by Janey Fraser
He did as he was told, looking around for his daughter. There was the sound of laughter from the room on the right. Lottie was sitting on the floor cross-legged, laughing at one of the idiotic children’s presenters on television. During his time at home with Lottie, he’d decided that the level of intelligence in children’s programmes had seriously dipped since he’d been a child. By her side was a half-eaten bowl of pasta. On the sofa were Paula’s children. Paula herself was nowhere to be seen.
‘Daddy!’ Lottie turned round when she saw him and jumped into his arms. Her expression immediately changed and now she was burying her head in his chest, hanging on to his shirt lapels as she had apparently hung on to Sally when she’d started playgroup as a toddler. ‘I missed you, Daddy. I missed you.’
A large lump formed in his chest. ‘I missed you too, princess. Let’s go and find Paula to thank her for having you.’
The moody girl cut in: ‘Paula is performing her Zeeep-o class.’
Zeeep-o?
‘It’s a fitness class, Dad.’ Lottie turned her wet eyes up to his. ‘Mum used to go.’
Did she?
She pressed her tear-stained cheeks against his. ‘Can we go home now?’
He nodded. ‘Please say thank you to Paula for me and thank you also for having my daughter.’
The girl nodded.
‘We’ll see you tomorrow then?’
She nodded again but was now focusing on her phone.
Well, thought Matthew as he insisted that Lottie strapped herself in the car (‘Do I have to, Daddy?), she wasn’t the most talkative of au pairs! Or the most polite. But she had looked after his daughter well enough or so it seemed and it wasn’t as though she’d been eating a packet of crisps for tea. That pasta had looked quite healthy with that green broccoli.
‘Daddy.’ Lottie’s plaintive little voice rose from the back. ‘Daddy, do I have to go back to Ant In Net’s again?’
‘It’s Antoinette, darling.’
‘I don’t like her, Daddy. She smells.’
That was true enough. The stench of BO had been overwhelming.
‘It’s just for a bit, darling, until I can find another au pair.’
‘But I don’t want any more oh pears.’
They’d been through this so many times that it was becoming a chant. Repetition, Christina had said, was comforting for small children. You only had to look at their reading books to see that.
‘It’s just for the summer holidays until you go back to school.’
‘No it’s not. You said we’d still need an oh pear then so there was someone to look after me when I got home from school.’
‘Let’s see what happens, shall we?’
‘No.’ Lottie began to whimper in the back. ‘Mummy used to say that and look what happened to her.’
Matthew bit his lip. ‘Lottie.’ He glanced in the driving mirror. ‘Did you tell Berenice that she could try on Mummy’s clothes?’
‘No, Daddy!’
Her tone was so shocked that he knew, immediately, she was telling the truth.
‘OK. I knew you hadn’t. Now how about a little treat on the way back. An ice cream perhaps?’
The following week didn’t go too badly really. He and Lottie managed to get themselves, somehow, into a sort of routine. He’d set the alarm for 6.30 a.m to give himself time to iron her clothes for the day and get her up. Breakfast was a slow affair. He remembered now Sally telling him how Lottie always dawdled. How hard it was getting her out of the house to school on time. Perhaps he should have shown more sympathy.
In the end, he took to buying those breakfast cereal bars and letting her eat them in the back of the car to Paula’s, often wearing different coloured socks and, once, odd shoes. When he got to work, he threw himself into it, blocking everything else out so that by the end of the day, he was drained. Then it was back to Paula’s, pick up a subdued Lottie and somehow persuade her to go to bed before him. Often in the night she would wake screaming for Sally and he would lie down next to her, singing the nursery rhymes from her babyhood, so that she eventually nodded off.
It would be better, he told himself, when the new au pair arrived and Lottie could spend the days in her own familiar surroundings. This time, he had signed up with a different agency and had been far more careful when filling in the forms. He wanted a girl over twenty-five (the more mature the better, although apparently there was a cut-off age of twenty-seven) who didn’t smoke and who had been to England before. That way, he reckoned, the culture shock might not be too great.
The following morning, Matthew wasn’t surprised to find that Lottie was very quiet. Today was the day he’d been dreading for months. The anniversary of Sally’s death. A whole year. Sometimes it seemed much longer. Sometimes like the other week.
‘Daddy,’ lisped Lottie with that little girl voice she put on when she wanted something. ‘I’ve got a tummy ache. I don’t want to go to Ant In Net’s again.’
Did she know the significance of the date? Would it be best – as Christina had suggested – to be open about it? Maybe. Matthew knelt down beside his daughter. ‘Is it because today is Mummy’s special day?’
She hesitated.
‘The day she died a year ago?’ continued Matthew.
Lottie nodded solemnly although from the slightly surprised expression in her eyes, he had a feeling that she hadn’t twigged before but was now using this as a calculated excuse. An uneasy sense crawled through him. Had she taken after her mother who’d been so clever at deceiving him?
‘Mummy’s been away for too long now. Do you think she’ll come back soon?’
Matthew fought with the lump in his throat. ‘I’ve told you before, princess. Mummy had to go to … to another world. Now we must get going or I’ll be late for work.’
Her eyes widened and at the same time, filled with tears. God this was difficult.
‘Can’t you take me with you?’
Matthew hesitated. Would James understand? If the tummy ache got worse, he could take her to the doctor.
‘OK. Let’s get you dressed and then you can come with me.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, Daddy!’
She didn’t look so poorly now. Was she trying it on? ‘But you’ve got to be good, Lottie. Really good.’
‘I will, Daddy. I will. I’ll take my crayons in with me and my play tapes.’
By the time they got into work, Lottie’s ‘tummy ache’ had miraculously disappeared. Meanwhile, every one was fussing over her!
‘Let’s find you a place next to me,’ cooed Karen, pulling up a chair. He’d quietly briefed her on the significance of the day and she was being brilliant. Kind but not over-fussy to either of them. ‘Here’s some computer paper. Now would you like to do me a nice picture?’
Someone else had nipped out and bought her a packet of chocolate buttons which went down faster than the fizzy drink that someone else had given her.
‘Poor little lamb,’ whispered Karen softly. ‘Maybe she just didn’t want to stay at home.’ Her voice dropped. ‘I used to do that when I was her age, you know.’
Matthew felt an unexpected flash of sympathy for a small, slightly dumpy Karen in school uniform.
‘Not, of course, that I would dream of doing that at work,’ she added hastily.
Matthew laughed. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’ He glared over at his daughter whose blond plaits were flopping over her drawing. ‘Thanks for looking after her. I’ll be out of my meeting by lunchtime.’
‘No rush. If you’re not, I’ll take her out with me and the girls for a sandwich.’
‘That’s so kind.’
He made his way back to his own office with its precious door which, nowadays, in this world of open-plan offices, was a rare privilege. Thanks to Karen, he could catch up with his emails. Maybe have a glance at The Times Online.
What was this?
An unnamed woman, believed to be about 20 years of age and from an Eastern European country, was found last
night strangled in Hyde Park.
She had a nose ring and was wearing scruffy jeans and a denim jacket with the words ‘Bad Girl’ sewn on the front. If anyone has any information, they are urged to contact the police on…
Matthew felt a globule of bile rising into his mouth. Bad Girl? Nose ring? Oh my God.
Numbly, he picked up the phone and rang the number given in the paper. ‘My name is Matthew Evans,’ he heard himself say. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling that I might be able to help you.’
SURVEY BY CHARISMA MAGAZINE
Nearly 65 per cent of au pairs claim that their English families treat them badly!
Complaints included:
Not talking to them enough
Expecting them to stay in their rooms in the evening
Giving them too many jobs
Not paying them on time
Chapter 10
WHAT HAD SHE done? Jilly asked herself. Invited a complete stranger into her house, that’s what! Even though she’d always said she couldn’t stand the idea. But Jilly just hadn’t had the heart to turn away this tearful, pregnant girl who had nowhere else to go. The twins would just have to share. They were always in and out of each other’s rooms anyway.
David, being a man, didn’t quite see it that way. ‘We can’t take in a lame dog,’ said her husband firmly when he finally got home from the office, long after the rest of them had eaten. ‘We’ve got enough on our plates.’
The kids, who were still up, thanks to the crisis, immediately started to shout at once. ‘Bruno isn’t lame,’ protested Harry indignantly. ‘He’s really fast. That’s why the window got broken this morning.’
‘The window?’ Her husband raised his eyes questioningly.
‘Don’t even ask,’ replied Jilly heavily, putting a plate of scorched leftover cottage pie in front of him. ‘No one got hurt although I had to fork out over a hundred pounds for the glazier.’
David groaned. ‘See what I mean? We can hardly afford to keep ourselves going let alone a complete stranger from Turkey. It’s bad enough subsidising the rest of Europe when they get into debt.’
‘Turkey!’ Alfie’s eyes were shining. ‘We did a poem about turkeys at school last year. It’s all about how you should look after them at Christmas. My teacher says it’s why she’s a vegetable arian. Can I be one too?’
‘No,’ sighed Jilly, wondering if the twins’ cot was still in the attic. She’d a feeling they’d given it away. ‘It’s too complicated. Besides, Daddy isn’t talking about turkey birds. He’s talking about the country where Fat Eema – I mean Fatima – comes from.’
‘But they must eat turkeys there, mustn’t they?’ insisted Alfie. ‘Or at least have them as pets. Otherwise, what’s the point of calling it that?’
‘No, stupid. It’s like Bath where Jack’s going on holiday. His au pair thought they were going to sit in the bath for two weeks.’
Somehow – as usual! – what had started as a conversation between her and David had developed into one of those crazy, nonsensical arguments with the kids. She only hoped they hadn’t woken up Fatima, who had waddled straight into the sitting room and fallen asleep on the sofa while Jilly hastily rearranged bedrooms.
‘She’s pregnant, David,’ Jilly hissed. ‘That means no one’s going to want her as an au pair and if we make her go home, her father will kill her.’
He made a poo-poo expression. ‘She’s exaggerating.’
‘Is she? How do we know what he’s like? If there’s one thing this agency has taught me, it’s that we don’t know what goes on in other people’s homes.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’
‘I’ll take her down to the doctor tomorrow and we’ll find out what the score is.’ Jilly felt a rush of concern for this poor girl. ‘I don’t even know if she’s had any tests. We’ll go from there.’
David had shaken his head but despite his earlier words, she could tell from his eyes that he felt a certain amount of sympathy. ‘And in the meantime, we put her up here?’
‘What choice do we have?’ Jilly gave her husband a hug. ‘Thanks. She’ll be able to keep an eye on the children while we work.’
Since then, she’d taken Fat Eema – somehow the kids’ name had stuck – to her own GP, who booked her in for antenatal care. She was apparently about six months pregnant. Was she intending to stay in the UK long-term? Jilly found herself nodding and saying that she didn’t think Fatima had any intention of returning to her own country at the moment.
To be honest, their latest addition to the family wasn’t much trouble. Although Jilly didn’t like to ask her to do any heavy housework, she was very happy to sit with the boys while they tried to kill each other. In fact, she was rather good at diplomatically sorting out blood-curdling squabbles in her broken English. They no longer yelled at each other as though they were shouting in capital letters. Well, not quite so often, anyway.
But the funny thing was that as soon as Fatima heard the sound of David’s key in the lock, she would scoot up the stairs, huffing and puffing, and then shut herself in her room until he went to work the next day. ‘Her old family said she didn’t like men,’ recalled Jilly.
David shrugged. ‘Maybe she bats for the other side.’
Jilly shook her head. ‘I think she’s been hurt. Poor thing.’
He threw her a strange glance. ‘You’re too soft for this business. Know that?’
Too soft? Maybe he was right. In the meantime, she had returned the deposit to Mrs Thomas and placed Margit with a twenty-a-day family who were quite happy to take one more smoker on board. She only hoped everyone was happy now. This sort of business relied so much on word of mouth. All it took were a few words from unhappy clients and it could do untold damage.
Now as Jilly sat, still in her pyjamas even though it was nearly 10 a.m., she felt sick as she trawled through her admin files. These insurance forms were so complicated! She’d tried to get them sorted at the weekend but David hadn’t been very happy about that.
‘Don’t you want to have some family time?’ he had asked after failing to persuade her to sit down and read the Sunday papers.
‘Of course,’ she’d snapped. ‘But I’ve got work to do which I can’t manage when I’m on my own with the kids.’
‘There’s no need to be tetchy.’ He had turned away, picking up his newspaper in a way that suggested he had had enough of this conversation. ‘Besides, aren’t they at an age when they can look after themselves?’
‘Look after themselves?’ she’d repeated disbelievingly. ‘If it was that simple, why do you think women need help? You have no idea, do you? By the way, I hope that’s the Jobs section you’re reading.’
‘Know what? You’ve changed since you started this agency of yours.’ David threw her a hurt look and stormed out into the garden, leaving her feeling a confused mixture of anger and regret. Since then, he’d been cool and distant. This morning, he had left for work without even saying goodbye. This really wasn’t like him – or her. The strain of making ends meet was really getting to both of them.
For the next-half hour or so, Jilly buried herself in admin. It wasn’t just her files that needed updating. She also needed to email back some foreign sub-agencies who might be able to supply some girls and a couple of boys too …
What was that? Bruno had heard the noise as well and was pawing at the kitchen door before bounding up towards Nick’s bedroom. ‘Nick?’ She knocked loudly on the door. ‘Are you all right?’
The groaning was getting louder and Bruno’s scratching was getting desperate. ‘Nick?’
Please don’t let him be ill, Jilly found herself thinking guiltily. She had too much on today! That insurance form simply had to be sorted and then, in the afternoon, she had to interview a Swiss-German girl who had contacted her through her website.
The door seemed stuck but putting her shoulder against it, she managed to push it open. Nick was lying on his stomach, both hands under his body moving up and down in a r
hythmical fashion. The printout of the au pair list together with several mug shots of applicants from a French sub-agency was on his pillow. Oh my God! How awful! Her teenage son was getting turned on by her clients!
‘Mum!’ His eyes, red and wide with shock, gazed up at her.
‘Sorry,’ she spurted before dashing out and shutting the door. For a few moments, she stood there, her back against it, trying to take in the implications of what she’d just seen. Her son was masturbating! He was experiencing the kind of adult feelings that she did (not that there was a great deal of action in the bedroom nowadays – they were both always too tired).
But it wasn’t just that. It was what was turning him on! Pictures of au pairs whom she was bringing into this country and for whom she was responsible! Jilly returned to her kitchen table, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. What she did know was that she definitely needed to have a conversation with Nick when he emerged, no doubt shamefaced and awkward. She’d have to somehow assure him that masturbation was normal while at the same time pointing out that it might be best if he stuck to magazines in future. How embarrassing! In the meantime, she’d give him some time to himself.
But by lunchtime (where did the hours go?) when she went upstairs to investigate, Nick’s bedroom was empty. Jilly’s heart began to pound as she took in the window, which was wide open. On his bed was the crumpled list of au pairs and the word Sorry written at the top. Oh my God. He hadn’t jumped, had he?
Hotly pursued by Bruno, she tore down the stairs and out into the garden. The old apple tree outside Nick’s room looked as though one of its branches had broken – yes, here it was, lying on the ground – but there was no sign of her eldest son.
‘He’s gone out!’ She looked up as a small figure came running towards her from the garden. It was Harry. ‘Nick says he’s gone to see some friends cos he had an argument with you.’
‘It wasn’t an argument,’ she began and then stopped. ‘Where is Fatima?’
‘Asleep again.’
Fatima was always tired at the moment, but then again, that was understandable given her condition.
