The Nanny

by Melissa Nathan

  “So,” said Pippa, “how did you leave things with Josh?”

  “Oh God,” said Jo. “Have you got an hour?”

  “That bad eh? You two looked pretty cosy at the cinema.”

  “I know. He went all nice on me again. And he was so wonderful when I got the call from my dad. He spent all Sunday helping me pack, helped me work out how I should tell Vanessa, he even stayed with me till I fell asleep the night I heard. I woke up the next morning, and he’d fallen asleep next to me.”

  “Blimey.”

  “But…”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s to know? You’re single, he’s single.”

  “That doesn’t change what he said to me, about only wanting a shag because I was on tap. And he’s a hypocrite because he hates infidelity but is helping his dad have an affair. And he’s living at home rent-free in his midtwenties. And—”

  “He looks like Hornblower—”

  “—he…” Jo came to a halt. “I’ve forgotten what the fourth one was.”

  “How you feel about him?”

  Jo groaned. “Don’t confuse me.”

  “How do you think it’ll be when you go back?”

  “I’ve no idea. It feels more and more like it was all a dream, and I’m never going back. Like Dorothy—you know, I went looking for an answer, it was all Technicolor, but the answer wasn’t really there, and now I’m back home again. Where everything’s black-and-white.”

  “Oh my God. Profound.”

  “I think I’ve had too much time to brood.”

  “Listen,” said Pippa, “as my mum always says, it’ll all come out in the wash. You just have to believe it; otherwise, you’ll go mad. How’s your mum?”

  After the call, Jo stood at the kitchen sink for a while. When the tea and coffee were both nicely stewed, she took them into the lounge on a tray. She felt a lot better after talking to Pippa. She realized that it was a new experience, talking openly and honestly to a friend who actively listened and who genuinely cared about making her feel better. Yes, Sheila had always been fun, and always been there, but Jo knew she could never have told her any of the things that she’d just told Pippa.

  Too many new thoughts were shooting through her brain, and it felt like it was in danger of short-circuiting. She knew she was in a mood that needed a long walk by the river. She poured her parents’ tea and her coffee and decided that her walk would be full of what she called Menu Moments; small but important decisions that always took her ages to make. She hadn’t been to the river for a long time, it would probably do her a world of good.

  Meanwhile, Vanessa felt like a bird released. Terrified that her wings wouldn’t work and struck by her own frailty in the suddenly vast world. She put her head round Cassandra’s door. Cassandra was silently dressing.

  “How we doing?” asked Vanessa.

  Cassandra smiled. “Fine.”

  “Give your old mum a hug before she goes in to her horrid office.”

  Cassandra squeezed her hard as they sat on her bed together.

  “Why do you have to go to work?” she asked quietly.

  Vanessa kissed her daughter’s uneven parting. “Because it makes me feel good about myself.” She redid Cassie’s hair. “It makes me feel right. And it helps me be a nicer person.”

  There was silence.

  “When will I feel like that, Mummy?” whispered Cassandra.

  Vanessa clasped her child to her. “Ah, sweetheart. That can take a lifetime to work out.”

  Five minutes later, she rushed downstairs to give Josh some last-minute tips. He had surprised them all by announcing that he’d happily take time off to look after the children.

  She couldn’t work out whether she was pleased to see Dick so determined to work at his business and Josh so unusually generous, or whether she was furious that Dick had got away with it again. She decided to plump for the former for the sake of her marriage.

  When she got downstairs, Josh was standing in the kitchen, frowning at the timetable on the fridge door. He looked at her like a hunted rabbit.

  “Where’s the pizza?” he asked.

  “In the freezer.”

  “Where’s the nursery?”

  “Address is in the diary.”

  “Where’s the diary?”

  “Next to the telephone in the dining room.”

  “Do I have to make chips from scratch?”

  “Only if you want to set the house on fire. Microwave ones are their favorites.”

  “Where are—”

  “In the freezer.”

  “When do I give them their packed lunches?”

  “Now.”

  “Superman one for Zak, Tweenie one for Tallulah, Buffy one for Cassandra.”

  “Correct. Well done.” Vanessa smiled. “Thanks Josh, you’re a star.”

  “It’s a pleasure. Thanks for trusting me with them.”

  “If you swear in front of them, hit them, or let them die, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

  “Have a nice day yourself.”

  Vanessa took one look round the kitchen.

  “Wish me luck,” she said.

  “Likewise.”

  As the front door slammed, Josh took a long, slow breath. He scoured the fridge door, his eyes resting for a moment on Zak’s drawing of Jo as Catwoman before spotting Jo’s phone number. His fingers itched to phone her, and his stomach squirmed at the idea. No. He could cope with this job. He was a man who had climbed the slippery slope of corporate accountancy, he could manage this rocky terrain. It was survival of the fittest, and he was going to win. This was not Survivor, The Krystal Maze and The Krypton Factor—this was Real Life, the toughest game of all. He rolled up his sleeves, flexed his proud muscles, took a deep, manly breath, and opened the dishwasher.

  “Josh,” came Tallulah’s voice. “Will you wipe my bottom?”

  The room went cold.

  By the time Josh was driving toward Cassie’s school, he was already running twenty minutes late and had sworn four times in front of the children. They were loving it. “What the…flippertygibbet is that driver doing, for…Fffreddy’s sake?” he asked. It turned out he swore much more than he realized. “Doesn’t he know there are children in this world who need to get to school?”

  “Jo usually goes the other way,” observed Tallulah.

  “What?” cried Josh, looking in the rearview mirror. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “Stop being a clever-dick!” he cried. “How do we get out of this traffic jam?”

  “I could walk,” offered Cassie.

  “Would it be faster?”

  “No,” said Cassie. “Just more pleasant.”

  “Right,” said Josh, swerving suddenly. “I’m parking. Tallulah, you’re going on my back; Cassie, you’re going on Tallulah’s back.”

  Vanessa, coffee in one hand and briefcase in the other, hurried to work. The sun was almost breaking out from behind the grey clouds, and Vanessa fast-forwarded ahead by a month and imagined the vitamin D and ultraviolet rays skipping like lambs on to her skin. And then her office appeared.

  Until that moment, Vanessa had always believed that her job turned the world round through simple economics, and her home life was a sort of fantasy subplot that she felt rather ashamed of believing in. It dawned on her she might have got that wrong. She clacked her way over the marble floor to the lift, keeping her eyes down while she waited for it to reach her. She walked to her office and closed the door behind her.

  Before she moved forward an inch, she tensed. Someone had been at her desk. It was a complete mess. Her desk diary was open and her in-tray looked like an ashtray. How on earth was she supposed to start her day in a mess? Then she got a camera shot of how she’d left the kitchen for Josh. Followed by the sickening memory of Jo’s weary resignation every morning at the sight of the kitchen. She must, she would give that girl a raise. If she ever came back.


  No sooner had she sat down behind her desk and caught the framed laughing faces of her children than there was a knock on the door.

  “Come!” she shouted.

  Anthony opened it.

  “Nearly.” He winked. “But it has been two weeks.”

  Vanessa’s body started humming a familiar tune.

  “Oh God,” she muttered.

  “Tell me about it,” breathed Anthony, shutting the door behind him.

  “No I mean, Oh God, Anthony. I’m a married woman who’s just spent two weeks with her children.”

  “I hear you, baby—”

  “No, I mean—Anthony don’t.”

  She pushed him away.

  “What?”

  Suddenly her office door flung itself wide open and Max stood beaming at its center. He stood there, arms wide, belly out, legs apart.

  “Vanessa baby! Welcome back!”

  Vanessa baby almost fell at her boss’s feet. Instead, she turned politely to Anthony.

  “Anthony?” she said. “Can we have a moment?”

  “Of course.” He smiled charmingly and left the room.

  Pippa and Nick sat in a traffic jam up Highgate Hill, Sebastian James’s car seat strapped into the back.

  “If any of my mates from the station see a baby carrier in the back of my car,” muttered Nick, “I’ll never live it down.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Pippa. “You lived down that haircut.”

  Nick stared at her.

  “What’s wrong with this haircut?”

  “I’m just making a point.” Sebastian James belched. “And Sebastian James concurs,” she added.

  “I swear you feed him Swarfega,” muttered Nick.

  “I spoke to Jo this morning,” replied Pippa.

  “Oh yeah? She finished with lover boy yet?”

  “She has, as a matter of fact.”

  “Blimey! He was right! Jammy bugger!” Then a thought occurred to him. “Shit. Your friend’s lost me serious money—”

  “No she hasn’t, if you’re talking about Gerry.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she doesn’t fancy him, that’s why.”

  “Course she does.”

  “No she doesn’t. I am telling you,” repeated Pippa. “Jo just doesn’t fancy him.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t realize she does yet,” conceded Nick, “but tell me this. How come she finishes with her boyfriend of six whole years just months after meeting him?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with Gerry. Other things have changed in her life recently.”

  “Believe me,” said Nick. “Something’s definitely happened to make her finish with him. It’s too much of a coincidence. You mark my words.”

  Pippa looked at him as he drove and started to stroke the back of his head.

  “Oh, you’re so clever,” she said. “I do love that in a man.”

  “Well of course,” said Nick. “I’m in CID.”

  Precisely one hour later, Josh sprinted to the nursery, almost falling over his long legs with the effort.

  Why had he been late all day? He didn’t understand it, he’d done nothing, yet he’d been late for everything and the house looked so bad that if Zak came home just then he’d probably be distraught that he’d missed the burglars. Josh suddenly realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day. It dawned on him that he’d never seen Jo have lunch, let alone take a lunch hour. Not only that but it felt like bedtime even though everything indicated to the contrary, such as his watch and the daylight. When he finally arrived at the nursery, with a stitch and low blood sugar, there was a big queue of women waiting. They all turned to stare at him. He tried to smile, but his stitch was so bad it came out as a grimace. The women turned away again. He wanted to ask them questions. How did they fit eating into their daily schedule? How did they get there on time? Every day? How did they keep their clothes so spotless? Would they—could they—teach him?

  When Pippa ambled beside him, looking like a Timotei ad, he was overjoyed.

  “Hello!” he cried. “Have you spoken to—have you seen—how are you?”

  “Hi!” she beamed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Oh, just looking after the kids. Took some time off work. Otherwise, Vanessa might have to get another nanny in.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Pippa. “I see.”

  “And I know how much the kids love Jo,” he rushed.

  Pippa nodded. “You look absolutely awful.”

  “Thanks!” he said. “I feel absolutely awful.”

  A four-year-old hurtled off his scooter and landed in the fence beside them.

  “So have you heard from Jo?” asked Josh, stepping away from the fence.

  A mother in front of them finally flipped. “If you tell me one more time you’re going swimming tomorrow,” she told her six-year-old, “I’m not letting you go.” Her six-year-old turned round and told someone else.

  “Yes,” said Pippa, “I spoke to her this morning.”

  “Oh yes? How is she?”

  “Her mum’s downstairs and her talking’s really improved, so they’re just waiting for her to be able to walk upstairs and get to the toilet.”

  “And how…and how is Jo? She seemed a bit stressed when she left. I mean—”

  “Well, she is a bit upset.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because of Shaun.”

  “Why? What’s happened with Shaun?”

  Pippa nudged him forward, and Josh suddenly found himself at the front of the row facing a Montessori teacher with an expression that told him talking would no longer be tolerated. He smiled warily at her.

  “Name?”

  “Josh.”

  “We don’t have a Josh.”

  Pippa stepped nearer. “Tallulah,” she helped. “And Georgiana.”

  “Oh I see!” grinned Josh. “Sorry. I’m Josh.”

  “I’ll just check,” said the teacher, unimpressed.

  Josh turned to Pippa. “I’m definitely Josh,” he said.

  “I know, sweetie. She’s gone to get Tallulah.”

  Tallulah was duly fetched. She came out with a small smile on her face.

  “Hello, Josh.”

  “Hello, Tallulah.”

  Georgiana followed her and walked toward Pippa.

  “Hello, sweet pea.”

  “Hello, Pippa, I painted a fish,” said Georgiana, presenting Pippa with a picture of a something between a shark and an elephant.

  “That’s wonderful, darling,” enthused Pippa. She grinned at Josh. “Well, I guess I’ll see you—”

  “Have you got time for coffee?”

  She grinned. “Yeah! Why not?”

  Josh turned to Tallulah. “Would you like that, Tallulah?”

  Tallulah turned thoughtfully to Georgiana.

  “Can I be the girl this time?”

  “No,” said Georgiana. “You have to be the boy because you’re taller than me and you have darker hair than me.”

  Tallulah looked up at Josh.

  “No thank you, Josh,” she said quietly. “I’d rather go home, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh. Right.” He turned to Georgiana. “Oh go on,” he coaxed the little girl, “let Tallulah be the girl.”

  Georgiana ignored him. “Where’s my baby brother?” she asked suddenly.

  Pippa blinked.

  “Oh dear. He’s in Nick’s car,” she whispered. She looked at Josh.

  “Josh, can we make that another time?”

  “Yeah—yeah, of course.”

  Pippa grabbed Georgiana’s hand and fled without a glance back. Josh watched her go.

  After a moment, he felt a small hand slip into his and grip it firmly. He looked down and saw Tallulah. He knelt to her height.

  “She says I’m like a boy,” Tallulah explained in a very small voice, “because I haven’t got hair like her.”

  “Well I don’t think you’re like a boy, gorgeous.”

  Tallula
h gave him a slow grin and then, overcome by sudden shyness, dipped her head and looked up at him through her bangs.

  “Oh yes,” he said, squeezing her hand tight and kissing the top of her head. “You are all woman.”

  Nick and Gerry sat in their car, waiting for a call on the radio.

  “So,” said Gerry. “Jo’s a free agent then, is she?”

  Nick nodded through his hamburger.

  “I think you owe me some money, my friend.” Gerry smiled.

  Nick finished his mouthful. “Apparently, she’s not free for the reason you put the bet on.”

  “Oh yes? Go on, Nicholas. I am all ears.”

  “It turns out,” said Nick, finishing his lunch, “that she just realized she wasn’t in love with her boyfriend anymore.”

  Gerry let out a honk. “Yeah right,” he said.

  Nick turned to his friend. “You seem admirably confident, if I may say so.”

  “Well, my friend, it’s my firm belief that she’s just putting what politicians call a ‘spin’ on it.”

  “Gerrard,” said Nick, “I love you like a brother, but I don’t want to see you making a prick of yourself. Hard as it may be for us to fathom it, I don’t think she fancies you.”

  “Convince me.”

  “She told her closest friend she doesn’t. And girls tell their friends everything.”

  Gerry stared at Nick in dismay. “Call yourself a policeman?” he cried. “I’m disappointed in you, Nicholas.”

  “Why?”

  Gerry resettled himself in his seat, facing Nick. “She’s hardly going to tell her best friend she does fancy me, is she?”

  “No,” said Nick. “Because she doesn’t.”

  Gerry sighed dramatically and shook his head. “No, because she knows her best friend would tell you, and you would tell me. And that would make her look keen. And the whole point of the chase is that the woman is not meant to be keen. Otherwise, there’s no chase.” Gerry tutted. “Honestly, Nicholas, you’re meant to be in CID.”

  Nick shook his head.

  “I believe Pippa on this one.”

  “Rule number one. Don’t believe a woman who has intimate knowledge of Mr. Squiggly. Rule number two, look at the evidence, not at what’s coming out of the suspect’s mouth.”