Half an hour later, the cleaning team’s conversation filtered away to a hush as the office workers arrived and sat down at their desks, probably thinking the surfaces shone as if by magic, or not noticing them at all. When the cleaners’ work was done, they slipped away like melted ice cream down a crack in the pavement.

Liv’s next job was for the Cardinal family, a thirty-minute walk away in the wealthy suburbs. She worked for Walter and Hannah five mornings a week also, and did Monday, Thursday and Friday afternoons for Essie.

Walter and Hannah Cardinal schooled their eight-year-old twins, Tarquin and Julietta, from home. What this really meant was Walter, a graphic designer, and Hannah, a beauty vlogger, escaped to their garden offices while the kids sat at the dining table flicking paint at each other. Hannah called it their artistic freedom time.

Usually by the time Liv arrived, the kitchen floor resembled a Jackson Pollock painting.

“Hey, Liv, sweetie. Come in,” Hannah said, opening the door while she nibbled avocado on toast. She stood barefooted in a khaki linen boiler suit and called back over her shoulder, “Tarkers, Jules, look who’s here,” as if Liv was a favorite aunt who’d come to babysit.

The kids looked up from their painting. Tarquin had black circles around his eyes like a panda, and Julietta had painted a red heart on her own white Moschino T-shirt. They smirked at Liv as if silently plotting to hide her sponges and pour her solutions down the sink.

Hannah pulled an apologetic face. “I’ve got a crucial Zoom at eleven, and Walt’s chiropractor is working on his neck. It gets dreadfully tight when he’s designing. Could you possibly make an early lunch for the kiddos?” She flashed her puppy-dog eyes. “Pretty please.”

Liv tightened her grip on her box of cleaning stuff, thinking how much she needed to keep this job, too. “Sure,” she said. “What will they eat?”

“You’re a lifesaver, Liv, you really are.” Hannah fluttered a hand to her neck. “Just give them something organic and healthy. Oh, except no falafels or hummus for Jules, and Tarkers isn’t keen on raspberries. Can you make Walt a little sandwich, too, and take it to his office? There’s some gluten-free bagels in the bread bin.”

Perhaps you’d like me to stand on my head and play the trumpet to entertain everyone, too, Liv thought to herself. “Sure, I can do that,” she said, grimacing as a blot of orange paint landed in her hair.

As she mopped the floor, she listened to an audiobook of Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen and was transported to a magical garden in North Carolina instead.