by Karen Clarke
‘Do you like him?’ He sounded oddly hopeful as he studied me through his tangle of dark blond hair.
‘Of course I like him.’ I gave a funny little laugh. ‘He’s definitely not a shit.’
‘I told you, Jack, it was a lady I used to know in Italy who left the message,’ said Seth. ‘She got a bit cross because I didn’t want to be her boyfriend any more.’
‘Because of me.’
‘Not because of you, Jack.’ He reached across the table, but Jack shunted backwards. ‘Because of me.’
Sensing Seth was wading out of his depth, I opened my mouth to say something, but before the words could emerge (and I had no idea what they would have been) Felicity swept into the kitchen, lowering the temperature by at least twenty degrees.
She looked at each of us in turn, sitting at the kitchen table in a parody of a happy family, before training her frosty gaze on me. ‘So,’ she said. ‘I suppose you must be the nanny Seth told me he was taking on?’
Chapter Twelve
The silence that followed Felicity’s question seemed to last a lifetime, and she broke it herself by saying, ‘You don’t look like a nanny.’
About to say that’s because I’m not – the idea was laughable – I heard myself say instead, ‘What’s a nanny supposed to look like?’ I met her gaze full on. ‘Should I be carrying a magic bag and umbrella, like Mary Poppins, and be wearing a daisy-trimmed hat?’
‘Of course not.’ She gave a sniff of disdain. ‘But in my day, people made more of an effort to look smart at work.’ Her comment made me think of Mum, telling me her grandma had believed that women shouldn’t go out without a corset and lipstick, and if they didn’t ‘they were no better than they ought to be’. Whatever that meant.
‘Smart’s not really my style,’ I said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable.’
‘I disagree.’ Felicity smoothed her sweater over her remarkably flat stomach. ‘How a person dresses reflects their personality.’
Judging by her laser appraisal, I was barely a step up from being a homeless alcoholic. ‘I can promise you, I’m good at what I do,’ I said, thinking – in spite of myself – that she might have a point. My outfit reflected that I didn’t much care about my appearance, which some might say was indicative of my attitude towards life. For some reason, this realisation rankled. ‘I suppose you judge a book by its cover, too.’
‘Always,’ she fired back. ‘How else are you supposed to know what it’s about?’ Goal to Mrs frosty-knickers. ‘Do you have qualifications and references?’
‘Mum,’ Seth began, but I felt like challenging her. It was almost as if I wanted to be Jack’s nanny. Or, maybe I just didn’t like her making assumptions based on her own prejudices.
‘Don’t you trust your son’s judgement?’
Her eyes shrivelled. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Surely it’s up to Seth – and Jack – to decide who looks after him.’
It was a loaded statement and Felicity was silent for a moment, as if perhaps weighing up how much I knew about their personal circumstances.
‘I only have my grandson’s best interests at heart.’
‘So does his dad,’ I said. Goal to me.
‘If that was true, he’d see that a cottage on the edge of a cliff, with a boy who’s missing a female influence and needs firm and consistent guidance, isn’t the right environment.’
Nor is a boarding school, I wanted to say, but knew I’d be overstepping the line even further than I already had. ‘Maybe Jack has something to say about that.’
‘Jack doesn’t know what’s best for him, he’s too young.’
‘That’s what we’re working out,’ Seth interrupted, his voice thick with tension. ‘It’s why I’ve asked you to back off for a while, Mum, and give us a chance to prove we’re OK here.’
‘And what about your life?’ She turned to Seth, colour riding up her cheeks. ‘You gave up everything you knew—’
‘I thought you’d be glad about that.’
‘—and while it’s admirable,’ she steamrollered on, ‘I can’t help wondering how long it’ll last.’
‘Mum.’ Seth’s voice was a warning, eyes flashing in his son’s direction. Jack was still looking at his screen, but his shoulders were hunched around his ears, and the sight provoked what I could only interpret as motherly concern. I guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d heard this argument. ‘You said you’d leave it if I let you do up the cottage, and I’ve already told you I’m thinking of getting a nanny so Jack has a female influence, and that I’m ready to settle down.’
‘Yes, but…’ She looked at me, as if double-checking I wasn’t a horrible figment of her imagination. ‘I just think—’
‘I know what you think, Mum.’ Seth’s jaw was set, and I suddenly noticed the panda-rings under his eyes, and a rip in the shoulder of his sweatshirt as if he’d pulled it on too quickly that morning – perhaps in a rush to check Jack was OK and to appease his mother; show her he was a good father.
‘Would you like a croissant?’ I said, to diffuse the strained atmosphere, rattling the paper bag. Digby dropped his bone and trotted over with hope in his chocolate-brown eyes.
‘I never eat pastry, it’s full of trans fats,’ said Felicity. ‘And Jack’s already had his porridge.’
2-1 to Felicity. ‘They’re from the bakery in the village.’ I broke a piece off and threw it to the dog. ‘They use organic ingredients.’
‘I take it you’re local, Miss Campbell?’
‘Tilly, please.’ I wish she’d at least sit down. She couldn’t have been more than five foot four, but somehow gave the impression of towering over us. Her upright posture suggested a strict exercise regime, though I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what sort. ‘I’m Devon born and bred,’ I said, playing up my accent. Feeling more was required, I added, ‘I lived in Canada for a decade, but came back last year with my family.’
‘Canada?’ Her eyebrows elevated, as if she couldn’t believe that anyone born in Devon would have the nerve to set foot outside the country. ‘Whereabouts in Canada?’
‘Vancouver.’
‘I was in Canada a few years ago, for the Grand Prix,’ Seth said warmly. ‘Funny to think we were in the same country without either of us knowing.’
A fizz of curiosity sparked between us. I wanted to ask him more, and sensed he felt the same, but Felicity was still probing.
‘And your parents?’ she said, as if trying to establish the credentials of an Edwardian governess.
‘Mum, for crying out loud.’ Seth scraped his chair back, grabbed Jack’s bowl and took it across to the sink. ‘Tilly’s not even—’
I cut in before he could finish. ‘My dad’s an award-winning architect, my mum sells pottery online, and my sister’s a finance manager for British Airways,’ I said. No need to mention my father had retired, my mum’s pottery was a hobby, and my sister was a single parent hoping to date Felicity’s son. ‘We’re what my friends’ parents used to call “well-to-do” so no need to worry that I’m planning to run off with the family jewels.’ I had no idea where that had come from. Or why I was trying to convince her I had some sort of pedigree, and was fit to look after her grandson – only that something about Jack was getting to me, and I wanted to know he was going to be OK.
Something flickered behind Felicity’s eyes. ‘And yet you became a nanny,’ she said, making it clear she considered the job on a par with rubbish removal.
‘Mum, please stop.’ Seth switched off the tap, annoyance radiating from him, and Jack slid us both a look, as if he was gripped in spite of himself and wanted to know what was coming.
‘I happen to love children,’ I said, while an inner voice screeched what the hell are you saying? ‘Isn’t that the most important criteria for being a nanny?’
Felicity studied me, her tastefully lipsticked mouth reduced to a thin line. She looked as if she was trying to muster an argument that didn’t disagree with the sentiment, b
ut made it clear I was very far from suitable – which, of course, I was. ‘We’ll see,’ she managed, then added to Seth, ‘I’ll be upstairs, if you need me. I promised to call your father, and then I’ll be taking Jack shopping for new shoes.’
‘I don’t need new shoes,’ Jack muttered, when she’d whipped out of the kitchen, leaving a trace of perfume in her wake; something heavy that made me want to cough. ‘She’ll get those shiny ones I don’t like.’
‘Keep saying they’re too tight,’ I offered. ‘She can’t buy you shoes if they don’t fit you.’
Jack flicked me a look and his mouth curled up. ‘Cool,’ he said, and I felt a soaring sense of victory that was out of all proportion.
‘Jack, you’d better get dressed,’ said Seth. ‘You know your grandma doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
Jack tutted, but got up from the table with his iPad tucked under his arm and left the kitchen, one hand in the pocket of his dressing gown like a mini Sherlock Holmes.
‘Great advice from the new nanny, by the way,’ Seth said dryly, when Jack was out of earshot. ‘You do realise my mother now believes that’s what you are?’
‘Were you really looking for one?’
‘I told her I was.’ He folded his arms and leaned against the sink, visibly more relaxed now his mother had left. ‘It’s a condition of her holding back on custody proceedings, though I know she’s just waiting for me to fail.’
‘I bet she wants to vet the applicants as well.’
‘Apparently, she just has.’
I picked at the croissant Seth had left on the table and Digby, lying by my feet with his head on his paws, gave a low whine. ‘I’m sorry if I gave your mother the wrong impression, I don’t know what came over me.’
Seth shook his head. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have made it clear straight away that you weren’t here for the job.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
He passed a hand over the bristle on his chin. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It seemed like you were saying all the right things and I got caught up in it.’ His rueful smile had a surprising effect on my pulse rate. ‘I almost believed you were the new nanny.’
‘At least you don’t have to look for someone now. Not if she thinks you’ve found her.’
‘I do think Jack would benefit from having a female around. One who’s not my mother.’
‘So you said.’ I recalled our conversation in the car, about him being ready to meet someone. ‘I suppose it depends on the female,’ I said.
His face took on a pensive expression. ‘I want to let nature take its course in the relationship department, but my mother breathing down my neck makes everything more urgent.’
‘But it would get your mother off your back to think you’d got a nanny?’
He nodded.
‘Then I’m happy to pretend I’m Mary Poppins for a bit.’
He released a little laugh. ‘In other words, you’re doing me another favour.’
‘I won’t have to do much, once your mother’s gone home.’
‘She might ask Jack about you. She phones him every evening.’
‘I don’t mind hanging out with him if it’ll put her mind at rest.’ What was wrong with me? ‘If he doesn’t mind, of course.’
‘I think he likes you,’ he said. ‘And not only because you saved his life.’
‘Maybe he’s just glad I’m not the woman who called you a shit.’
He winced. ‘That was Gina,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know she’d left that message on the landline, and didn’t mean him to hear it. I’d put it on speaker, thinking it was my mother.’
‘Gina?’
‘My ex-girlfriend.’ A nerve jumped beneath his eye. ‘Like I said, she’s Italian, and a bit… shall we say, temperamental.’
‘Is that how you like your women?’ If so, Bridget wouldn’t be his type. Cool and controlled was her default setting – except when she was around me.
Seth vehemently shook his head. ‘Maybe once, but not any more. Jack’s mum was the same—’ He stopped abruptly, clearly not wishing to bad-mouth her. ‘I mean, she was a great mother, most of the time, but I hated that she used Jack against me.’
I tried to imagine having that mindset. I’d taken for granted my parents’ loving support over the years, and the thought of them splitting up and fighting over access was impossible to envisage. ‘It can’t be fair on the child, especially when they have no say.’
Seth looked at his feet, which were encased in the sort of thick woollen socks he’d lent me two days ago, which I’d worn in bed as they were so warm and cosy. ‘I suppose it’s fair if there’s just cause,’ he said. ‘I was a Formula One driver, which – apart from it being perceived as dangerous – meant I was hardly ever around, probably partying and drinking a bit too much. Maybe she thought she had reason to keep him from me, but I think it was more of a power thing. A way to get back at me and hurt me for…’
‘For?’
‘For cheating on her,’ he said.
Messy. The word floated into my head, followed by complicated. Twin traits I did my best to avoid. But this wasn’t a relationship, as Meg had pointed out. You can be his friend. It sounds like he needs one.
‘Talking of women,’ I said, even though we hadn’t been – at least, not in a good way. ‘I’ve got my sister’s number, if you’d like to give her a call and arrange that date.’
His face went blank for a moment, as if struggling to recall what I meant. ‘Oh yes. Dinner,’ he said, in much the same tone he might have used if I’d mentioned a dental appointment. ‘That’s on, then?’
‘Honestly, you’ll like her.’ I fished my mobile out of my coat pocket and, after bringing up my contacts list, I passed it to him. ‘Put your number in there and I’ll text you Bridget’s.’ I knew once they’d met, Seth would be smitten.
‘What should I say to Jack?’ He gazed at my phone, as if he’d never handled one before. ‘Shall I be honest and tell him that I’m going out with a lady?’
I thought how much Bridget would enjoy being called a lady.
‘Well, you said he’d like a new mum, and although you’re not going to be marketing anyone like that right away, I suppose it’s good that he sees you going out,’ I said. ‘It wouldn’t be healthy if you didn’t go out now and then.’
He turned my phone over in his hands. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been on an actual date,’ he said. ‘I’ve been focused on trying to keep things stable for Jack for the past few months.’
‘All the more reason to do it.’ A thought occurred. ‘What do you do all day, now you’re not racing cars?’
‘Well, I’m learning to be a better cook.’ He nodded to a pile of cookbooks by the Aga. ‘And I like gardening, as much as you can at this time of year, and I’m supposed to be writing my autobiography.’
I sat up straighter. ‘Sounds intriguing.’
He pulled a face. ‘I hate the thought of writing about myself.’
‘So, don’t do it.’
‘I’ve been given a substantial advance, so I kind of have to.’ At last, his fingers were moving across the screen of my phone, presumably entering his number.
‘Maybe write something else?’
‘Funny you should say that,’ he said. ‘I—’
My phone starting ringing and he almost dropped it, before handing it back to me.
‘I’d better take this,’ I said, seeing the café’s number. ‘Hi, Gwen, I’ll be on my way shortly, I’m just—’
‘You’d better come right now, mate,’ she said. ‘You’ll want to see this.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Who would do something like this?’
‘Someone who don’t like us?’ Gwen’s face was blotchy with annoyance. ‘I didn’t see it sooner, ’cos I know you don’t like no one comin’ in ’ere, what wiv the floor bein’ damp and anyway, what is there to see?’
‘So, what made you look?’
Gwen hefted u
p her shoulders. ‘I’ve got a sixth sense,’ she said. ‘I take after me nan, she ’ad the gift. Swore she saw me granddad not long after ’e’d gone, standin’ outside the window, and there ’e was, large as life in the garden.’
‘His ghost?’
‘Oh, ’e weren’t dead, ’e’d cleared orf with the milkman’s wife, but forgot to take ’is pyjamas – silk they were, don’t arsk me why, ’e weren’t a bleedin’ toff – so ’e came back in the dead of night, but daren’t go in the arse ’cos me nan would ’ave ’ad ’is balls.’
I dragged my gaze back to the windows. ‘And you didn’t see who did it?’
‘I reckon it must ’ave ’appened last night. Probably someone ’oo’d been drinkin’ and fort it’d be a larf.’
My heart gave an unpleasant bump. On the way over, leaving Seth with a promise that I’d be in touch, I’d thought perhaps Jerry hadn’t turned up for work, or Meg had baked a more-spectacular-than-usual cake of the day. What I hadn’t expected was to find several of the windowpanes smeared with purple paint.
‘You got any enemies?’
I looked at Gwen. ‘Me?’
‘Well, it ’ain’t me, mate,’ she said. ‘Everyone loves me.’ I couldn’t argue with that. ‘An’ I doubt anyone’s got a grudge against the Maitlands, ’cos everyone loves them too.’ I couldn’t dispute that either.
‘It’s unlikely to be drunken holidaymakers at this time of year,’ I said. ‘And it’s not as if the café’s in competition with any other businesses around here.’
‘I dunno,’ said Gwen. ‘The landlord at the Smugglers Inn’s a bit peed off that we’ve got a license to serve alcohol on Christmas Eve.’
‘But Bill’s coming to the party,’ I pointed out. ‘And I really can’t see him doing something so… so shitty.’
‘Nah, me neither,’ Gwen conceded, scratching her chin. ‘S’gotta be personal then.’
‘Personal?’ I jabbed a finger at my chest. ‘To me, you mean?’ Gwen widened her eyes a fraction, and my attempt at a laugh fell flat. ‘Nobody dislikes me that much.’
