Saskia Sarginson

“We are like ghosts whispering around the edges of each other's lives. Or perhaps it's more like a cruel farce with one of us entering the stage, just as the other leaves.”
― Saskia Sarginson, The Other Me

“My room is at the back of the house, so rather than the expanse of garden at the front, it faces north, with a view of outhouses and a cluster of dark trees. It’s the same room I stayed in as a child. I just have time to glance around and put my case on the single bed before Ophelia is hurrying me back downstairs and into the kitchen. It’s a farmhouse-style kitchen, redone since I was last here, with fitted cream cupboards with wooden knobs, and heavy granite tops, speckled with grey. The floor is solid oak boards, and the industrial size stainless steel fridge-freezer is big enough to feed a small army. Her mobile rings, and she picks it up. ‘I’m on my way,’ she says in a low voice. ‘I know. I know. She’s just arrived. I’ll be with you soon.’ She ends the call with a click and hoists Kit onto his booster seat as she gestures towards the fridge. ‘Just give them whatever you think best. They’re not fussy, and everything is organic.’ Then she’s gone, with no explanation about where to, or when she’ll be back. Neither of the children seem bothered by their mother’s departure or about being left with a stranger. I guess they’re used to it. It was my agency who alerted me to the job vacancy. ‘You’re from Suffolk, aren’t you?’ my agent had asked. ‘I think you’ll want to apply for this one. Good money too.’ When I realised where the job was, it felt like fate. I didn’t even need an interview. I got the position on references alone.”
― Saskia Sarginson, One Dark Summer