Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  The carousel continues turning in slow motion with animals gliding and music playing. No one is riding it other than the pretty blond girl Collette sees in her head. And suddenly, it’s disturbing—the empty carousel. The flashing lights beckoning to no one. The music, forlorn and eerie. The animals, watching and taunting. The tiger’s teeth, sharp and pointy and no longer friendly.

  * * *

  —

  On the day of the party, I wake up with a solid knot in my stomach. I take a couple of deep breaths.

  I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up. I just need to get the event over with and then I can finally leave.

  Before leaving my bedroom, I pause to calm my nerves. I fill my mind with words from Aunt Clara, and my heart with her guidance, and wish so much that I could pick up the phone and ask her if I’m doing the right thing.

  I take another deep breath.

  In the dining room, I find Collette decorating. Only two hours before the party begins, and I know I should be assisting since she looks like she could use all the help she can get. She’s jittery. Her calm from when she’d been caring for me the past few weeks is replaced with frenetic speed and agitated movements.

  “Everything must be perfect,” she says.

  I watch her frantically clean things Pauline has already tidied, spastic energy rattling through her voice as she says, “Her birthday is so special. We have to make sure everything is perfect.” She’s repeating the same sentiments over and over, and I’m no longer sure if she’s telling me or herself.

  She rushes from one task to another, wiping at a spot on the table, her eyebrows scrunching at a solitary blemish.

  I want to pull her aside and tell her that everything is wonderful. It’s all going to be fine.

  Treats and goodie bags are laid on the table. The caterer has come and gone; the balloons have been delivered and scattered across the room. There’s nothing more for Collette to do, but she’s unable to sit still. She’s busying herself with the centerpieces, her hands adjusting each decoration.

  I busy myself too, checking each place setting: spoon and fork. Napkins lined up. Everything straightened for the one hundredth time.

  And at the far end of the dining hall, the carousel keeps turning. The carnival music keeps playing, a frightening tune.

  I glance at my watch. The kids will be here soon.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Malcolm calls, announcing the group’s arrival, and I ride the elevator down to the lobby and greet the mothers as if we’re long-lost friends. They smile with the tiniest tinge of disbelief in their eyes—anticipation of this most unordinary day I’ve promised them.

  But I’m also breathing a sigh of relief. They’re here. They’ve made it.

  Just as I did on my first day, the children are ogling Malcolm’s fancy coat. One of the boys reaches out to touch the shiny gold buttons at his wrist and Malcolm smiles and indulges them, instantly putting the children and mothers at ease.

  They take in the lobby, the children’s mouths dropping open at the sight of a room unlike anything they’ve likely ever seen: plush carpet of crème and burgundy, a crystal chandelier bouncing light above their heads.

  We move to the elevator. It will take two trips to transport all the mothers and children. One of the kids looks at the panel of buttons as I tell him number twelve, the top floor, and he squeals, “The penthouse!” The children giggle as the doors close and the elevator lifts.

  The kids bump into one another with the kind of excitement children have when finding themselves somewhere new, somewhere fancy.

  In the foyer, they stop and stare, but I don’t let them linger, only lead them down the hall to the dining room like the Pied Piper, handing out red lollipops as the children rip off the wrappers and jam the candy into their mouths.

  They make loud exclamations when they see the carousel. “No way! Look at that!”

  The children immediately want to run and play. Several of them scurry loose, breaking from their mothers’ grips and rushing forward.

  “Soon,” I tell them. “We need to sit at the table first.”

  Pauline appears. I ask her to direct the mothers to the parlor and tell them to relax while the children play; they’ll find petits fours served on china plates and hot cups of Darjeeling tea. Pauline leads the women away without a word. The children stay behind and seat themselves at the table.

  Several of the children cast worried glances as the French doors close, but then they remember the lollipops in their hands and continue to chatter. Collette enters the room and grabs their attention. She smells divine and is fawning over them like their fairy godmother.

  She’s wearing a brand-new dress with diamonds strapped around her neck. Enormous earrings dangle on either side of her chin. The children stare in wonder, their faces lighting up. And in return, she’s thrilled to see them. She points to the balloons, hands out candy, and tells them about the birthday cake.

  The children’s chatter is mounting, then quieting, then rising again as they grow increasingly restless. They’re dying to climb on the carousel, and I can’t blame them. The ride is tantalizing, the bright flashing lights with carnival music beckoning to them. The children sit and stare while declaring which animal they’re going to ride first.

  But Collette is starting to look anxious. She keeps whipping her head to the door as if she’s looking for someone—and I know who she’s looking for. She’s waiting for Patty. She’s told herself the child is still getting ready.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  I should have known to stop Collette after we sang “Happy Birthday.” One of the girls piped up, “Where is the birthday girl?” And I should have answered for her.

  I should have distracted the children with more slices of cake or announced rides on the carousel when Collette turned to the door and said, “Here she is.” Whatever their mothers had tried explaining to them, the children are still confused.

  And when Collette leans forward and whispers to no one in the chair, when she says, “Happy Birthday, my sweet darling,” and leans down to give the invisible child a kiss, the children’s eyes grow wide as saucers. A few start giggling as they watch Collette blow out every candle on the cake.

  But then Collette is telling the kids to run off and play, and they don’t have to be told twice. With the attention span of preschoolers, they’ve forgotten to ask who on earth she is talking to.

  In the excitement, one of the boys knocks over a centerpiece. Collette looks upset about keeping it upright. She brushes the glitter that’s fallen from its place.

  And that’s when I hear him. Mr. Bird.

  The unmistakable booming sound of his voice. “What in the hell?”

  I stop dead in my tracks. So does everyone else.

  He stands at the entrance to the dining room. His cheeks are bright red and the sides of his mouth puff air as he surveys the room.

  What is he doing here? I didn’t think he would show up. From what I understood, he never attends the party. But here he is, glaring at the children and looking like he wants every single one of them to disappear.

  I’m confused—I thought he’d be thrilled to see we’ve pulled it off, the party he told me he wanted. He said, Throw Patty the most spectacular party. He asked me to stay and help. And I did. Mr. Bird has known every detail of the planning as for days Collette has talked about nothing else at dinner. Mr. Bird has seen the men assembling the carousel each morning as he walked out the door for work.

  What did he think—that no one was going to come here and ride that thing? That they paid for an entire carousel to sit in their dining room and never be used?

  Collette whirls around. Pauline does too, and she drops a plate, her skin blotching red from her neck to her cheeks. Pauline is staring at me, and then at Mr. Bird—she’s panicked.

  But why? He
wanted this—I thought this was okay—

  He marches toward me, and I instinctively back up.

  I look to the carousel, to the kids who are still playing, before Mr. Bird bellows in my face, “Sarah!” The kids freeze and the parlor door opens. Alarmed, one of the mothers pokes her head out.

  Stephen runs into the room next, his eyes opening wide when he finds a room full of kids. And he skids to a stop, his stare taking in the ridiculously ornate carousel spinning in the background, the party decorations, and balloons. The children he’s never seen before.

  Suddenly I understand I’ve messed up. Royally.

  Nausea roils through my stomach. I know where I went wrong.

  Anna didn’t invite kids to the party because she knew better. Collette had been upset about no one showing up, but Anna lied and told her the children were standing right there. She tried to make her believe when there had been no one.

  I thought I’d done well. I thought this was what the family wanted—what Collette wanted.

  But I’ve screwed up and Mr. Bird is screaming at me and it’s too late to fix it.

  Because I broke the rule the Birds stressed above all: I told someone else. I’m not supposed to let anyone into this apartment to observe how Collette acts around her make-believe daughter. And now I’ve brought into this building twelve strangers who’ve all seen Collette.

  Confidentiality agreement or not, they will talk. I was stupid to think they wouldn’t. They won’t be able to help it.

  Did you hear about that family on West Seventy-eighth Street? Last name Bird?

  How could I be so stupid?

  If I could dissolve into the wallpaper, I would. If I could press myself into the wall so hard I disappeared and never have to face this family again, I would do it right now.

  I’d been so close to pulling this party off without a hitch. I’m so close to getting the hell out of here.

  I turn to Pauline—why didn’t you warn me? I want to cry out. Why didn’t you tell me not to let the kids in?

  But in the last few days, I’d failed to share my plans with the housekeeper. Stupidly, I didn’t think it was necessary. Still, when I brought the group to the door, why didn’t she stop me? Why didn’t she say, Are you crazy? You can’t bring kids to the apartment no matter what Collette demands. We’ve got to get them out.

  She should have protected me from this disaster, but she didn’t. She didn’t even give me a warning.

  I stare at Pauline now, my heart racing, my piercing eyes asking all these questions, but she doesn’t say a word. Only lets her chin quiver and shrinks back, furiously snapping the rubber band on her wrist. She’s scared to pieces and doesn’t know how to help me.

  I’m on my own.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Mr. Bird shifts his eyes to Pauline. “Make these kids leave.”

  Pauline does what she’s told. It’s no small feat—not a single child wants to leave the carousel.

  “But we haven’t gotten our goodie bags yet!” they holler. “I want another ride!”

  The rest of the mothers are stepping into the room, and Pauline shoots them a look to tell them they can’t be here.

  “All right, party’s over,” she says as cheerfully as she can. “Time to go. What a wonderful afternoon.” She does her best to smile while pushing the children and mothers toward the door handing out the goodie bags.

  Then she walks to the carousel and pulls the power cord. The music shuts off and the carousel stops midspin. The kids let out a groan.

  The mothers claim their children, each of them glancing once more at the room, at us, and especially at the furious man in the center of it all. Pauline squeezes the group out the door until they’re spilling into the hall.

  The sounds of the children drift away, the commotion quieting with a discernible slam of the front door.

  Pauline returns to stand beside me. But she’s shaking, and I give her a wary look.

  I survey the room—the five of us. The tension in the air is so palpable, I feel like my heart is about to burst. Mr. Bird stands a few feet away while Collette is on the other side of the table. She hasn’t said a word but looks devastated—she doesn’t understand why the party is over. Why the children are gone. Why the carousel is no longer spinning.

  It’s a miracle she hasn’t thrown a fit yet. It’s a wonder that the moment Mr. Bird said to get rid of the kids, she didn’t tell him to stop. I’m shocked she isn’t yelling and crying about how upset Patty is. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands frozen.

  Mr. Bird draws a long and heavy sigh before he speaks. He says my name again, but this time, it’s a low grumble. He’s trying to get his breathing under control. But his eyes harden. “What were you thinking?” he says. “How could you bring those strangers into our home?”

  I drop my head, instantly feeling ashamed. “I thought that’s what Collette wanted.”

  He stares at his wife, then back at me. “It’s not your job to give Collette whatever she wants. Didn’t you know this would be the worst possible thing you could do?” He moves closer until he’s literally inches from my face, his teeth grinding. “The stupidest, most reckless, most asinine thing you could come up with? I mean, what were you thinking?”

  I whimper. “You told me to throw a party.”

  “But I didn’t say for you to bring people here. I thought you understood how catastrophic that would be.” He whirls away again, his hands rising to his face. “What are we going to do?” He fires off a look at Stephen. “Those women. We need to track them down. Pay them whatever it takes. Or…” He looks away. “Shit. They’re going to talk. We know they will.”

  “No, they won’t,” I insist. “I told them we’d pay them more to stay quiet.”

  Mr. Bird rears his head back in laughter. “You stupid, stupid girl. You have no idea how this works.”

  Collette speaks up at that moment, her voice quiet and small. “What do you mean pay these women?” She moves around the table and reaches for Mr. Bird’s arm. “Alex, what’s going on? Why did you stop the party? We were having such a wonderful time.” She looks at the rest of us. “I don’t understand what’s happening.” And she turns back to her husband. “You’re scaring Patty.” She puts an arm around a chair and leans to one side to comfort her child. “It’s okay, sweet girl,” she tells her. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, there is no Patty!” Mr. Bird screams.

  Collette stiffens.

  I freeze.

  Pauline’s hands cover her mouth as she gasps, the entire top half of her body heaving. Stephen’s eyes bulge and he falls forward, then stumbles back, reaching to grip a chair beside him.

  The air is caught in my windpipe—I’m almost certain I shrieked. My mouth hangs open. My hands rise like Pauline’s to cover my mouth.

  “What?” Collette gives a nervous laugh. One of disbelief and confusion. “Why would you say that?” She sits beside Patty, her eyebrows furrowing as she stares at her husband as if he’s truly gone mad.

  Mr. Bird groans and spins in a tight circle. He pulls on his face until he’s rubbing at the skin, the sides of his mouth turning pink. He shuts his eyes.

  Again, Collette says, “Why would you say that? Why would you say such a horrible thing in front of our daughter—and on her birthday?”

  “Collette…this has to stop.”

  She flinches. “What has to stop?” Her eyes race from me to Pauline to Stephen. “What is he talking about?”

  I see how Mr. Bird is looking at her. He’s about to tell her the truth. He can’t keep this charade up any longer.

  After twenty years, it’s becoming too much.

  He must be thinking about next year and the year after that. More nannies. More birthday parties to arrange. More voices to silence. It’s gett
ing out of control and he knows it.

  Collette is getting out of control. He can’t fight it. The look on his face says it’s time for her to know the truth.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Collette,” he says. “I can’t carry on like this anymore.”

  She doesn’t move.

  “It’s over.” His voice is fraught with anguish. In an instant, he appears to age a decade.

  Mr. Bird falls back a few steps. He kicks a plush giraffe that’s fallen to the floor. Swinging out an arm, he knocks down one of the centerpieces too; the stuffed animals and toy trains Collette spent hours putting together tumble across the surface.

  Collette cries out.

  Another sweep of the arm and he’s toppling a row of juice cups, knocking a plate with half-eaten cake to the floor, the strawberry icing landing on the marble with a plop.

  Collette jumps from the chair. “Stop that!”

  He hits a toy train with the back of his hand, a teddy bear too, not caring that juice and cake are spilling down the length of the table.

  “Stop that!” she shrieks again. “You’re ruining everything. You’re upsetting Patty.”

  He spins around. “How many times do I have to tell you? There is no Patty.”

  She leaps back. But then she rushes forward again, smacking his arm and shoving at his chest, her eyes filling with tears. “Why are you saying this? Why are you acting this way?”

  He raises his hand and I brace myself. Pauline sucks in her breath and clutches my arm.

  But Mr. Bird lowers his hand to hold her. “Collette,” he tries again. “Patty isn’t with us anymore.”

  She points to the chair. “She’s right there, Alex, next to you. Don’t you see? What’s wrong?” She throws out her arms, her glare landing on every single one of us. “What’s wrong with all of you?”