots then put the basket up on the counter.

Lottie frowned. “I can carry that, Your Grace.”

I gritted my teeth as Claire stifled a laugh. “Oh my God. You call him Your Grace ? I’m sorry, but that’s priceless. I’m Claire, by the way, His Grace’s sister. I know you’ve already met my daughter, Florrie.” Lottie nodded, managing a small, nervous smile.

“Yes, your mum brought her over a couple of weeks ago. She’s a great girl.” Lottie bit her lip before continuing. “Listen, I’m so sorry for interrupting,” she said quietly, her eyes darting to the exit and then back to me, Vicky and Claire.

Claire frowned. “You’re not interrupting us. If anything, we’re interrupting you. Anyhoo, now we have interrupted you, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Lottie blinked. “I… er,” her eyes flicked between all of us before she gave a helpless shrug. “You don’t want to know about me, I promise. I’m boring.” She lowered her voice. “And I know I’m supposed to stay invisible.”

“Invisible? Who told you that?” Claire asked.

“Yes, Lottie,” I cut in, crossing my arms over my chest. Her gaze fell on them, then fixed on my chest before she managed to look away. “Who told you you had to be invisible?”

“Mrs H sure as shit isn’t invisible,” Claire put in. “What is it she calls you, Ols?”

“Fancy, pretty-boy, trust-fund, namby-pamby git,” Vicky said, as always remembering everything with perfect clarity.

“Whose Mrs H?” Lottie asked.

“Ollie’s cleaner,” Vicky replied.

“But… I’m Ollie’s cleaner.”

“Yes,” I cut in, scowling at Vicky. “Yes, you’re my cleaner, Lottie. Mrs H used to work for me.”

“But you just said—” Vicky started, but I cut her off.

“Claire, I’m sure you have a lot to be getting on with. Vicky and I have that meeting with Felix. So maybe you’d like to bugger off?”

“I’ll go and set up in the office,” Vicky said before she swept out. Vicky could never really manage complex social situations where she wasn’t sure of the rules, and this situation was more complex than most.

“Er…” Lottie’s eyes darted out to the corridor again and then back to me. “Do you need any of the other rooms? You’re not using the library, are you?”

I frowned. “What’s wrong with the library?”

“Oh nothing, Your Grace,” she said, trying to sound unbothered but the shake in her voice gave her away. “I just haven’t dusted in there yet so?—”

“We’re not intending to use the library,” I told her. How odd? Had she knocked something over in there?

She let out a relieved huff and then looked at the now pristine kitchen. “Shall I make a start in here?”

“Sure,” I answered.

“It’s just there doesn’t seem to be an awful lot to do.” She stared at me in confusion, then lowered her voice. “Listen, I’ve been dying to ask, but is this a rich person thing? Having a cleaner clean your already clean house?”

Claire snorted with suppressed laughter until I shot her a death glare.

“No, I just… I’m really tidy, so…”

“Okay,” Lottie said slowly. She was frowning up at me now and I had the distinct impression she knew I was lying.

Claire’s snort at that blatant lie was harder to cover up.

“Claire, I believe you were leaving?” I took matters into my own hands and grabbed Claire’s arm to propel her out of the kitchen and away from Lottie. Once we were in the corridor, she turned to me with an excited expression.

“You like her!” she burst out.

“What are you talking about, Claire?”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Bucky. You like her. There’s no other explanation for keeping Mrs H on so that your cleaner, who you like, doesn’t have to do any actual cleaning. And the way you guys looked at each other! I mean, you’re my brother, but even I have to admit it was objectively fire emoji.”

“Back off with this. I mean it.” I tried to inject a sufficient amount of brotherly clout, but that’s never worked on Claire. Her smile was so wide now it was a bit unnerving.

“Oh, this is perfect! Wait until I tell the others. You haven’t liked anyone properly since?—”

“Don’t say her name,” I growled, and Claire pressed her lips together but still looked unreasonably excited.

“It’s just we’ve all been worried, Ols,” Claire told me. “Since you know who , you haven’t been right. You’re… colder. Not my little Ollie.”

“Claire, I’m well over six foot. I haven’t been your little Ollie in over two decades.”

Claire ignored me. She was bouncing on her toes in excitement. “You know what I mean. You’ve been a stubborn shit about women for too long.”

“I’m well aware of your opinion on me and women. I can’t walk out of my house without you or, worse, Mum trying to set me up. Have you two ever considered that maybe Vicky and I want to be single?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Vics just needs to act a little less… weird and?—”

“Claire,” I said in a warning tone and she rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, you know what I mean. I’m not having a go, okay? It’s just she tends to intimidate blokes with her mega-brain. And as far as you’re concerned, you just need a nice girl this time. Not some bitch who sells you out. Anyway, none of the attempts we’ve made have been successful at all. You haven’t liked any woman, full stop. Not in over five years, Ols.” She’d stopped bouncing now and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I was worried that she broke you a little bit.”

I sighed and pulled Claire in for a hug. “You lot worry too much,” I said as I kissed the top of her head. “I was still a stupid kid back then. I thought I loved her, but…” I trailed off. Truth was, the sting of what happened had lasted for years. The humiliation, the heartbreak. But now… “What Cordelia did hurt me, but it didn’t break me, Claire.”

“I’m glad you can say her name now,” Claire said softly. “That’s progress right there. Maybe it’s because of this girl?”

“Don’t jump the gun, Claire Bear,” I said sternly. “There’s the small issue of her working for me.”

“Oh pish! People meet at work all the time.”

“There’s a bit of a power imbalance.”

“There’s always a power imbalance, Ols. Right, well, let me think. You should get her flowers, right? And ask her to?—”

“Oh my God, I am not discussing this with you,” I groaned. “Right, how’s Mum?”

We talked for a while about Buckingham Manor and the upkeep that Claire didn’t think Mum was keeping on top of. Claire gave me some more shit about Lottie. I asked her if she thought anything was bothering Vicky who’d been quiet recently.

“How should I know?” said Claire dismissively and I sighed. Just when I thought my sisters were starting to get on a little better a few years ago, everything went to shit when Claire married Blake. Vicky did not like Blake and she wasn’t particularly subtle about it.

“Right, come on. Let’s go and find your demon spawn,” I said after seeing the time and realising that Vicky would start the meeting on her own if I didn’t get a move on. I pulled Claire down the corridor and followed the sound of Florrie’s music into the library.

“Hi!” Florrie appeared abruptly from behind the sofa.

“What are you doing back there, darling?” Claire asked.

“Nothing!” Florrie squeaked, glancing down at the floor next to her and then back up at us. Her face was red and she was avoiding eye contact. The kid was a shit liar. Hopefully, she hadn’t spilt nail polish on my hardwood floor like last time.

“Right, well we better go so?—”

“Yes!” Florrie shouted, running over to us and shooing us out of the library. “You both need to go. Right now .”

“You just keep getting weirder, kid,” I said as I mussed her hair again.

“Uncle Ollie! The hair!”