Above My Station

Chapter 2. Jay.

"Yet another suicide in this bloody town," father sighs, liberally spreading his toast with butter, "honestly, they're dropping like flies."

"Don't be so insensitive," my mother snarls, wincing at his blunt comment. She likes the town, even though my father expressly forbid her to go outside, so she sits by the top floor window and watches them go. Celebrates their little fortunes, and pities their plentiful woes.

"Who was it?" I direct at my pa, pouring milk into my coffee and setting the silver jug on the wooden table.

"A carpenter- the same one who made this table. Sykes, I think. Hung himself at night while his wife and son were sleeping. His daughter returned from her work the next morning to find him swinging."

"Awful, really awful," mother murmurs, shaking her head and pursing her lips," can't we please just donate a few pennies to-"

"No, we can't," father cuts her off, "we have to save everything we have for young James here," he smiles at me, "we want you to inherit a lot of money boy."

I duck my head, slightly flattered. "Father, how many times have I told you to call me Jay? I prefer it to boring old James, or as mum likes to call me, Bird."

"I only call you that because when you were little you used to flit about like a little sparrow. You were always so active, dancing and singing. Still are." Mother looked at me fondly.

My father laughs, a hearty, rumbling sound. "Well, I think I'd better begin work," he says, getting up from the table. I also stand, leaving mother, and make my way to the staircase, climbing up the steps to my room.

Stepping inside, I sigh. It's my coven, the perfect place for a lazy twenty year old to read, dance and just relax. I wasn't allowed to go outside, not even for air, I had to open my window for that. Exercise was provided by my dancing all the time and I loved to read and write.

Lowering my long gangly limbs onto the bed, I ran a hand through my short caramel curls and thought of last night. Unbeknownst to my parents, I had snuck out and made my way to a local pub, just to observe the people of this dirty town. I didn't drink anything, just sat in the corner, cloak over my face, watching. No-one took any notice of me. They didn't care. Most of the men were trying to win over a lovely young woman who's pretty face was covered in make up and who's long blond hair shimmered in the candlelight. She was beautiful. However, she was a prostitute.

I sigh. The oldest profession. Apparently, seventy percent of the women in this town had turned to it in desperation. It really was sad.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Come in!" I call, and the door flies open.

"Hiya Birdy!" Ethel, our plump, cuddly washerwoman, bustles in, take one look at me and wrinkles her nose. "Get up you lazy boy!" she snaps, and I jump up, hand to my head in salute.

"Yes sir!" I bark, and grin at her. She laughs, a tinkling sound.

"Help me with folding your clothes young man, before I make you wash them yourself."

As we fold my shirts, trousers and ties, she chatters about the town life.

"Absolutely tragic, Mr Sykes' suicide," she sighs, "they live beside me in their carpentry, all four of them. Well, three now."

I grimace. "Who's in their family?"

"He's been survived by his wife, son and daughter. The son's unemployed, useless at carpentry, and the daughter's a bloody prostitute, poor damned girl. She's haunted so she is. Poor Sylvia, the mother, she's a carpenter too, but the only one now. She asked me to get Nathan a post here, but I have no idea what he'll be."

I ponder this while folding a tie. "I could use a valet," I murmur, "dad has one, why not me?"

Ethel laughs. "You can dress yourself perfectly well Birdy, your father's got flipping rheumatism!"

"Still..."

"Stop your moaning, boy. Be thankful for what you've got, you're better off than this whole town!"

I nod slowly. I guess I am, probably by a far stretch. Ethel may work for us, but she still lives in a dirty shack. I wanted her to live with us, but father expressly forbid it. If we let her in, he said, the whole town'll want in.

She sees my pained expression, and pulls me in for a warm hug. "Aww, Birdy, don't worry. They'll be fine out there, they're hardy folks."

The sun tells me it's two o'clock. I'm sitting at my desk, twisting a pencil, trying to think of what to write next in my diary, when I hear a frenzied conversation taking place outside my door. Creeping over, I place my eye to the keyhole and see father, mother and Ethel talking.

"The boy's small but strong, sir," Ether says to my father, "he could easily be a valet for James-"

"James is perfectly capable of dressing himself," my father snaps and Ethel winces, "he doesn't need a valet, even less a poor boy who'll probably rob us and run."

"Honestly," my mother sighs, "you have no faith in this community. Ethel, darling, I'm sure this boy would be a good addition to the family."

"But what as?!"

My mother turns a fiery gaze onto my father, and he quietens. "As a valet," she stresses the last word, "even as a friend for the poor boy inside that room. He needs contact with the outside world."

My father seems to be having an internal struggle with himself, his face screwed up in pain, but finally he relents. "Fine. But the boy is not allowed to leave. Not even to see his family."

Ethel protests. "Sir, he's just lost his father, surely-"

"No Ethel," my father cuts her off, "you wanted a post for him, he has to adhere to our rules. Talk to him tomorrow." And with that, he leaves.

I quickly return to my desk and pick up my pencil again, as my door opens.

"Bird?" my mother asks softly, and I turn and smile, feigning innocence.

"Yes mother?"

"Can I talk to you darling?"

I nod, and she glides over and sits on my bed, patting the space beside her. I flop down beside her and place my head on her shoulder.

"Hello," she coos, ruffling my hair, "I've got some news for you!"

"What is it?" I ask eagerly, even though I know full well.

"Your father and I have talked to Ethel, and apparently there's a boy in the village who she believes will be suited to become your valet!" She beams. "Isn't that wonderful?"

I plaster a smile to my face. "Yes mother, that'd be lovely!"

She plants a kiss on my rigid cheek. "Jay, it's so nice to see you finally grow up. Soon, you'll be the master of this house!" and with that lovely piece of news, she exits.

I stare into my lap. A valet. A boy who probably hasn't seen two coins rubbed together, let alone the rich sort of attire I have to wear. The collars, the ties, the silly shoes, even though I stay inside. I only hope he'll be a nice sort. I'm not sure I could cope with a rowdy boy.

Walking back to my diary, I look at it.

Dear diary, today I learned I'll finally have a friend.