The Nanny (5 page)

It was still exciting to be going up to his new attic bedroom. Toby's bedroom was next door and acted as the playroom as well because although Toby was older, he was only there two nights a week. Zak felt a bit smaller when Toby wasn't in the room next door.

He carefully attached a piece of string to his door handle and to his light saber on top of the door, setting a trap for robbers, slid under his duvet, and waited for Mummy to come up and say good night. It was much better than being in the top bunk and sharing with a girl. The window in his new bedroom was in the ceiling instead of the wall. No other room in the house had that. Being a boy was the best.

Below him in Tallulah's bedroom, Cassandra looked down at her sister, who was sinking into a deep sleep. She sighed. Sometimes she wished she could be four again, when everything was possible and you believed that if you wanted black hair when you were older, you'd get it.

She stomped into her bedroom, kissed her boy band poster, asked God to make her famous, and went to bed.

Unaware that her sister and brother had left her bedroom, Tallulah breathed softly and evenly. She was already Princess Jo with long, sleek, black hair, beautiful, cat-shaped blue eyes, and long, slender legs.

Upstairs, at the top of the house, Zak lay in his bed staring at the stars. They stared right back at him. He wished Mummy would hurry up. He hated Cassandra.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again quickly.

Did his brain really have a willy on it?

 

Later that night, Vanessa and Dick got to bed.

“What was it this time?” Dick asked Vanessa.

“Light saber, little bastard.”

Dick chuckled. “That'll stop the burglars.”

“It'll stop Mummy coming to tuck him up every night.”

Vanessa lay on her back, positioned her arms beside her, closed her eyes, and started to breathe very deeply from her diaphragm. Thanks to three years of hypnotherapy, she was able to pull her thoughts away from all things stressful and focus on all things pleasant. Her hypnotherapist always used a beautiful summer garden or a calm, sandy beach. Vanessa preferred Harrison Ford in shorts. Worked for her. She focused hard on two strong, long, tanned thighs.

“So,” growled Harrison into her ear. “We got a new nanny then.”

Like a schoolgirl creating a fantasy scene with stickers, Vanessa visualized Harrison holding her in his arms after saving her from snakes and Nazis.

“Wasn't there a concluding part of that deal?” whispered Harrison, his scar shimmering in the dark.

Lying perfectly still, Vanessa's mind arched toward Dick. At least he'd taken a day off and helped her with some of the interviews. At least he'd made the tea. She nodded as Harrison started stroking her stomach.

“L
eaving
?” repeated Hilda. “What do you mean?
Leaving
?”

“Well,” started Jo. “I-I-I thought, I—”

“I'm going to have to have a word with that boy.”

“Dad!”

“That man's wasted the best years of your life.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, you're no spring chicken—”

“It's got nothing to do with Shaun.”

“Rubbish.”

“
Bill!
” shouted Hilda.

“Well, I
mean
!”

They all fumed in silence.

“Are you unhappy living with us, love?” asked Hilda.

“No! Of course not.”

“Then why?”

Jo looked at her hands.

“Mum.”

Hilda nodded.

“I'm twenty-three years old—”

“I know, love, I was there.”

“—and I've never lived away from home.”

“You would have if that bastard had proposed!”

“Bill!
Let the girl speak.”

Bill started pacing the tiny front room with such ferocity that he looked like a caged line dancer.

“Sit down,” ordered Hilda. “It's not good for you to get too excited—”

“I'll tell you what's not good for me—”

“Stop shouting!”

“I'm not shouting!”

“You are! No wonder she wants to leave home.”

Bill slumped heavily into his armchair.

“It's all your nagging and fussing,” he told Hilda. “It would do anyone's head in. If I had the choice, I'd be off to flipping Highbridge or Gatesbury or wherever it is—”

“Chance'd be a fine thing,” said Hilda.

“Eh, do they need a builder, Jo?”

“Hah!” shot Hilda. “They couldn't afford the food bill—”

“Oh give it a flaming rest, woman!”

“You're shouting again!”

“Course I'm frigging shouting!”
Bill's face was turning red.
“You're driving me mad!”

“Calm down!”
Hilda was nearly crying.
“It's not good for you!”

“Stop telling me what to do, or so help me, I'll—!”

“Right,” said Hilda, standing up suddenly. “I'll put the kettle on.”

Jo and her father sat in the living room listening to the sound of Hilda in the kitchen furiously taking out mugs, the milk jug, and the teapot.

Eventually, Jo caught her father's eye.

“I think that went pretty well, don't you?” she asked.

They both snorted, until Bill said, “If Adolf Bloody Hitler invaded, she'd put that frigging kettle on.”

“And you'd shout till you were red in the face.”

Bill shifted in his armchair.

Hilda brought the tray in, and they watched her pour the milk and tea into the mugs in silence. They took their mugs meekly. After a few sips, Bill sat forward in his chair and rubbed his hands together.

“So,” he said. “London, eh? Big-city lights.”

“That's right,” said Jo. “I'll just see how it goes. Probably come back home every weekend.”

Hilda's lips were a thin line as she sipped her tea, and Jo and Bill tried to ignore how much her hands were shaking.

Bill gave Jo a little wink.

“Nothing like your mother's cuppa.”

Jo smiled, and they drank their tea in silence.

 

That night, Jo and Shaun were separated by a pink tablecloth, matching candle, matching candlestick, and matching single rose. They drank their wine, then took another mouthful of heavy French food, then another sip of wine.

Shaun looked like he was in shock. There was no other way of putting
it. When Jo had told him that she'd been offered a job in London and had accepted it, his body actually did a little jerk, like a puppet whose puppeteer had just hiccuped.

“I'm not finishing with you!” she gabbled. “I still want to go out with you—if you still want that.”

“So what the fuck are you doing?” he asked, seemingly incredulous. “You think long-distance will
improve
things?”

“I just need to get away, think things through.”

Shaun kept his voice low. “If you're moving to London because you haven't got the balls to finish with me,” he said. “I—”

“I am not finishing with you,” said Jo firmly. “Shaun, listen to me. I can't see me ever wanting to be with anyone else. I'm as confused as you are as to why I…” She struggled to find the right words. “Can't say yes.”

Shaun took a deep breath and looked out of the window. Jo continued.

“I think I'm just not happy generally. About my life, about so many things. My parents, my job, even Sheila—they're all driving me mad and making me feel…depressed, unhappy…I'm low, Shaun. Very low. I have been for a while. I've only just admitted it to myself. I think my birthday made me confront it properly for the first time.”

She sat back in her seat, feeling as if she'd just done a very bad first striptease. What would Shaun think of her now? Would he think she was mentally unstable? Would he want out?

“And what about me?” he asked, still staring out of the window.

She stretched out toward him, but couldn't reach him, so left her hands on the table.

“Shaun, you're the one thing that's keeping me sane. You have to believe that. But I need to get away so I can work out what it is that's confusing me.”

“Confusing you?” he sneered. “I thought you said you were depressed?”

Jo struggled to make herself clear.

“I'm confused because I don't know why I keep getting depressed. I mean, I have everything a girl could want. Don't I?”

Shaun gave her a look.

“Do you?”

“You know I do,” said Jo, putting conviction in her voice. “Which is why I don't understand how come I'm not feeling…lucky.”

“Maybe you just expect too much from life.”

“Don't say that.”

“It's true,” said Shaun. “You think too much, that's your problem.”

“I can't help it.”

“Course you can.”

Jo sighed.

“What if you find out that this
is
happiness?” asked Shaun.

There was a pause.

“If this is happiness, Shaun, I'll kill myself now.” Hearing the words out loud frightened her.

“Cheers,” whispered Shaun, taking a gulp of wine.

“Shaun, I know it's a cliché, but this really isn't about you. It's about me. I'm worried—”

“Oh spare me!” Shaun let out a hollow laugh. “You're going to tell me you'll always love me as a friend next, aren't you?”

“Just…”

“What?”

“Give me time, Shaun. Please—”

Shaun crouched suddenly over the table toward her. “I've given you six fucking years,” he hissed almost extinguishing the candle. “What do you want me to do, Jo? Fight for you? Is that it? Is this a test? See if I love you enough to visit you in London?”

“No!—”

“Then what, Jo? 'Cos I'm fucked if I can work it out.”

If she'd had the energy, Jo was sure she'd have cried. “Just be on my side, Shaun.”

“You mean like in a marriage?”

“No, don't—”

“Oh don't panic,” he said quickly, holding his hands up in mock arrest. “I'm not proposing to you again. I have got some pride left you know.”

They sat in silence.

“See me every weekend,” pleaded Jo eventually. “Please, Shaun. I need you.”

The waitress came over and asked if they'd like to see the dessert menu.

Shaun lifted his head toward her, his eyes only reaching her skirt.

“No. Can we have the bill please?” As the waitress walked away, he turned back to Jo.

“There are women waiting for me, Jo,” he whispered.

She nodded.

“Queuing for me. In the wings. I've had offers—” He stopped himself.

She nodded again. She didn't want to hear any more.

When the waitress came back and put the bill next to him, Jo looked out of the window.

 

The next day Jo told Sheila. Sheila listened in silence to it all, so it didn't take that long. Afterward there was a pause while Jo racked her brains for anything else she could say.

“So!” Sheila finally said. “How did Shaun the Braun take it?”

“How do you think?” asked Jo.

“Like a man,” said Sheila. “Badly.”

Jo nodded as she took a sip of her coffee. “Maybe I'm making a mistake,” she said.

“If you ask me,” said Sheila, “I think it's a great idea.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Sheila shook her head. “Oh no you don't,” she said. “Don't start all that analysis shit with me. I just do.”

“But why?”

Sheila studied her. “You think too much.”

“That's what Shaun said.”

“Did he? I take it back.”

“What else do you think?” asked Jo. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Sheila stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray before fixing Jo with a hard stare. “You really want to know?”

Jo grimaced. “Maybe not.”

“I think you and Shaun are stuck in a rut 'cos neither of you can face finishing it.”

Jo leaned forward over her stomach. “So why does he keep proposing?” she asked.

Sheila shrugged. “'Cos he wants it to propel you into finishing it? You know what blokes are like: never do anything you can get her indoors to do for you.”

“I'm not sure—”

“So you're both stuck in an emotional limbo land, and you need to get out so you can get on with your lives. Which explains why you've been
feeling so low lately and why he's even more of a boring bastard than he was before he met you. You know it, and I know it,” said Sheila, finishing her drink. “You deserve better.”

Whatever Jo was feeling at the moment, it wasn't that she deserved better. But the thought stayed with her all week.

 

She hadn't known what to expect from anyone, but the reaction from her boss was the biggest shock of all.

“Well,” said Davey's mum quietly. “I suppose I knew it would have to happen sooner or later. I just hadn't realized it would be quite so soon.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” she said. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

“Thank you.”

I should have paid you more.”

“No.”

“I should have treated you better.”

“No—”

And then, to Jo's amazement, she started crying. Jo put her arm round her.

“I'm a terrible mother,” she sniffed. “I'm a terrible wife and a terrible mother.” Jo tried everything to convince her this wasn't true, but she proved inconsolable. It was only when Davey came in to ask for some chocolate that she managed to stop crying and stoically turned her back on him. Jo fetched him some chocolate and he, oblivious to anything but the precious cargo in his hot little paw, trotted happily back to his Indian fort, chocolate already beginning to appear all over him.

Half an hour later, by the time Jo's boss's husband had returned home from the office, Jo had discovered that her boss hated her job and felt traumatized leaving the children every morning but was terrified of leaving work because she'd seen so many friends do it, only to find themselves three years down the line with long, empty days and an out-of-date CV.

“I've been so jealous of you when the children have asked for you instead of me,” she sobbed to Jo. “I've
hated
you sometimes,
hated
you.”

“Oh dear.”

“And now,” she said through racking sobs, “I hate you because you're
leaving me
.”

Jo passed her another tissue. When the husband reappeared from
upstairs in his jeans and sweater, he took one look at his wife, muttered “Not again,” and left them to it.

Davey's mum blew her nose loudly into the tissue and grinned meekly at Jo, eyeliner cross-country running down her cheeks. “I bet your new family aren't as dysfunctional as us,” she sniffed pathetically.

Jo smiled at her boss. “I bet they are,” she said.

It was only when she had to explain to three-year-old Davey that Jo realized telling everyone else had been a piece of cake.

His little face crumpled in confusion. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I've got a new job.”

“With a new little boy?”

“No. A big boy and two girls.”

Davey thought for a while. “Will you still be able to pick me up from nursery?”

“No, sweetie.”

“Will you still be able to bathe me?”

“No, sweetie, I won't.”

“Will you still be able to blow my nose and call it an ‘elephant blow'?”

Jo picked him up and put him on her knee so he couldn't see her face. “I'll come and visit you loads,” she whispered into his hair. “And I'll send you funny postcards in the mail. Won't that be fun?”

“Will you come and see me at bedtime?” asked Davey.

“And you'll have a nice new nanny who'll love you just as much as I do.”

“Will I like her back?”

“Oh yes!” said Jo, trying not to think of her. “Of course!”

“Will you miss me?”

“Of course I'll miss you.”

“So why are you leaving me?”

Jo hugged Davey fiercely. “Sometimes we have to leave people we love,” she sniffed.

“Why?”

Jo sighed into his hair. “Ah,” she whispered. “That's the one question I can't answer.”

 

Jo had arranged to catch a Sunday morning train, and her parents were the only ones able to see her off. Sheila had a Sunday shift at work. Shaun had said he'd wanted to come, but he needed to be on-site that day as his
firm was starting work on the biggest contract they'd ever had the next morning, and last-minute details needed to be finalized. Jo chose to accept this. After all, she could hardly expect him to support her career moves, then not support his. But she did insist that she needed to spend the last night in Niblet sleeping in her own bed, at home with her parents, and they both knew that it was her little way of punishing him for not taking half an hour out of his Sunday morning to see her off. Their good-bye was a muted affair late Saturday night, after a tortuously touchy day together.