“Well, see, the thing is –”
“It’s just that if you weren’t expecting her until this evening you could come out to Aldi with me and stock up. Are you short on supplies like nappies and wipes or anything like that?”
“I am actually, but –”
“Okay, I can’t stay on the mobile, it eats money. I’ll call around to you in about fifteen so be ready – I can’t delay because I have an appointment with my chiropodist at two.”
Before I could get a word in edgeways my mother had cut me off. I left John playing on the baby mat and took a peek inside the door of the spare room where I had left Bernadette to unpack moments earlier. The wardrobe was bare. The girl hadn’t even unpacked a single thing. The large suitcase was unopened at the end of her bed. I wondered what I should do. Should I go to the supermarket with my mother? If I did that then who would let Bernadette back in? She didn’t have a key and all her stuff was here.
In a sort of a daze, I put on my coat and hat and got John’s little coat and hat for him. In no time the doorbell sounded again. My mother was on the doorstep. She gave John a big kiss. He gurgled back at her in delight. “How is my favourite grandson?” she cooed, rubbing his little cheek with the back of her hand.
He was her only grandson and she doted on him as though he were her own.
“Mum, I need to ask you something –” I began.
“Well, you can ask me in the car, sweetheart. I don’t want to get stuck in the lunch-time traffic and end up missing my chiropodist appointment later. You should see the size of the corn on my left foot. No wonder I’m in pain.”
I strapped John’s baby-seat into the back of the car. It was an awkward task and it didn’t help when my mother kept saying, “Is he not strapped in yet?” But soon enough we were ready to go. My mother talked nineteen to the dozen all the way to Aldi, spouting random nonsense about the neighbour’s daughter who had just split up with her husband.
I found myself zoning out. Mum was forever gossiping about the neighbours, and
also relating inane trivia about the people she played bridge with to me. Only when we stopped at the car park of the supermarket did she pause for breath and that was just to ask me whether I had a two-euro coin for the trolley.
“Mum!” I burst out. “Bernadette arrived today and put her case in her room and then went out and I haven’t seen her since.”
My mother turned and frowned at me. “What are you talking about, darling? Who on earth is Bernadette?”
She went to open the passenger door. I instinctively grabbed her upper arm. “No, wait! I need your advice. Bernadette is the Irish au pair I was telling you about. She arrived today on the train and then she said she was going out to meet another family.”
“She what?”
“She just came and then left and said she’d be back later. She said she would choose a family at the end of the week.”
My mother pushed her sunglasses back on top of her highlighted head of hair. “Well,” she said calmly, “let her stay with one of the other families then while she’s deciding.”
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Thank God! At least another human being had just confirmed that the feeling I had in my heart was right. “So what do you think I should do?”
“It’s very simple. Did you give her a key?”
“No, I’m not that daft.”
“Well, then, it is very easy,” Mum said pragmatically. “If this girl, Bernadette, is waiting on the doorstep when you get back you must tell her that you are not running a free hotel for job-hunters.”
“And if she’s not there?”
“If she’s not, then . . . I presume you have her phone number?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, you ring her and tell her to come and collect her suitcase. Now come on, we don’t have much time to get the groceries.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Hello, Bernadette? Is that you?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s Kaylah. I’m just wondering where you are?”
Despite my mother’s advice, I hadn’t rung Bernadette when I got back to the apartment. I had waited throughout the afternoon and into the early evening – I suppose in the hope she might turn up and tell me I’d got it wrong and it was all a misunderstanding.
It sounded as though Bernadette was in a very noisy place. A crowded bar, perhaps?
“Oh hi, hang on a minute – I need to step outside so I can hear you.”
There was a pause. I took a deep breath and waited patiently. Really, this girl was turning out to be something else. If I told anyone this was happening they probably
wouldn’t even believe it.
“Hello?” She was back.
“Hi, Bernadette. I am wondering what you want me to do with your suitcase?”
“Huh?”
“Well, you can’t leave it here,” I insisted.
There was a longer pause this time. “Is everything okay, Kaylah?” she then asked as though I was the one with the problem.
“Bernadette, I offered you a job based on your CV and our telephone conversation. I didn’t say it was okay to just dump your stuff here and go out partying.”
“Partying?” She sounded stunned. “I’m just meeting my cousin for a drink. She’s just come home from Australia and I haven’t seen her in over a year.”
“I’m sorry, Bernadette, but your social life has really got nothing to do with me. I am tired after the long day I’ve had and all the messing about has left me feeling very frustrated. I am therefore going to bed early and I cannot stay up to let you in to collect your case.”
“But why would I be collecting my stuff? I thought we had an arrangement?”
“So did I – I thought the arrangement was that you were coming to work for me.”
“Are you saying I can’t stay with you then?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“But where will I stay?” Bernadette sounded outraged.
I rubbed my temple in frustration. “With your cousin? In a hostel? I don’t know. And anyway it’s none of my business. If you prefer I can leave your case in the porch for you so you can collect it sometime tonight at your own convenience.”
“All right then. Suit yourself.”
Click. She was gone. I stared at my phone stunned. My head was spinning. Good God, the stress of it all was getting to me. I sighed in exasperation. I could feel a migraine starting. Why was it so bloody difficult to get a good au pair? Come on! I slumped down on the sitting room sofa and put my head in my hands. I felt defeated and worn out, and if I’m being honest, a bit foolish too. That girl must have thought I was an awful eejit if she thought she could get away with behaving like that.
Then John began to whimper. A sudden strong pong told me that he needed his nappy changed as soon as possible. I looked over at him and saw that he had also puked a bit down his nice new top. Seriously, if it wasn’t one thing it was another. There was never any spare time as a mum. Not to even mention the mountain of washing and ironing to be done. It was all beginning to get on top of me.
Later that evening, after John and his favourite teddy had been put down in his little wooden cot and a few lullabies had been sung, I poured myself a large glass of red wine and sat down at my computer. It was time to go back to the drawing board. Bernadette had arrived to collect her case. She had come in a taxi, and removed it wordlessly from the front porch. I honestly found the whole thing very odd indeed, but it was a blessing that she had shown her true colours early on, and not in a few weeks’ time when it might have been too late.
Maybe it was time to approach a proper nanny agency. Perhaps I should splash out on a fee for peace of mind. The only problem with agencies was that they had lots of strict rules like having to pay holiday pay and offer free flights and offer the use of a car and all that malarkey. With funds at an all-time low, I was barely managing to keep the roof over our heads without having to fork out a fortune on employment agen
cies too. I decided to renew my ad on the internet one more time. Yes, it would mean having to read many, many
more practically illegible CVs, but I couldn’t just jack in all my hopes because of Bernadette turning out to be a few raisins short of a fruit-and-nut bar. I logged onto the employment section of the website and renewed my ad. Then I started reading a few of the other ads so that I could compare them to my own. It was pretty fascinating stuff. Lots of families seemed
to be making fairly heavy demands on their would-be au pairs. There was one ad from a family with five children, looking for an au pair who would be willing to do housework as well as help the children with their homework, and they expected some poor girl to do it all for a hundred euro with just one and a half days off a week. I thought that was pretty outrageous. For the same money I was offering two days off a week, a free travel pass and my girl would only have to help one mother look after one child. I didn’t expect my future au pair to do much housework. Apart from a few errands down to the local grocer’s and keeping little John’s clothes in order and some light ironing, she wouldn’t be asked to do much at all. I believed that an au pair’s interest should lie with the child and not cleaning. After all, how could somebody truly look after your child properly if she was on her hands and knees scrubbing floors? I just couldn’t believe some the ridiculous demands being made by some of the families. They were looking for slaves, not au pairs!
I was tired now. I was fighting to keep my eyes open. It had been an exhausting, dramatic day and nothing had come of it so far. But at least the spare room was available now and ready to move into. The flowers on the window-sill looked fresh and inviting. Well, not inviting enough to make Bernadette want to stay, maybe, but still . . .
I decided to go to bed early. If I had a second glass of wine I would surely pay for it in the morning by feeling drowsy. One glass was my limit now. God, I would be such a cheap date if anyone was offering. But sadly nobody was.
I was about to log off my computer when a new email in my inbox caught my eye. That was strange, I thought. Either it was a very enthusiastic candidate or SPAM. My eyes were closing now, and I yawned as I opened up the email.
Hello, I am just wondering when you are available. I am a recent widower, aged thirty-seven, and I have two daughters aged one and three. We live in a nice house in Sandymount near the sea. My mother also lives with us and helps out but we are looking for an au pair to help her when I am at work and also to come on holidays to Spain where we have a summer house. Please reply if you think this is a job that would suit you. Thanks, Stephen.
I read the message and then read it again. Aw, the poor man! He must have been confused and thought I was offering my services as an au pair, and not looking for one. I wondered whether I should just ignore it. I thought about it for a few more seconds and then sent a quick email back. Hi Stephen, I’m afraid I’m in the same boat as you. I’m trying to hire help myself. Hope you will have more luck than I’ve been having trying to find my own Mary Poppins. It’s a bit of a jungle out there. I thought it would be easy. Good luck and take care, Kaylah.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I packed my baby’s newborn clothes in a large plastic sack yesterday. It was with a tear or two that I completed this difficult task. I mean, it was heart-wrenching folding his miniscule yellow-and-white striped Babygro for the very last time knowing that he’d never wear it again. It’s hard to believe that he once squeezed into such a teeny garment as he’s now a bit of a thug to be honest. Like this morning when he started yelling at five in the morning I
just looked at my watch and nearly cried. I just thought: You cannot be serious, Mister!
But he was serious and he continued yelling until he got his own way and I eventually brought him into my own bed and he fell asleep cuddled into me, happy as Larry. I know, of course, that all the books say it’s a bad habit to have your baby sleeping in the same bed as you, but give me a break. He seems to prefer my bed to his cot and I’m just looking for a peaceful life. To be honest all the books out there can tell you how to raise your child but ultimately you just have to use your own common sense. I mean, they say that it’s best not to give solids to babies under six months. Well, try telling that to my little guzzler. At five months old he’d have eaten the hand off his arm if I wasn’t feeding him solids.
Sheelagh’s next-door neighbour has a baby two weeks older than mine. Her baby is still on bottles only because she is reading a book which tells her exactly what to do. The same woman can never go anywhere because her baby is always crying. I feel sorry for them both. I always think the baby is hungry and his mum doesn’t realise it. The thing is that all babies are different, so what works for one won’t necessarily work for another. I wouldn’t have my baby starving just because I’d read some book telling me not to give solids before six months. I try my best to use the brain God gave me. The rules are always changing anyway. Our mothers were told not to put babies to sleep on their backs yet we’re told the
complete opposite. So who makes up the rules? In your own house you are own mistress so I need to remember that. It doesn’t matter what your friends or your mothers-in-law or the nosy neighbour down the road thinks. Mums instinctively know what’s right for their own babies so it’s best to take no notice of women who think they are experts because they’ve done it all before. Nobody knows your little one like you do. How could any expert or author of a book know John better than I know him myself?
Now, tonight is the final book club night for the summer and I am really looking forward to it. I just can’t wait for a bit of adult company. It won’t resume again until the end of September when the kids are well settled back to school. I’m really not quite sure how I’ll entertain myself without the book-club ladies to tide me over! I’ve been living vicariously through them and all their holiday plans. Joanne is taking her four children to Alcudia in Majorca for a week, and Heather and her husband and child are heading off to their place in Portugal. Yvonne is Connemara-bound with her brood, and Deirdre and her husband who don’t have any children are going to a gourmet cookery school to learn culinary delights for a
fortnight. Then they’re taking their jeep to England where they plan on driving around the countryside at their leisure. Karen is off to the South of France on a camping trip. Anita seems to be the only one not to have any plans and that’s because she says the hassle of taking her five boisterous boys anywhere is enough to want to make her cry. Anita is separated and her ex-husband by all accounts only takes the boys on Bank Holiday weekends but refuses to ever have them for more than two consecutive nights because they wreck his bachelor penthouse down by the docks and interfere with his love life. Apparently
he has a string of young girlfriends. Well, he is rich!
When anyone asks me what I am doing for the summer holidays, I remain suitably vague. Sometimes I just say I’m visiting my sister in West Cork. It’s enough to satisfy their fleeting curiosity. They don’t need to know the truth and they certainly don’t need to know that my sister, Ger, has never once invited me to stay in her sprawling mansion in fashionable West Cork where they have a built-in swimming pool attached to the house. Of course they always invite their well-to-do friends down from Dublin to stay in their guest rooms and they seem to have barbeques on the lawn and pop a lot of champagne corks. But there never seems to be enough room for me which is a shame. Mind you, Ger is pretty good at keeping in touch on Facebook and is always posting lovely pictures of herself and her house and her kids online, so I never feel that she is too far away. She sometimes even chats to me on Skype!
I would give my right arm to get away somewhere sunny this summer. I really would. I sometimes dream of feeling hot sun on my face or paddling at the sea edge with my baby in a cute pair of togs and a sun hat. The apartment is starting to feel a bit claustrophobic as it’s quite small and confined. There’s no garden, only a small back yard, and it’s been raining non-stop for the last few weeks. It’s getting a bit depress
ing actually. I mean, there have been a few sunny afternoons where I’ve managed to walk the promenade in Bray between showers but overall the sun has remained firmly hidden behind clouds and scorching-hot beach days have been noticeably scarce. Anyway, little John is too small to be taken on a long, unnecessary flight. Holy God, even the thought of having to pack for him, take his pram through security and then face delays, followed by a trip with him on my knee for a few hours doesn’t bear thinking about.
Maybe, if I get the right au pair, we can go away somewhere nice in Ireland. Perhaps I’ll hire a little house by the sea for a week and invite Mum down too. After all, there are so many gorgeous, unspoiled places here such as Kerry, Galway, Sligo and Donegal. There really is no need to be going away with the baby and have all that fussing at the airport over plastic bottles and having to take off your shoes.
Anyway, the way the economy is going now, we need more people to holiday at home and get our once-thriving tourism industry thriving again. If only that didn’t mean getting so damn wet!
I have to admit I haven’t quite finished the book that we’re going to be discussing tonight. Unfortunately it’s one of those dreary, upsetting, but apparently highbrow reads where women are deemed second-class citizens in their own country, and their cruel husbands take younger second wives once they are past their prime, and people are brutally tortured and murdered in the name of religion. Chick lit it certainly isn’t. Sometimes, just now and again, I wish we didn’t take our literary endeavours so seriously. It would be nice to sit down with a chilled glass of sparkling wine and discuss one of the Sophie Kinsella shopaholic books now and then. But I just know if I suggested a chick-lit book I would face looks of complete horror from the literary ladies at the book club.
So now I have to quickly skim through the book, speed-read the last chapter, read some well-informed reviews on Amazon and pretend I know what I’m talking about later. I reckon I’ll be doing a lot of nodding and agreeing with everybody else’s verdict on the misery-lit book. Mum will be coming around in time to give me a chance to get in the shower and freshen up. It will be my first chance of the day to get out of my vomit-stained pyjamas, which makes me sound like an awful slob I know. It’s magical having a shower and knowing that Mum is in the other room minding John. Usually I have to bring his baby seat into the bathroom with me and can never enjoy more than a quick two-minute scrub-down.
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