I stubbornly ignored the chaos that ensued as Mark grappled with Amber to get her ready for their outing. To be honest, it wasn’t exactly clear if my help would have been appreciated. Up and down the hall she ran screeching as he strode behind her, bent double, brandishing a tiny pink jacket like a matador’s cape.
The silence when the door shut behind them was a massive relief. It was the first time I’d been alone in three days. I looked around again. Whether my project was right or wrong, one thing was for sure, I couldn’t leave it as it was now.
And I only had an hour.
With no children underfoot, I zoomed around like a woman possessed, mentally dividing tasks into what should be done now, and what could be done later. I turned a blind eye to the mouldy food in the back of the fridge, but scooped armfuls of toys up from the floor. Up and down the stairs I ran, all the time ticking things off my mental checklist while swiftly adding others in their place.
Counter tops cleared –tick!
Grubby skirting-boards – tomorrow
Bins emptied – tick!
Change children’s bed linen – tomorrow
And so on.
I would show that insufferable man that there was method to my madness.
As I struggled out the back door with the last two black garbage bags, I heard the front door bell ring.
Oh crap, who could that be?
I took a quick look around the room and cursed, I could have done with one last burst of activity before anyone else arrived.
Squaring my shoulders I opened the door, hoping it was someone I could get rid of quickly.
To my dismay it was that nice girl Dawn that I’d met earlier. She was pushing her buggy and holding up a paper bag that said Maguire’s Bakery in pink writing on the side.
She must have noticed my face drop.
“I-it’s okay,” she stammered. “It was just an idea, if you’re busy . . .”
I instantly felt like a bitch. Torn between getting my work finished and the unexpected longing for some friendly company, I said, “No, of course not, come in!” and practically pulled her in the door.
I could see her eyes widen as she looked around the hall.
“I’ve never been in here before,” she said. “Interesting colour scheme.”
“Unfortunately the paint is the least of my problems,” I said wryly.
Her face dropped as she caught sight of my clearly unfinished business.
“Holy Mother of God, what’s happened here?”
Oh, goddamn it, I’d nothing to lose. I filled her in on the project, Mark’s reaction, and my whole feeling of regret that I’d started at all.
“Right then!”She took off her coat and rolled up her sleeves. “Shout.”
I looked at her blankly. “I couldn’t expect you –”
“Daniel is asleep – we’ll have it finished by the time he wakes. It might mean that you’ll have to hold him while I eat my cream slice. Now, what do you want me to do?”
I couldn’t help thinking that Grantham Sparks could have done with a few Dawns on the team. I handed her a mop and bucket before struggling upstairs with the vacuum.
And she was right. In twenty minutes we had done enough for my point to Mark Fielding to be well and truly made, and the kettle was on. I even had developed a longing for whatever was in that paper bag.
True to her prediction, six-week-old Daniel woke just as the kettle boiled and was duly plonked in my arms as Dawn deftly made a pot of tea.
I might have been more comfortable making the tea.
He really was very small.
“He won’t break, you know.”
I turned and saw her looking at me out of the corner of her eye as I balanced him carefully on my knee.
“I’ve never held one so small.” It was out before I remembered.
“Oh?” She sounded surprised.
“Well, not in a long time,” I stammered. “Most of my charges have been toddler-aged upwards.”
That’s why I’m so successful with that particular age group, I thought sarcastically, thinking of Amber.
“Did you always want to work with children?”
“No,” I answered truthfully, “I wanted to be a writer.” I laughed, that was the first truthful sentence I’d spoken in a week.
“That’s a bit of a change.”
You don’t know the half of it, darling . . .
“How about you?” I thought I’d best quit with my life story before the lies started again. “What do you do?”
She looked at me blankly, then at the wriggling baby in my arms and then back at me.
“Oh, yes, sorry.” Oops!
“Well, I used to work in the bank – I was assistant manager actually, and that’s where me met – but Graham, well, he thinks it’s better, well, we think it’s better if I don’t go back. It took us a long time to have Daniel and, well, now that he’s here I prefer to be with him.”
“Don’t you miss working?”I asked with a sinking heart, wonderingwould I ever find anyone that I had anything in common with ever again.
“Well, I do actually. I miss the chat, the interaction with other adults. But you see, I had two miscarriages before Daniel and I swore that if we were ever lucky enough, well, that there was no way I was going back.” She smiled brightly. “So here I am.”
I couldn’t help smiling with her.
“Yes, here we are.”
Chapter 15
I clicked the mouse and waited. Luckily the broadband in the house was excellent – I’d have gone insane altogether without it. After all, it was my last remaining tenuous link with my old world. Reading the financial pages with my laptop balanced on my knee at six thirty every morning was the only time of the day I could pretend to myself that everything was normal. So adamant was I that this sidestep was temporary, I kept religiously to my old routine:Financial Times, New York Times and then the Irish Times. A quick skim through each and then my reward: Facebook.
Facebook was my other way of pretending that everything was normal. Not that I could post on it myself, mind you. No, not when half my friends thought I was in New York, and the other half thought I was in Ireland. No, I’d become the type of Facebook user I’d always sneered at – a lurker – and simply used it for keeping an eye on everyone else.
And by everyone else, I mean Oliver.
Trouble was, he also seemed to have vanished off the radar.
Initially I comforted myself with the assumption that he was too upset to post anything, but now I was starting to get worried. I’d been hoping to get some idea of his plans for the weekend and I was fast starting to run out of time.
I closed down my laptop. Nothing today.
For God’s sake, Oliver – help me out here! I really didn’t want to ruin the whole surprise by ringing him. But if this information-drought went on much longer I’d have to.
I needed some hope. A goal. A sliver of some sense of purpose . . .
And I needed it this morning more than any other morning so far.
Today was the day of the Mother and ToddlerGroup.
Why I’d agreed to it I’ll never know. Well, I suppose I do know . . . Dawn had caught me in a moment of weakness. Moments that prior to my moving to Meadowlands had been few and far between . . .
I braced myself.
How bad could it be?
Dawn called for me at ten and after much deliberation we decided to walk down to the Community Centre. Driving was just too complicated what with the whole palaver about car seats and whether or not Amber was big enough for a booster, whatever in God’s name that was. My efforts to hide my total lack of knowledge regarding the pinning of a rambunctious two-year-old to the back seat of a car were admirable but I couldn’t help feeling I’d only just got away with it.
It didn’t bode well for the rest of the morning.
I did however console myself with the fact that Amber was due her nap, and with any luck would fall asleep on the walk down and not wake unt
il we were safely home again.
Given her ‘issues’that really would be best for all concerned.
The walk down was perfectly pleasant. The small town was built on a series of hills through which flowed a wide, lazy river. A pleasant change from the frantic traffic of Dublin, not to mention Manhattan. Everyone seemed to just amble along in the sunny October morning, casually going about their business. There were very few shops. I counted a rather modern-looking butcher’s, a florist’s, a purple hairdresser’s with Kutz n Kurlz written above it in lilac script, and a smallish supermarket.
Obviously you needed to go further afield for anything outside of bread, milk, steak or a blue rinse.
Noticing Amber’s blonde curls lolling back, I could feel the tension leave my body.
Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
The Community Centre was built overlooking the river, a pretty building clad in old stone. I was glad that we hadn’t driven as its car park was already full to overflowing with giant SUV’s and station wagons.
“Quite a crowd this morning,” Dawnobserved.
“Mmm,” I murmured, thinking this could go one of two ways: either I wouldn’t be noticed in the crowd, or I would have a cast of thousands knowing instantly that I was a fraud.
I took Dawn’s lead and navigated the ancient stroller through the front door and into the airy hall beyond. Inside were about two dozen women in various groups dotted around the hall, each group bearing a startling resemblance to old wagon circles in the Wild West with their buggies fanning out around them.
“Dawn!” a voice from one of the larger groups called and my heart sank.
So much for sneaking a quick cup of coffee and then sidling out the door before anyone had noticed us.
As I rolled reluctantly over behind her, I noticed that each of these ladies had a buggy identical to Dawn’s, but for the colour: various acidic shades of pod-shaped contraptions with futuristic brushed metal frames and matching diaper bags.
Shit.These women meant business.
“I want ooooouuuuuut!” Amber rose from her sleep and started grappling with her straps.
Double shit.
And it wasn’t just me that looked instantly uneasy.
The lime-green-buggy lady automatically pulled her contraption closer to her, easing the blankets up around her charge’s ears as she did so. Another lady, her vehicle burnt orange, swiftly zipped up her diaper bag and stuffed it under her chair, and yet another, candy pink this time, cautiously slid several half-full coffee cups towards the centre of the table.
“You must be Mark’s new nanny!” The lime-green lady held out her hand.
“Umm, yes, I am.” I attempted to shake her hand while pinning the squirming Amber down.
“Let her go over to the play area,” Dawn suggested, helpfully gesturing towards a matted area with blocks and other various plastic toys where several bigger kids were playing. “She’ll be fine over there.”
The sigh of relief around the table was audible as Amber tore off across the room. I could see out of the corner of my eye several other mothers throw a wary glance in her direction as she reached their children but I ignored them. Their kids were bigger. If she didn’t kill them she would make them stronger.
“So, how are you finding it?”
The question originated from the lime-green way but instantly five heads leaned forward in anticipation of the answer.
“Fine. So far so good,” I lied.
The five heads simultaneously leaned back out in disappointment.
“But you’ve not been there that long,” the lady with the turquoise steed consoled herself.
“True,” the others nodded sagely.
There was an awkward silence.
“Where are my manners?” Dawn exclaimed. “Girls, this is Holly Green. Holly, this is Ellen . . .” (lime green) “Rachel . . .” (bubble-gum pink) “Karen . . .” (turquoise) “Sarah . . .” (burnt orange) “and last but not least Hannah . . .” (black – must have been half-price) “Holly, let me get you a coffee – back in a tick!”
Shit, she was gone.
There was another awkward silence.
“So,” Ellen started, clearly not satisfied with my previous answer, “no problems so far then?”
I was about to answer when a shriek came from the play area. Amber had a grip on the back wheels of a rather large farm vehicle with a much bigger boy tugging on the front, and was screeching “Miiiine!”
“If you’ll excuse me . . .”
I dashed over but the little boy had let go, flinging Amber flat on her back with the huge green tractor plonked on her chest. I waited for the howl but it didn’t come. So thrilled was she with her victory, the fall meant nothing. I scanned the room to see if the little boy’s mother was glaring at me, but luckily no one seemed to be watching, so I sidled back to my seat, in front of which Dawn had thankfully put a steaming cup of coffee.
“So what do you think of Mark?” Rachel flushed as pink as her buggy.
“I expect she hardly sees him,” Karen snorted. “Remember what Tonya said.”
“Tonya?” I questioned.
“Mark’s last nanny,” Dawn answered helpfully.
“No, Katerina was his last one,” Hannah corrected. “Tonya was the one before that, just after Eva.”
Aha! Hannah was clearly some kind of sharp-minded professional which explained the black choice of vehicle.
“I didn’t realise there had been so many!” I shot a look at Dawn as if to ask why I was only hearing this now.
“Oh God, yes, poor Mark hasn’t been very lucky.” Rachel had a dreamy look in her eyes.
“Our Rach has a bit of a crush . . .” Hannah winked at me. “She thinks Mark is rather –”
“It’s not just me!” Rachel shrieked, now pinker than her buggy. “Let’s face it, you wouldn’t kick him out of bed!”
I listened. Aghast. Could they possibly be talking about the same man I knew? Mark the stony-faced asshole that barely had a word to throw to a dog?
Dawn caught my look of incredulity and patted my arm. “Apparently he wasn’t always so grumpy,” she explained.
“Oh, no!” Rachel was still rolling her eyes. “Always quiet, but in a strong tall manly way.”
Cue more shrieks of laughter, until Hannah added solemnly, “To be fair, you can hardly blame him, after . . .” Her voice trailed off.
The others stopped their shrieking instantly.
“Such a tragedy.” Now Rachel looked like she might cry.
“So you all knew Emma then?” I enquired, grateful for the slight change in subject. The thought of anyone finding that man attractive was a bridge too farfor me.
“I didn’t really,” Dawn answered. “I was never really around until I went on maternity leave, and that was after, well, you know . . .”
“Myself and Rach knew her,” answered Karen. “We weren’t close or anything, but that didn’t matter to Emma, she treated everyone as if they were her best friend. She was lovely, so full of life, always dashing around.”
“They were such a sweet couple,” Rachel sighed. “They just worshipped each other.”
The others all nodded in silence.
As if on cue, there was another squeal from the play area. I made my excuses and dashed. By the time I got back, having wrestled some other poor child’s doll and pram off Amber, they had moved onto an argument about weaning, whatever that was.
It seemed to have all kicked off when Rachel had produced some dreadful-looking gloop called baby rice for cherub-faced Fiona, which drew shrieks of derision from both Karen and Sarah. Apparently at four months Fiona was not the “recommended age for solids”. Judging by the fact that Sarah was breastfeeding a child that looked to me like it should be at school, I could see how she might be of the opinion that any other food was bad. Back and forth went the arguments and I sat petrified in case my “professional opinion” was sought.
“So how’sJamie these days?” s
aid a voice in my ear. Thank God. I turned my back on the warring females. It was Ellen.
“Eh. Okay.”
“Good, good. I always worry about poor little Jamie.”
“Oh really? Well, actually now that you mention it, he’s, well, a bit . . .”
“Quiet?”
“Well, yes. Quiet. Not that I’m objecting.” I gestured towards raucous Amber who was flinging coloured balls out of a pit across the room.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry – he was always quiet. My Oisín is the same age, you see, but Jamie always seemed like a child with the weight of the world on his little shoulders.”
“Really?” I was surprised. “Even before his mum . . . well, you know . . .”Jamie had barely spoken two words to me since my arrival and I had just put it down to all the upheaval in the last eight months of his life. It never occurred to me that he’d always been like that. To be honest, I’d been kind of glad. Compared to his sister he was delightfully low-maintenance.
“Oh yes, he was always quiet. I saw him a lot as he and Oisín used to go to Little Kickers together.”
“Little what?”
“Kickers – it’s football training for pre-schoolers. Jamie was quite good too.”
“Was?”
“Well, we haven’t seen him in months. It’s a pity really – it was the one time of the week you’d see any kind of life in him at all.”
“Oh.”
“But, quietness aside, you don’t notice anything, well, odd about him?”
Clearly this question was aimed at my ‘professional capacity’ and I tried frantically to formulate an answer that would get me off the hook.
“Well, in any period of change one requires a period of adjustment,” I rattled off sagely. “In Jamie’s case, it’s really to be expected, especially now that I realise how many nannies he’s had before my arrival.”
“True. The poor little mite, I just always felt there was something not quite right with him though . . .”
Christ, now I felt really bad. How could it be that the quiet, well-behaved child had now overtaken his maniac younger sister in the problem stakes?
Between You and Me Page 11
