In her mid-twenties, Alenka’s days revolve round the physical grind of her job, her insecure employment status, the pitiless supervisors who decide whether and when she will work, and her powerlessness to change things. She is a hotel cleaner, one of the countless women - they are invariably women - whom guests might brush past in the corridor but seldom acknowledge on their way to and from the elevator. Her English is spare but correct; and she is proud of her fluency. She responds to my questions with a smile and a visible effort at cheerfulness that contrasts with the quiet melancholy of what she has to say.
Operating under a well-known brand name, the hotel where Alenka works stands on a crisp, refurbished fringe of central London. Business executives stay there for convenience, and families choose it because - though hardly cheap - it is less expensive than its sisters in the West End.
