‘First of all,’ Clementine says, seeming sweet as candy, ‘I’d like to welcome Ruby.’
I wave awkwardly at them. Juliette really is the only friendly one here.
‘Ruby has volunteered to take the notes tonight.’
I look up at her. ‘Huh?’ She smiles smugly. ‘I mean, of course.’ Oh crap, I forgot my notebook. ‘Only...I forgot my notebook.’ I grimace.
She looks at me in disgust, as if to say, “you can’t even remember a notebook and you want to be part of our clique?”
Luckily one of the mums, Amanda, lends me hers and then I’m desperately rattling down the notes. Damn these bitches talk fast. I should have brought a Dictaphone with me.
Two hours later, I’m sure I’ve developed carpel tunnel syndrome.
‘Oh, Ruby, I forgot to tell you,’ Clementine says with a cruel smile. This isn’t going to be good, whatever it is. ‘We’ve decided that as you’re new, your house can be where we host our monthly wine and cheese evening.’
Wine and cheese evening? God, could these people get anymore middle class?
‘Well, it’s not really my house, so I don’t think we’d be able to do it there.’ I fake a sad smile.
‘I’m sorry, Ruby,’ she scoffs, looking anything but sorry. ‘But you insisted on being a part of the PTA. Part of being on the PTA is hosting these evenings. I’m sure you can persuade Barclay.’ She smiles mischievously. Ah, so that’s her angle.
‘I...’ I start but get quickly interrupted.
‘It’s pretty simple, Ruby. Either host the evening or leave the PTA.’
Well...I guess I’m hosting the evening then.
Barclay
This work event is boring as shit. Queenie, my work colleague, has insisted we mingle with everyone. Cringey if you ask me. I abhor small talk. I just want to get down to the nitty gritty. But I hate the whole smooze of socialising but I suppose you do need some of that in this business.
To get through the evening I’ve been chucking back plenty of free champagne. I don’t even like the stuff, but I have far too much stuff on my mind right now which I need to escape from.
Dad let himself into my office today and told me I only had two choices left; take the partnership or leave the company. I already knew they were my only options, but to have him lay them out so clearly, and coldly, shocked me. He might be offering me good work opportunities, but apart from that, the man doesn’t act like I’m his son at all. No compassion; just accept it or get the hell out. No empathy for me or his grandchildren.
I’m sure it’s because he thinks I’m going to crumble and accept. I know then I’ll be exactly where he wants me. Part of me wonders if I should just accept it. I don’t know if I have the mental strength to move to a completely different company. I’d have to be friendly to everyone and make new friends. At least here everyone knows I’m a miserable bastard. They also know about my loss. I’d have to explain that all over again at a new company.
Maybe I’d be more willing to do it if the girls were settled at home with a remarkable nanny. Instead all I can see is them doting on the fluky and unreliable Ruby. Each day she stays they’re liking her more and more. It worries me. God knows I don’t want to break their heart, but I also can’t have their routine disrupted like she is.
By the end of the night I find myself in a dark corner with Queenie. She’s pushing her boobs against me and biting my ear. We fool around drunkenly from time to time. She knows the deal, I’m not interested in absolutely anything, but she always seems to find me when I’m feeling the most vulnerable.
‘Shall we get out of here?’ she purrs.
Fuck it, why not.
Chapter 10
Ruby
By the end of the night I have seventeen pages of barely legible scribbles. Apparently, I also volunteered to type them up and email them to everyone by the weekend. Oh, and don’t forget the costumes I have to sew for the float. The only advantage is that it means I can make sure Jessica’s outfit is extra awesome.
I get home absolutely shattered at around midnight. It’s quiet up there. I wonder if Barclay’s still out. I could rummage for the photos. This might be my only opportunity. I run upstairs and peer into his office. No sign of him.
I don’t dare turn the light on, instead using my phone as a torch. I feel like a sexy spy. Now that’s a career I should have looked into. Probably less stressful than working for Mr Rothchester.
I rifle through his drawers, careful to replace everything as neatly as I found it. I’ve nearly given up when I see that he has a small locked drawer on his desk hidden away. It’s got to be in there!
Where would the key be? I rifle around his paperclips and find it hidden within them. Yes! So predictable. I unlock and slowly open it.
Inside are a whole load of printed photos. I sit down on his leather chair and flick through them. It starts with Mr Rothchester and her together as a young couple. She’s got long brunette hair and the most stunning pale blue eyes. The same eyes as Jessica’s.
It seems they were school sweethearts. There’s pictures of them together very young at what looks like a school ski trip.
Then photos of university, holidays, her holding up her engagement ring to the camera; their wedding day. They look so unbelievably happy. My chest feels tight at the thought of him losing all of this. I can almost not blame him for being so cold, when he’s had his heart ripped out like he has. A tear falls down my cheek.
The photos continue to her sporting a large bump, getting the keys to this house, installing a new kitchen, having Jessica. More family pictures of the three of them before Lottie came along. Then the photos are further apart until she starts looking ill; her face gaunt, her hair thin.
The last picture is of the four of them on a hospital bed. She’s as pale as a ghost, dark rings under her eyes, but she’s putting on a brave smile for her girls. Jessica is looking up at her adoringly while Mr Rothchester helps her hold baby Lottie. I put the photo down, the tears running quickly now down my cheek. I don’t want to ruin them with my tears.
No wonder he doesn’t want to re-live this. In that last picture you can see the raw pain in his eyes. The disbelief, the anger; his fear. It’s all there in those dark brown eyes attempting to put on a brave face for his girls. I allow myself to have a good sob, my heart hurting for the entire family. How can life be so cruel?
I eventually manage to pull myself together enough to pick out a gorgeous photo of her on the beach during a family holiday. She looks free and relaxed. Happy with a blue sky behind her. How I imagine she would be up in heaven.
I take it and lock the rest of the photos away safely. I get up to leave when suddenly the door spills open slightly, light from the hallway filling the room. Giggles of a woman filter through to where I’m stood. What the hell?
I immediately drop to the floor as the light is flicked on. Shit. The last thing I need is to be found snooping in here. He’ll kill me.
I peer around the desk to see the back of him and the front of a woman in an evening gown snogging his face off. Oh Jesus, he just had to leave early with this woman!
I crawl around to the side of the desk as he’s backed up against it by the woman. My heart beats erratically in my chest. I can’t be found in here. There is no explanation of why I’d be in here, by myself, in the dark.
I peer around at them. Perfect, he’s distracted; busy eating face. I get down onto my stomach and army crawl my arse out of there. I’ve almost made it to the door when I hear him.
‘Ruby!’
Oh crap. I’m done for.
I roll onto my back to I face him. ‘Oh, hi!’ I say, as if I too am surprised to see him.
‘What the hell are you doing in my office?’ He quickly attempts to wipe the smudged red lipstick from his lips, realising I’ve caught him in quite the scandalous position.
The woman glares at me. She’s not even pretty. She looks like a horse.
I look around, as if seeing it for the first
time. ‘Wait, this is your office? This isn’t my bedroom! I must have been sleep crawling again. So sorry, my bad.’ I jump up and start rubbing my eyes with a fake yawn.
He doesn’t look convinced. He looks pissed off and embarrassed, his cheeks pink. To be found with this whore no doubt, as he bloody should be. There he is acting all high and mighty, busy with his work, when really, he’s just drinking and having women throw themselves at him.
‘Who is she?’ the woman asks with disdain in a ridiculously posh rara voice. ‘Your maid?’
God, who is this middle-class bitch looking down her nose at me? No-one has maids anymore. Do they?
‘Actually, I’m his sex slave,’ I say with a wink. ‘But don’t worry, I don’t mind sharing.’
‘RUBY!’ he roars, his face bright red, that vein looking like it’s going to burst, covering us all in his hot-red anger blood.
‘Who is she?’ the woman asks him again, hitting him on the arm. ‘Answer me, Barclay!’
He sighs, pulling at his hair. ‘She’s my nanny. Well, my kids’ nanny,’ he quickly corrects.
I turn to walk out of the office, hoping he’s distracted enough.
‘Stop right there!’ he yells. I begrudgingly turn around. ‘And what is that in your hand?’
I put it behind my back. ‘What hand?’
He rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Jesus, it’s like dealing with a child.’
Takes one to know one, buddy. Like he’d even know. He’s never here.
He walks to me, takes my arm and removes the photograph from my hand. When he sees who’s on it his face drops and his eyes find mine. I’m shocked to see betrayal in them.
‘Why do you have this?’ he asks, in a completely different tone. A quiet tone. It’s actually scarier—far scarier.
I look back over at the woman who’s trying to tuck her large boob back in. I don’t want to talk about it with her here. It’s too intimate and private.
‘Look, we’ll talk tomorrow. In private.’
He sighs. ‘Queenie, you need to go.’
She’s called Queenie? Jesus.
She flings her hands to her chest. ‘Me go?’ she asks, outraged.
I can’t help but smile smugly back at her. Bye bitch, I say with my eyes. Go back to the stables.
She grabs her purse and hightails it out of there, but not before shooting him a look that says, you’re making a huge mistake.
The sudden silence in the room is deafening. I look to the floor, dreading how he’s going to go off on me now that there’s no witnesses of my death.
He sits down behind his desk and pours himself a whiskey. ‘You went into my private office, broke into my drawer...’
‘Unlocked your drawer,’ I interrupt.
He raises an eyebrow as if to say really? ‘And took out a picture of my dead wife.’ He crosses his arms over himself. ‘Can you explain yourself?’
Well, obviously, it sounds terrible when you put it like that.
‘Yes, actually.’ I sit down opposite him, gulping down the panic. ‘Jessica asked for a picture of her.’
His eyes find the desk, his jaw tense. ‘And you didn’t ask me...why?’
I snort. ‘Isn’t it obvious? You’re never here and when you are, you’re barking orders and telling me what I’ve done wrong. There’s not one picture of her in the whole house. I figured there was a reason for that, but the girls deserve to have a picture of her. You can’t just delete her from their memories.’
He sneers. ‘And you’d know this from spending less than two weeks with my children?’
‘It’s more than you’ve spent with them the last six months, I’m guessing,’ I snap back.
His eyes blaze. Way to go, Ruby. Poke the bear.
‘Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. You can give Jessica the picture. That’ll be all.’
Oh my God, this man riles me.
‘That’ll be all? Really?’ I can’t help but demand. He stares back at me blankly. ‘I don’t work in your office. And I’m not one of your whores. You can’t tell me what to do.’
He stands up and comes over, placing his hands on both arms of my chair, pinning me in. My lady parts tingle in excitement. Bloody traitors. This guy is a dick, trust them to get excited.
‘You would do well to remember who is employing you. Or...’
‘Or, what?’ I interrupt, my eyes raised in challenge. ‘You’ll fire me? Been there, done that.’
He glares back at me, his chest rising and falling dramatically. ‘You are just so...
‘Beautiful?’ I joke. ‘Charming? Intelligent?’
‘Infuriating,’ he finishes for me; his brown eyes intense.
Having him this close to me allows me to smell him. And oh, what a glorious smell he has; a mix of whiskey and spice. It’s intoxicating.
He stares at me with indignation while I stare back, ready for a fight. Ready for whatever is going to come my way. Only... only, his face changes ever so slightly. It’s as if he keeps glancing down to my lips. Now he’s licking his. Shit, is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to? Am I going to let him?
Just as I’m starting to come around to the idea, he suddenly pulls back, pressing his body back against the wall and crossing his arms.
‘Goodnight, Ruby.’
I clear my throat, get up onto like jelly legs and walk out, more bewildered than ever.
Chapter 11
Saturday 7th December
Barclay
I cannot believe her! Breaking into my office and going through my personal and precious possessions. And not just that but peeking into mine and Claire’s lives. Those precious photos and memories are mine, they feel intimate to me and knowing she’s not only put her grubby little hands all over them but stole one. Well, it’s too much to bear all at once.
Truthfully the thing that’s gutted me the most is being told that the girls wanted a photo of her. I’ve deliberately kept those photos from them. I just think it’s better that they forget. Rather that, than continue with their heartbreak. But knowing they asked Ruby, someone they’ve only known a few weeks, to get a picture. Well, it makes me think they haven’t forgotten her at all. Have I been doing it wrong all along? According to Ruby, yes.
I don’t know if I’m madder at that or the fact that she caught me making out with Queenie. I hate being caught vulnerable and that really was not me at my best. Snogging someone I don’t even like.
In a way I suppose it’s a blessing in disguise. I had a feeling Queenie wasn’t going to accept no as an answer last night. Yeah, we make out and have a quick grope now and again, but there’s no way I’m actually having sex with her. The thought of sharing a bed with anyone but Claire repulses me. I still wear my wedding ring for God’s sakes.
I can only think it was the alcohol, but for some reason I felt sexually attracted to Ruby last night. I don’t know why, she still had her hair in that stupid top knot with no make-up on, but... well when she pretended to be my sex slave, I was both outraged and impressed. It’s so unusual for someone, anyone in fact, to stand up to me. To not fear shocking me. To call me out on my bullshit.
Looking back, I obviously fired her too soon. Now she has all the control and that annoys the hell out of me. Or apparently turns me on. I’m seriously fucked up.
I want to do everything in my power to ensure my precious girls don’t grow up messed up like me. I thought I was doing it all right, but Ruby’s got me questioning everything. Damn that Ruby Campbell, coming in our lives and turning everything upside down.
Ruby
Things were weird this morning. Mr Rothchester made himself a quick slice of toast, never making eye contact with me, and then claimed he needed to go to the office. On a Saturday for God’s sakes. He also said to plan something fun for tomorrow as he’s going to be working. Again.
Not an ideal time to ask him to host a wine and cheese evening.
So, to distract ourselves before swimming class we’re making
a gingerbread house in the kitchen. I’ve told Marge to leave us to it. She’s such a perfectionist that she finds it hard to watch.
I hear the front door close. Is Mr Rothchester back already? A lady walks into the kitchen. I’m just about to ask her who the hell she is when the girls run up to her. ‘Grandma!’ they coo, embracing her.
Now that I look at her properly, she’s dressed quite well to do with a twin set lavender cardigan, navy slacks and a pearl necklace. Her hair is still brown but looking at her hands, that are wrapped around the girls, I’d say she’s older than she looks. She must be. That’s a serious amount of Botox or work she’s had done making her seem mid-forties at first glance, when she must be at least early sixties.
She kisses the tops of their heads and then turns her focus to me.
‘And you must be, Ruby.’
I can’t help but be stunned. I was so ready for her to address me as “the nanny”. I’m so used to being referenced to like that it’s almost normal. The fact she bothered to learn my name astounds me. She must be the late Mrs Rothchester’s mum. She can’t possibly be related to Mr Rothchester.
‘Yes, that’s me.’ I smile shyly, feeling like an intruder in a private family moment.
She leans forward and extends her hand for me to shake. ‘I’m Freda. Barclay’s mother. Lovely to meet you.’
Wow. How can this woman have produced the same Mr Rothchester that barks almost every word?
‘Lovely to meet you too.’ I tuck some hair self-consciously behind my ear. Should I leave them to it?
‘What are you girls up to, then?’ she asks them. She has the same brown eyes as Barclay, except where his are cold hers are warm.
‘We’re making a gingerbread house,’ Jessica explains proudly, presenting all the sweets laid out waiting to be used.
Once Upon a Wish-Mas Page 6
