The Cleaner Read Online Free PDF Page A

you.”
    “I offered to help, Mom,” I say, standing up.
    “Well, it’s too late now. It’s done,” she snaps. “You should learn to appreciate your mother, Joe. I’m all you have.”
    I know this speech, and have apologized as many times as I’ve heard it. I say I’m sorry once again, and it seems offering apologies to my mother makes up fifty percent of my conversations with her. She sits down and we watch some TV—some English drama about people who say nuffink instead of nothing, and I don’t even know what in the hell bollocks really means.
    Mom watches it as if she can’t already predict that Fay is sleeping with Edgar for his inheritance, and Karen is pregnant from Stewart—the town drunk and her long-lost brother. When the commercials come on, she fills me in on what the characters have been up to, as if they’re part of the family. At least she isn’t offering to cook them meatloaf. I listen and nod and forget what she says within seconds. Like a goldfish. When it comes back on, I end up watching the carpet, finding more entertainment in the brown, symmetrical patterns that were all the rage back in the fifties—proving that everybody was completely mad back then.
    The drama ends and the highly depressing theme music starts to play. As sad as the tune is, I’m feeling in high spirits because that music means it’s time for me to go. Before I leave, Mom tells me more about my cousin Gregory. He has a car. A BMW.
    “Why don’t you have a BMW, Joe?”
    I’ve never stolen a BMW. “Because I’m not gay.”
    I’m the only person on the bus. The driver is old, and his hands shake as I give him the exact change. As we drive along, I start to wonder what would happen if he sneezed. Would his heart explode? Would we career into other traffic? I feel like giving him a dollar tip when he gets me safely to my stop, but I figure the excitement will finish off what theGrim Reaper started years ago. He wishes me a good night as I leave the bus, but I don’t know if he really means it. I don’t wish him anything back. I’m not looking to make any friends. Especially old ones.
    When I get home I step into the shower and spend an hour washing away my mother. When I climb out, I spend some time with Pickle and Jehovah. They look happy to see me. A few minutes later and it’s lights out. I slip into bed. I don’t ever dream, and tonight is going to be no exception.
    I think of Angela and Fluffy, and finally I think of nothing.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Right on seven thirty, I wake up. I don’t need an alarm clock to pull me from sleep. My clock is internal. Never needs winding. Never breaks down. Keeps on ticking.
    Another Christchurch morning and I’m already bored. I look at the clothes in my wardrobe, but it’s pointless. I get dressed, then start breakfast. Toast. Coffee. Doesn’t get more sophisticated than that. I talk to my fish and tell them about Karen and Stewart and the rest of the nuffink squad, and they listen intently to what I have to say, and then they forget it. I feed them as a reward for their loyalty.
    I head outside. It’s another summer day in autumn. There aren’t many people around. Unfortunately I don’t have a car. Angela’s I left parked on the other side of town. I left the keys in the ignition in case somebody else wanted to take it for a spin. Stealing keys is a lot easier than hot-wiring the thing, though I’ve got plenty of experience when it comes to both.
    I am at the bus stop with my ticket in my hand when the bus pulls up. The side of it is covered in advertisements for vitaminpills and contraceptives. The doors open with a swish. I climb on board.
    “Hey ya doin’, Joe?”
    “Joe’s fine, Mr. Stanley.”
    I hand Mr. Stanley my bus ticket. He takes it from me and, without clicking it, hands it back. Winks at me like old bus drivers do. The whole side of his face crushes down like he’s having a stroke. Mr. Stanley is probably in his sixties, and looks like he gets a