by C. J. Duggan
Padding barefoot to the charge dock I tapped the icon likely to be the most important part of my day – food!
The little knife-and-fork icons dotted on the map were like shining beacons, as was one interesting patch on the screen. Washington Square Park. According to the map, it was pretty much on my doorstep. Only then did I allow myself to truly get excited about where I was. I headed to the staircase, skipping every second step. I was going to end up extremely fit with these stairs.
Camera, lip gloss, sunglasses, street map and cash in bag and I was all set. As of today I was an official New Yorker, roaming the streets to gather supplies and live like real New Yorkers did; well, the ones who lived in multimillion-dollar townhouses with au pairs. But, hey, someone had to do it.
I was positively giddy as I crossed the road toward the park entrance. Jazz music filtered through the air as I passed small tables set under the shade of trees and surrounded by intensely focused chess players. I smiled, thinking about how I could bring Grace here for strolls; maybe I would even learn to play chess? There was no mistaking I was in New York in this park – there was a certain vibe here. The arch, the fountains, the artists, the performers, the students, the lovers, the loners and me: all pieces of an utterly enchanting puzzle. I slipped off my shoes to cool my feet in the sunken fountain while watching the water jet into the air; breathing it all in.
I think I’m going to like it here.
For the first time since I had landed, I felt an inner peace sweep over me; maybe it was the heat on my skin that I could still feel even as I walked in the cool of the tree-lined streets. Passing rubbish bins and striding over uneven pavements seemed utterly charming to me. My big plan for the afternoon was to shower in the lux double marble shower, washing away my New York City fountain feet and sweat from wandering the Village. I made a mental note to perhaps go down to the Magnolia Bakery on Bleeker Street for the 3 pm sugar fix I just knew I would be craving. Life was so utterly brilliant right now.
As I delved into my bag for the keys of my new Washington Street residence, closing the distance with a spring in my step and song in my heart, my smile fell from my face. Standing at the bottom of the steps, I lifted my sunglasses to look at a very angry Emily, holding a baby capsule.
‘Where have you been?’
It was a funny thing to see such controlled rage. Letting Emily into the townhouse, I could tell she was dying to stomp inside, throw down her bag, maybe slam a door, but that’s just not possible when you’re lugging a baby capsule through a narrow hallway.
I sighed deeply, calming my nerves, as I followed her to the back of the house. It was no doubt killing her not to be able to lecture me the entire way, but I knew that her silence would be short-lived as she delicately placed the capsule down in the lounge, making sure she hadn’t woken Grace. She even afforded the sleeping baby a small smile, one that almost made her seem human … almost.
All that changed when she turned her full attention to me.
‘Mother is furious that the interview was cancelled today.’
‘Well, I didn’t —’
‘No, that’s right, Ben went over everyone’s head,’ she said, as if she was just as put out by him. I couldn’t quite understand what the big deal was – surely he could make his own decisions about his own child. Control freak, much?
‘Well, while you were being paid to slouch around the streets, some of us had actual things to do.’
‘I didn’t think Grace was going to be here until tomorrow.’ That’s what Ben had said, right? Now I was starting to doubt myself.
‘Ha! Well, I’m sorry to cramp your style, but you want the job, you got the job and the job begins right now.’
It felt like she was punishing me for having gone for a walk on what I had thought to be my day off. Emily picked up Grace’s baby bag and placed it on the counter in a huff, and I knew I was about to be thrown into the deep end.
‘You’ll have to get used to plans changing abruptly here, and as for any of that downtime you apparently so enjoyed today, well, you can kiss that goodbye.’
Jesus, Emily needed to go back to bed and begin this day again. This couldn’t be just the way she was, right?
She sighed wearily. ‘Have you been shown around, know where everything is? Did he do that much for you?’
‘Yes, it’s all right, I got the rundown. And if I need anything I’m just to contact him so –’
Emily raised a perfect brow. ‘I seriously don’t advise that, not unless it’s life or death.’
‘Yeah, he pretty much said that.’
Emily scoffed. ‘Some things will never change.’
When Emily left I felt an overwhelming relief sweep over me, until Grace started to cry. It had been a long time since a little pink squealing thing completely took over my life, but the memories of looking after Oscar when he was born were coming back to me. For the first two months, at least, I didn’t get a chance to finish a hot drink; all my meals went cold, and I was too tired to be bothered that I was covered in vomit a lot of the time. Still, every baby is different, right? And I would like to think I knew a thing or two.
Even with the beating of my heart, and the worry about picking her up and bundling her into my arms for the first time, I did my best to soothe Grace with gentle rocks and pats, shushing her. After all, like sharks in bloody waters, a baby could sense your stress, so I would have to make sure that I was as calm as I could be, and hopefully she would be lulled into being settled into a deep slumber.
Wrong!
Whatever plans I had, whatever I thought it’d be like or what I’d be able to do, it was time to forget them all. Grace was going to dictate how the following hours went, and she had very different ideas from me. I had imagined strolls in Washington Park, sitting on the roof deck under the shade of an umbrella, reading, as I idly rocked Grace. I would sit in the nursing chair reading stories to her before tucking her in and turning off the light, switching on the baby monitor and pottering around for the rest of the evening. Perhaps I’d cook something nice with some home-delivered groceries, watch a bit of telly or listen to some music. In every one of my fantasies, Grace was fast asleep.
I was obviously deluded.
I may have had to care for Oscar, but I always had a wingwoman nearby, or within calling distance, in Lorraine Liebenberg. If Oscar cried, we worried together, sharing the load and the cuddles. Even on the days that Lorraine went back to work, I didn’t feel overly anxious about my duties because I didn’t feel alone, not like I felt with Grace. Sitting on the couch, watching her beautiful little face bloom with a tinge of red as she cried, the sound echoing in the light-filled townhouse in New York City, I had never felt more isolated.
Surely that extra day without Grace would have made all the difference? I would have had enough time to mentally prepare myself for the official start to my employment after a deep, peaceful sleep. Instead I was frantically googling tips on how to settle fourteen-week-old babies, as if there was some downloadable PDF with all the answers. I was learning to swim after plunging head-first into ice cold and incredibly deep water.
I settled on following my instincts and warmed a bottle from the baby bag that Emily had dumped on the counter. I kept pressing the refresh button on the envelope icon on the iPad, thinking that maybe there might have been a message from Ben, a heads-up that Emily was coming, and ‘oh, by the way, here’s a list of everything you’ll need to know when taking care of my daughter’. But who was I kidding? Did he even know, did he even care?
Every high-pitched wail sounded like absolute heartbreak, and they only caused me to be more clumsy and frantic while trying to operate a microwave you needed a degree to understand. By the time I figured it out I half-expected children’s services to be knocking on the door, or a neighbour complaining of noise pollution. Gone was the zen-like calm I had adopted as I juggled a screaming baby around the kitchen, testing the temperature of the bottle on my wrist.
‘Good, here.’ I
offered the teat to Grace’s lips and she quickly latched on, sucking with brute force. A relief I had never known suffused me, as the sound of silence filled the air – well, aside from the sucking of the bottle, which I hoped would last forever. I glanced at the microwave clock and tried not to let reality kill my vibe – I was only officially ten minutes into my new job.
God help me.
Chapter Eight
It’s amazing what you can achieve with one functioning arm, while the other holds a frowning, squirming baby. I was currently rummaging through Grace’s wardrobe for things that would make life easier.
‘What? Don’t look at me like that,’ I said. ‘Fed, burped, changed – life is good, Gracie. Life. Is. Goo—’ I paused as I breathed in, sniffing, before looking at Grace.
‘Oh no, you d’int.’ I lifted her closer. ‘Oh, Jesus.’ I turned my head away, my eyes watering. ‘I just changed you,’ I said, trying not to inhale too much in the confined space of the wardrobe. I stepped out into Grace’s room and fresher air, making a beeline to the change table that was, to my relief, fully stocked. The house may not have had adult food, but as far as Grace was concerned, I didn’t have to stress so much. Nappies, wet wipes, baby powder, disposable bags all within reach, which thankfully made for a rather swift though still nasty nappy-changing experience. I would have to get used to this, somehow.
Getting Grace back into her onesie, I wondered if this level of organisation was in preparation for me, or had Grace not spent much time here? Much like the rest of the house, her room had an unlived-in feel, and I wondered if an interior decorator had put the final touches on it – or had Grace’s mum? Did he choose window treatments and colour palettes as well? It was hard to say; this didn’t feel like his home but the apartment on Lafayette did, all sharp, modern corners, expensive artworks and signature-piece sculptures. The coldness of glossed, steely surfaces was accented by expensive rugs and accessories to make it feel impressive but not welcoming. I was glad that this was where home would be for us, it meant a reprieve from Ben Worthington and a little more comfort. This was the perfect place to get to know Grace, to watch her personality emerge and develop, just like the open-mouthed gummy smile she gave me as she fought to keep her legs from being buttoned up. I smiled and cooed and did all the things that were universal when talking to a baby. It just couldn’t be helped, the sheer delight that pierced your heart when a baby with a wandering focus decided you were interesting enough to captivate their attention. And should they like you and you were lucky enough to be granted a smile, or a laugh, then that was a bonus. It made the screaming and the smells worth it.
‘Well, Miss Grace, what say we order some food and get acquainted with our new home?’
Her gummy smile remained and her legs kicked at me.
‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’
On the third day, the only break in my routine was the arrival of a deliveryman who had handed me a small box that I had to sign for. Enclosed was a short note.
For when you’re out.
-B
Inside the box was a phone. A bit rich, I thought, seeing as, unfortunately, the only person who was checking in with me daily was Penny Worthington and, oh, how I dreaded those calls. More than that, I dreaded the visit she was going to make tomorrow to ‘see how things were going’. The way she had said it made me think she secretly hoped that I was a blubbering basketcase and that ol’ Grandma Worthington would have to step in and save the day. Then she could tell Ben ‘I told you so.’ And although I wasn’t exactly a blubbering mess, there was no disguising my fatigue. Grace seemed rather adamant that sleeping wasn’t her thing, and with sleep deprivation came anger and frustration.
For all the passive-aggression that Penny Worthington exuded, I hoped that she at least had some sage advice for her noticeably absent son. Between the cries and the smiles I couldn’t believe that Ben could abandon his daughter like this. Did he think that credit card details attached to an app were enough to raise a child? I know Nikki had asked me not to judge him, but it was too late, he was well and truly judged. And where was Grace’s mother? Maybe she really had been locked in a secret room somewhere.
I was heading into dangerous territory, one created by lack of sleep and seclusion. As for the sleep-whenever-the-baby-sleeps advice, well, it doesn’t quite work that way. I lay on the loungeroom couch, baby monitor on the coffee table. But paranoia dragged me from my repose up the stairs to her room, creeping in to check that she was breathing.
Pink, warm, asleep, her dark lashes making half-moon shapes against her fair skin. I gave a sigh of relief.
‘How could anyone want to leave you?’ I whispered, before creeping out of the dim room, ever watchful of the cot as I closed the door, leaving it ajar before turning and slamming into a wall – a living, breathing wall that caused me to scream. I fell back against the nursery door only to be caught by hands, large hands belonging to—
‘Jesus, Ben!’ I screamed, my annoyance snapping from him to Grace’s cry. ‘Great, just great,’ I said, going into the room and trying to settle her. It was no use, her heart raced as much as mine, and she was wide awake.
‘Aw, Gracie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ I said, scooping her into my arms. The dampness of tears against my neck made my heart ache, knowing I’d caused it.
‘Is she all right?’ Ben stood by my side; he tentatively reached out to touch her but fell short, pulling his hand away as though he didn’t know what to do with it. The dull light of the room cast his face into shadow, but I could see the deep lines on his face, the shadow of his stubble. My instant reaction was to snap at him. It had been three days, what did he care? But I held my tongue, focusing all my energy on settling Grace. Now I was the one who seemed uncertain: do I hand her over to him? Would he want that? Would that upset Grace more? I followed my gut, reading Grace’s droopy eyes as I rocked her from side to side.
‘I’m going to try to put her back down,’ I whispered.
Ben glanced down to my arms then to my face. He nodded and exited the room.
Couldn’t even tuck in his own daughter, I thought bitterly as I placed Grace in the cot. I paused to see if she would stir or cry when my arms left her but she remained asleep, and once I was confident she would stay so, I crept away.
This time I saw Ben standing on the landing when I pulled the door almost closed, anxiously rubbing his stubble. If I was tired then he was exhausted, the circles under his eyes told me as much. I had gone from anger to almost feeling sorry for him.
‘Do you want a drink? I was just about to make some coffee.’
He seemed surprised, like he was weighing the answer to a serious question. He rubbed the back of his neck as if he was in pain.
‘No, thanks,’ he said, loosening his tie. ‘I’m going to jump in the shower.’
‘Are you staying for dinner?’
Obviously another serious question that had him thinking intently. God, how did this man run a successful business?
‘No, I’m heading out,’ he said, slipping his tie out of its knot.
I tried to keep my composure. I had no right to feel anything. My job was to care for Grace and I accepted that. I just wasn’t used to this situation, maybe because I had been lucky and a bit sheltered with the Liebenbergs – at the end of the day, there was never any doubt they loved their children and were devoted to them. But here, I was unsure. Committing to a drink or a meal seemed to pain him, let alone engaging in human contact. The man was like a robot, existing in a fabricated world. I bet Ben was even cold to touch, like his eyes, his heart.
My eyes drifted to his exposed collarbone beneath the unfastened collar and it wasn’t coldness that swept over me. I could feel my cheeks flush, even more so when my eyes returned to his, watching me with guarded interest.
‘Well, if you’re sure. I can always leave you a plate of something for later.’
Ben nodded. ‘I’m sure.’ Before I could respond, he turned to the stai
rs, heading to the third floor, and as he disappeared, Grace began to cry.
I sighed. ‘Coming, Gracie.’
Chapter Nine
I tried to prepare a MasterChef-inspired spaghetti Bolognese … okay so it was from a jar … thinking that maybe something quick and easy would get me through until Grace stirred. Every moment of the last few days had been a fight for survival, a race against the clock. This was my new life. I had thought that maybe Ben would be some help, but I was wrong.
He appeared down the hall, clean-shaven, freshly showered and dressed in a button-down blue shirt and slacks. ‘Everything under control?’
Maybe it was the trashed kitchen, or the wisps of hair falling into my eyes, curled by the steam from the pasta, that inspired his question. Or maybe it was my manic fumbling, trying to take everything off the stove so I didn’t burn the house down when I went and picked up Gracie, who was gurgling and cooing happily enough through the monitor.
I drained the pasta in the sink, placing the saucepan to the side and wiping my hands and the condensation from my forehead, trying to appear like I had my shit together. I didn’t want him to think otherwise. I could just imagine the conversations around the Worthington dinner table: ‘And you should have seen the kitchen.’ Chortle, chortle, chortle.
Well, screw them all. ‘Fine, thanks,’ I said with what I hoped sounded like confidence. Feeling his eyes staring at me over the counter, I let Grace be, grounding myself and doing a bit of a clean. I rinsed the dishes, keeping myself busy so I didn’t have to look at him. ‘Your mother is coming by tomorrow.’
