by Ash Harlow
By the time we arrive back at the house it has started to rain so bike riding is off the morning activities agenda. “We’ll have some lunch,” I tell her, “and then I’ll take you for a drive around Waitapu before we go to the school for the art class this afternoon.”
She sings while I make lunch, and eats everything I give her. I spent some time online researching what kids should eat and it turns out I can feed Rachel exactly what I eat in smaller portions. Duh. She’s a little human. I’ve no idea why I was so concerned.
I send her upstairs to get her raincoat and she returns with a jacket that’s bright pink and covered in cartoon puppies.
“They all have names,” she says as I wrestle with the zipper, and she’s still reeling them off as I get her into the car. She clips herself into the booster seat, which is a relief because it looks complicated. Then I hop into the driver’s seat and discover what I thought were the car keys can’t possibly be because there’s no actual key. Rachel’s still running through the inventory of dog names, pointing to them on her raincoat. The list of names is short and we seem to have had Luther, Ginger and Mickey on repeat. I’m getting flustered because the key’s obviously slipped off the keyring at some stage.
Except, the keyring is tight so I can’t imagine how that’s happened. I take ten minutes searching the car, and my handbag, and still no key.
“Why aren’t we driving?” Rachel asks.
“I’ve misplaced the key. Wait there while I go to the kitchen and check.”
Running into the house I’m wondering if it’s illegal to leave a child alone in a vehicle. A real nanny would know those rules. Suddenly there’s the most incredible screaming noise, so loud I have to cover my ears. I’ve forgotten about the security alarm which I’ve now activated and I dash to the keypad and, of course, my mind goes blank and I can’t remember the code. I’ve got it somewhere on my phone, so it’s back to the car to find it.
Rachel’s looking concerned and has her hands over her ears although the alarm is muffled out here. I eventually find the code and run back to the house and silence the alarm. In the kitchen there is nothing whatsoever resembling a car key. I slump onto a stool before remembering I have a child alone in the car.
My phone rings when I’m back in the car. Damn, it’s Luther. I consider ignoring it but that’ll probably just have him sending out a search party for me.
“Luther,” I say in a fake, bright voice.
“Ginger. Where are you?”
“I’m in the garage.”
“That sounds like fun. I’ve just had an alert to say the security alarm was activated.”
Of course he has. Trust Luther to have a second level of security so that he knows when his alarm is triggered. “That was me, sorry. I left something behind and forgot about the alarm.”
“Okay. Send me a text if that happens again, and I won’t have to bother you.”
“Right, will do. Goodbye.” I’m feeling foolish, but it’s a mistake anyone could make.
“How do you like the car?”
“It’s great,” I say.
“Good. I meant to set up the bluetooth for your phone. Do you want to do it now?”
“No, I’m good. Maybe do it when you get home.” I need to tell him I’ve lost the key because I’m running late for the art class and maybe there’s a spare somewhere. I’m embarrassed, but I swallow my pride and forge on. “Um, just one other thing. I seem to have lost the car key.”
“I put it on the hook in the kitchen.”
“I found that thing, but there’s no key on it.”
“That’s because it’s keyless. Cars don’t have actual keys anymore.”
“My car does.”
“Your car is a dinosaur.”
“No need to be insulting. Thanks for the info. We’re running late so I better get on the road. Good—”
“Ginger,” Luther cuts in. “Do you know how to start the car?”
Shit. I don’t. And, I don’t want to admit it. I’m chewing over a suitable reply when he speaks again.
“The remote key you use to open the door also starts the car.”
“Good, thanks.” I press buttons on the remote, and the doors lock and unlock, but the engine remains silent. I press another button and the trunk opens.
“So, you’re good to go?” he asks.
“Yep, just fixing the, um, thingy.” I jump out of the car and shut the trunk.
Returning to the driver’s seat I find Rachel’s given up naming the dogs on her raincoat and is now chanting, “We’re still not driving anywhere,” over and over. I can hear Luther laughing. I’m searching for a button to press, but there’s nothing obvious. Maybe it’s voice-activated. If Luther wasn’t still on the phone I’d be tempted to say, “Car. Start,” in a firm tone. Now all I’m tempted to do is swear.
“Look down at the console, Ginger. Can you see a button that says start-engine-stop? Press it.”
I press it and the engine purrs into life. “The engine’s running,” I report.
“Good. Now would you like a lesson on how to open the garage door?”
“Thank you, Luther, but I can take it from here. I’m sure you have something important to do.”
“Nothing’s more important than making sure you and Rachel are okay.”
I don’t know if he’s teasing or being honest.
“The garage door is up, just in case you needed to know.”
“That’s a relief. Drive carefully, that’s a powerful machine. I’ll see you tonight.”
The call finishes, and Rachel and I finally head off to the art class with Luther’s words still playing in my head.
I’ll see you tonight.
21 ~ LUTHER
I stop by to see Oliver on my way home from work.
“Marriage still working out?” I ask.
“I highly recommend it, Luther. Find yourself someone to love, and settle down. How’s Rachel settling in?”
“Great. She seems to like Ginger which is a plus, but which could also make things difficult when the real nanny comes.”
“When is that?” Oliver’s pouring drinks and I’m sitting at his boardroom table, stretched out, using his windowsill as a footrest. Outside, it’s pissing with rain. Grey sky, grey rain, grey river.
“I haven’t hired one yet. I’ve got some swanky agency in London searching for me.”
Oliver joins me at the window and pulls up a chair. He sits the same as me, with his feet on the sill. “You could probably get someone for a fraction of the price in New Zealand.”
“I want the best.”
“You might have the best already.”
“Don’t even go there, Oli.”
“You’ll get found out, Luther. And then there will be shit to pay.”
“I won’t. I’ll manage it. Just, for god’s sake, don’t tell Darcy.”
“You’re asking me to lie to my wife—”
“Don’t raise the subject and you won’t have to lie.”
He swirls his glass making a whirlpool of scotch. “She’s already asked me. And, yes, I’ve already lied in the sense that I’ve said I don’t know anything about Rachel, but that I have met her when I’ve been with you in Auckland. Okay? But, you know between Darcy and Ginger there will be talk, and I’ll be questioned further.”
He’s right. “I shouldn’t have brought Ginger into this, but there aren’t a lot of options in this town. I can see what’s going to happen. Rachel will get attached to Ginger—”
“And you’ll get attached to Ginger, and she’ll get attached to you. You’ll be one happy family in a few months.”
I’ve got a bowl of nuts in my lap and I’m tempted to throw one at him. “Don’t be a schoolboy, Oli.”
“I saw you at the wedding. You couldn’t keep your eyes off her.”
“I was watching out for her. It was my duty, as best man.”
“You’re very defensive today, Luther. I don’t know why you can’t admit you fancy the fuck out
of her, as you once so eloquently described the relationship between Darcy and me.”
I stuff my mouth with mixed nuts to give me time to think. Oliver’s my best friend. I’ve always been honest with him. I chew, and chew, and no solution springs to mind.
“That must be dust in your mouth by now. I’ll get you some water to wash it away.”
I hold up my hand to stop him. He’s right, though, it’s a fucking mass to swallow. I get it down with the help of the scotch. “It’s fucking torture having her in the house.”
“Rachel, or Ginger?”
“Rachel’s great.”
“Right. So we’re talking about Ginger. For someone so forthright, Luther, you’re spending a lot of time circling the post before deciding where to piss.”
I lean back in my chair and clasp my hands behind my head, hoping casual body language will have some flow-on effect and calm my brain which feels as though it’s working even more manically than usual. “My scowl has broken. I can’t even get annoyed about the things Ginger does that used to do my head in. Today she set off the security alarm, then got stuck in the car because she’d never driven a keyless vehicle. That should have driven me crazy. I’d already offered to show her how it worked this morning, but she turned me down. There’s a manual in the fucking glovebox. I should have been in a sarcastic rage but instead, I thought it was cute. I wanted to walk out of the meeting I was in and go home and fix it for her.”
“You do have a problem with trying to protect every person in your life.”
“This was more. This was because I wanted to look at her all flustered, fix the car thing, see her relief, or gratitude, or whatever. I wanted to witness every emotion. She blushes really easily. It’s fucking hot. And the way she just moves around the house, like she’s meant to be there. I’ve no idea what’s wrong with me. She stands up to me, too. Gives me hell when I’m being too hard on her.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You can be pretty harsh. Watch that around Rachel because she’s not used to having a man in the house. Your brute force might scare her.”
“I want Ginger, and I can’t have her. It’s torturing me. She wants me, too.”
“In that case, why are you holding back?”
“Fuck, Oli, you know why.”
“Are you going to sit quietly when she finds herself a boyfriend? Or are you going to snarl, and be an asshole to her when she totally doesn’t deserve it, because you’ve pushed her away? Somebody is going to take her one day, and make her happy, and you’ll be a sad old prick alone in that crumbling mansion.”
“The mansion won’t crumble. I spent a fortune making sure of that.”
“Expensive mansion, then.”
“Ginger’s a virgin.”
“What? How do you even know that?”
“I know that, Oliver, because despite what you think of me, I’m a fucking gentleman. I rescued her from Darcy’s dodgy cousins, and things got a little hot and heavy between us. She gave me that little piece of information, and I backed away.” Well, in a sense. I’m not telling him about the other things we’ve done.
“Wow. Okay. That explains why you didn’t leap at the idea when I suggested hiring Ginger as a nanny.”
“Thank you. But I hired her anyway because she’s turned me into some sort of idiot, who I don’t even fucking recognize. Jesus, I want her hard. Why do you think I’m here? I should be home with them, but not touching Ginger is killing me. Last night after dinner I sat in my study until I heard her go to bed. She’s two fucking bedrooms away from me. I go to sleep, and I dream about her. I wake up and I’ve got my perpetually hard dick in my hand. I’m not getting enough blood flow to my brain.”
“Sorry about your dick, but if you don’t intend doing anything about you and Ginger, you’d better hire another nanny, fast.”
He’s right. It’s the only thing that makes sense. “I’ll do that. The agency’s got a few candidates for me to look at. I’m on it after Rachel’s had her bedtime story. Fungus the Bogeyman is a great book. I’ll buy it for you when you have kids.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Come over for dinner on Friday night and you can read it yourself.”
“We’re in Auckland for the weekend.”
“Weekends. I hadn’t even thought about them. I expect I’m supposed to give Ginger weekends off.”
“Yeah, I think you’ll find they outlawed the seven-day work week sometime around the abolition of slavery. You haven’t thought this through at all, have you?”
“It happened so fast. Jean just took care of Rachel full time. I guess I presumed a nanny would be the same.”
“You can solve this, you know? Just tell Ginger the truth, then the two of you can get on and have a relationship together.”
“Are you insane? Anyway, I promised.”
***
I get home and the house smells of amazing cooking again. I could so easily get to like this, but I’ve also realized I’m going to have to hire a cook, and a nanny. Oliver’s right. I didn’t think this through, I just stepped up.
“Hey girls, I’m home,” I call as I enter the kitchen. I don’t think I could have said anything cheesier, but Rachel seems to like it. She springs off her stool and runs to give me a hug.
“Come and see my paintings. I made one for you. And I made a friend, and got invited to a birthday party. Her name is Matilda. She calls me Shelley, and I call her Tilly. She’s going to be six! And she said she will look after me at school.” Her little fist pulls on my jacket as she leads me over to the fridge where there’s a painting held up with magnets.
“That’s you, that’s Ginger, and this one is me. And a puppy because maybe one day we will have a puppy.”
The picture’s good. The people have more substance than the stick figures I’m sure most kids draw at that age. The only alarming thing is how we’re all holding hands and grinning like the recently converted … like one big happy family.
“It’s fantastic. You’re very talented. And imaginative.”
“I’m doing a numbers puzzle. I want to be good at numbers when I start school.” She pulls herself up onto a chair and goes back to the iPad.
Ginger’s stirring something in the pot and I go and stand beside her.
“That smells great. Have you had a good day?”
She stops stirring. “Yeah, we had fun. I’m sorry about the car. I should have listened to you this morning.”
I wave it off. “Can I get you a drink? A glass of wine?”
“I’ll wait until Rachel’s in bed. Maybe something with dinner.”
Her hair’s in a loose braid and she keeps having to brush one strand from her eyes with her forearm. I tuck it behind her ear for her. She stops stirring, her eyes close and if we were alone I’d kiss her.
Ginger draws a breath and continues with her report. “She’s had a good day. A bit shy and clingy at first, which is understandable, but once she started painting she was soon chatting with Matilda.”
“That sounds good.” I grab a beer from the fridge to give my hands something to do. “She has a party on Saturday. Any idea what that entails?”
“A gift. We’ll get something tomorrow. The party’s at two. I can drop her off and maybe I can have some free time while she’s there.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do it. You have the weekend off.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. Do you want me to go back to Mom’s for the weekend.”
I don’t fucking think so. “No. Look, I hadn’t really thought this through. The position’s live-in, so stay here. But you don’t have to do anything for Rachel and me during the weekend. Go out and have some fun. Just don’t bring any boyfriends back.” I give her a nudge.
“Can I ask the same of you?”
“I was teasing, Ginger.”
“Okay. So, I can bring a boyfriend back?” Steam billows around her head as she drains pasta in the sink, and I can’t see the expression on her face.
“Of course.” My gut twist
s and I think of Oliver’s warning. “After dinner I need to go through some candidates for the nanny job. It would be great if you could sit in. I’m sure your instincts are better than mine.”
“No problem,” she says a little too brightly.
22 ~ GINGER
It’s only been a couple of days but I am enjoying taking care of Rachel. Tomorrow could be a test because I’m going to do some work with Darcy, so I’ll get to see how good Rachel is at sitting in an office for a few hours. I’m sure if I take her for a bike ride beforehand, to tire her out, and take paper and pens for her to draw, she’ll be fine.
Luther and I are cleaning up after dinner, doing our kitchen dance where we bump into each other and ricochet like pinballs.
“Let’s take an hour to look through these nanny applications,” he says. “I’ll bring the wine.”
Luther’s study is on the ground floor. It’s like a library, large fireplace and huge French doors which open out to the lawn.
“My great-grandfather used this as his office when he first opened his law business in Waitapu. The entrance was down the path at the side of the house.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. A lot of these books were his. My grandfather added to the collection, then my father. They’re probably worth more than the house.”
“I’ll be sure to keep Rachel out of here then. I’d hate her to draw in any of them, but I guess she’s past doing that sort of thing.”
Luther doesn’t answer. He’s busy arranging a second chair in front of his desk.
“Come and have a seat.”
I take the chair beside him. They’re placed close together so that we can both get our legs under the desk between the drawers that bracket both ends. The desk looks as though it’s from his great-grandfather’s day as well. The top has a lot of marks, some deep scratches, tiny holes, ink stains, and now it has a computer rather than an inkwell and pen set.
