Secret Nanny Club (15 page)

Of course,
looking back now I realise that I was suffering from severe mummy-brain which is a condition that affects sleep-deprived mummies and especially sleep-deprived single mummies. I was putting on the kettle to make myself a sobering cup of tea when I suddenly remembered the envelope that Tanya had thrust at me. I sat down and opened it tentatively. I’m really not sure what I expected to read in the letter but I was shocked to see such a brief hand-scrawled message.

Please help me! Tanya

Her mobile number was also written on the note. I felt my blood run cold. I sat up straight and stared at it. What was wrong with her? Was she in danger? My imagination suddenly started running riot. Was Joanne keeping her prisoner in her house? Perhaps there was a dungeon at the bottom of the house? Maybe Joanne’s husband was keeping her as a sex slave? I felt my imagination running away with me. I tried to envisage Joanne’s husband. I had only met him once, briefly, when he had opened the door at Joanne’s first book-club

hosting
. He had seemed a pretty innocuous fellow, polite but nothing to write home about. He was of slim build with rather narrow eyes – and had he a moustache? I couldn’t quite remember.

Steady on there,
Kaylah, I said to myself. As
if
they have kidnapped her! Joanne and her husband were perfectly reasonable and respectable middle-class folk. They would be the last people you could imagine being involved in something sinister. Maybe this girl, Tanya, was an aspiring actress, a bit of a drama queen. Feeling very confused, I dialled the number. It rang once and then cut out. So I tried again.

“Hello?”

The voice was barely audible. I could hardly hear it.

“Hello, Tanya? It’s
Kaylah here. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, but I cannot really talk right now, sorry. But is
it possible for me to come to your house tomorrow afternoon? Maybe you can help me?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling fairly bewildered. “That’s no
problem at all. I’ll do whatever I can.”

I proceeded to give the girl my address over the
phone, and we arranged for her to come at twelve midday. She thanked me and abruptly hung up. I found myself rubbing my right temple in confusion. What in the world had that been all about?

CHAPTER T
WELVE

I was in a baby and maternity shop in the
Dundrum Town Centre one day buying John some little white vests for the summer. The girl serving me was quite obviously pregnant so I asked her when she was due. “Seven weeks, now,” she beamed. “I’m looking forward

to
it, although I know I’ll miss being pregnant. It’s such a lovely feeling.”

I smiled and nodded at her but I just couldn’t relate
to her at all. I had hated every waking minute of my pregnancy. I was ridiculously emotional throughout the whole nine months. I remember once walking past a dead bird and bursting into tears. The poor little bird, I thought, sobbing all the way down the street. That’s how silly I was. When I wasn’t snivelling into a tissue I was throwing up all over the place. I even started carrying a plastic bag around because I simply couldn’t walk past a petrol station, a chipper or somebody smoking a cigarette without puking.

Sometimes there wasn’t even time to fish the plastic bag
from my pocket and I had to throw up over the nearest wall or into the nearest bush. Now that was toe-curlingly embarrassing, especially around Christmas time when I’m sure passers-by thought I’d had one too many the night before and tut-tutted to themselves as they hurried on by.

Some women say they bloom
during pregnancy and this girl behind the counter was obviously a very good example of that, but I personally found the whole experience

blooming
awful to be quite honest. I slept approximately two to three hours a night throughout the entire duration. My baby’s head was in an awkward position underneath

my
ribcage which made it really uncomfortable for me to sleep. I had constant hiccups too, and awful heartburn.

Also, why don’t they tell you about having to wee every
five minutes? I used to look in the mirror and not recognise the creature looking back at myself (well, I still do). A couple of months into the pregnancy I remember thinking I looked like Garfield’s sister. My bloated face was huge and I couldn’t blame that on the pregnancy, could I? The baby grows nowhere near the face! I’d put on so much weight even my pregnancy clothes didn’t fit towards the end.

They say you forget all about your pregnancy after
you give birth, but don’t believe all you hear. You so don’t forget. Yes, I’m the happiest, proudest mother on earth but I would have preferred to find my baby under a cabbage like my mother found me, apparently.

I met an old man recently in the park who admired
my little boy and asked his age.

“Just over six months,” I said.

“Time for another one?” he suggested with a twinkle
in his eye.

I shuddered involuntarily.
“God, no. No chance of that.”

As soon as I’d said it I regretted it. The man seemed
shocked by my firm answer. I almost went on to explain how I’d remained celibate since my child’s conception but thought better of it. Sometimes there’s such a thing as too much information. Which brings me to my point.

My point is that pregnancy is a very private experience,
when your body becomes a safe house for a growing life. Once you conceive, this little life takes over, disrupting your sleep, your social life, your sex life, your career, everything basically. It’s not easy but you just let nature take over. If you’re like me you go into hibernation for a while, nesting, as you figure out how to prepare for your whole life to turn upside down as it inevitably will.

But although it’s a private, personal experience,
everyone else seems to think it’s very much their business. Even strangers in the street. I remember being in one baby shop and the assistant asked me whether I’d had a vaginal delivery or a Caesarean in a really loud voice. Now maybe I’m a little more conservative than most people but I honestly don’t think people that you’ve just met should be asking you those kinds of questions.

I tossed in the bed, yawning loudly. It had been a long,
sleepless night. John had cried and cried and cried. I had cried too from exhaustion and from the sheer helplessness I felt at not being able to help him. I couldn’t bear to think of my little angel being in pain from his teeth.

His two little cheeks were flushed bright red and he
also had nappy rash. I bathed him several times during the night and I drank coffee to keep me awake as he chomped his gums on the bottle.

In the morning I woke with a sudden jolt. I had an
appointment somewhere but I couldn’t think where. Then it suddenly hit me. Oh yes, Tanya was coming around. God, the mysterious Tanya. I wondered what on earth she wanted. I could hardly bear the suspense!

Even though I was dog-tired and John was cross and
cranky, I still made an effort to look somewhat normal for Tanya’s visit. I even found myself putting on makeup – something I don’t really get around to doing these days. I also half-heartedly brushed my mane of long hair and applied a coat of lipstick.

She was bang on time. I opened the door and welcomed
her in. She was all smiles and fresh-looking in a crisp white shirt, fitted denim jacket, beige slim-fit trousers and black patent high heels. She sat down on my couch, after having bent down to give John a kiss in his cot, and then refused my offer of a cup of tea or coffee.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll have a coffee myself,” I
said. “We didn’t get much sleep here all night. Teething.”

Tanya nodded sagely.
“Bonjela.”

“I know.”

“And lots of it. You sit down and put your feet up. I’ll make the coffee. I have the rest of the day off.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I think I will. I just take it black,
thank you. The instant will do.”

I sank into my couch gratefully for the first time that
morning and took a deep breath. I felt more relaxed now.             

Even John was smiling. He seemed to like Tanya. She was
much friendlier today and seemed to have lost that hunted look she’d had about her last night. She was back in a jiffy with a large mug of coffee. She sat down beside me and crossed her long legs.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I am here,” she said
almost casually.

“Well, I had been wondering . . .” I trailed off, watching
her with interest. She was terribly slim and tall with high cheekbones and long dark lashes. Her hair which was platinum blonde was almost certainly natural. If I didn’t know better I could have sworn she was a top model.

“I need to leave my employer, Joanne, as soon as
possible.”

“Oh?” I sat up straight and wide-eyed.

“Yes, it’s very urgent. I need to get away from her and her family. I don’t like living there. Actually, that is an understatement. I hate living there. This is my first day off in three weeks even though I’m supposed to have a day off every week.”

I sat up straight.
“Only one?”

“Yes.
Sundays. But every Sunday there is something.”

“What do you mean?”

Tanya turned her palms to the ceiling. “Well, there’s always some excuse. Like last Sunday one of the children was sick so Joanne asked me to stay at home and mind him when she took her daughter into town shopping. The week before there was a christening down the country and they said I had to go to help them mind the children. I shared a triple hotel room with the kids. There is always something. They treat me like a slave.”

“That’s outrageous,” I said, feeling genuinely shocked.

“You should have two days off every week. That’s standard.”

“I know. That’s what they say at the Secret Nanny
Club.”

“The what?”

“It’s an online club where all of us nannies exchange horror stories. Even though my job is awful it’s not as bad as some others. You would be shocked at what goes on in this country.”

I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted
to hear more. However, I found myself leaning towards Tanya quizzically.

She lowered her voice dramatically, her pupils
dilating as she continued, “One girl I know worked for two accountants and their kids. They were nudists and took the girl to a nudist colony for two weeks in Greece. She didn’t have to take off all her clothes but they used to force her to pay volleyball with them when they were naked and then sit down with them and have picnics. She didn’t know where to look.”

“No way.”

“Oh, yes! And another girl discovered a secret camera in her shower room where somebody was watching her washing herself. It turned out to be the children’s father!”

“What? You are joking!”

“I certainly am not. And do you know something else? Another girl’s passport was taken from her and locked in the family safe so she could not go home until her full year was up.”

“I’m sure it must be illegal to do that!” I found myself
gasping. “Are you sure all these stories are actually true?”

“Well, of course I am not one-hundred-per-cent sure,”
said Tanya with a shrug. “And I have no proof. But why would people tell lies? I have shocking stories of my own after all! I tell them about Joanne and her husband Willie. Willie walks around naked except for socks and a purple G-string.”

“A G-string?”
I was shocked and suddenly I didn’t want that image in my head. How would I ever look him in the eye again?

“Yes, he always wears G-strings. He even has a leopard
print one. It’s disgusting.”

I put my hands to my ears. “Enough!”

“I have to leave that house before I lose my mind,” Tanya urged. “You need to rescue me. Joanne has me working day and night – even on my hands and knees scrubbing!”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe anyone would be that
uncaring. I mean, she never struck me as a particularly warm person but – but really, that kind of behaviour is selfish and even cruel.”