I don’t climb ladders to do windows and I don’t scrub floors by hand. It’s mop, hoover or nowt. And I can’t bend to do skirting boards because I’ve got a problem with a disc. And I’ve got a bad knee so I don’t do kneeling either.’ Lesley Clamp dictated the last of her non-negotiable working terms and sat back in the chair. Della clung on to her patience as well as a strained rictus smile after hearing the long list of ‘won’t dos’. This was all she needed today. How Lesley Clamp had managed to clock up twenty years as a self-professed highly praised cleaner when she was either allergic to or refused to touch most of the contents of a house was beyond her. The good news was that Lesley could work quite happily with lemon juice, vinegar, salt and newspaper. Della was tempted to tell her that she’d be better off getting a job in a chip shop, then. Della had a thick rejection file in her drawer of people that she wouldn’t employ in a million years.
