I shook my head in amazement and jotted down a few more notes. ‘So, what do you think my day will be like with the Aisles?’ I asked.
She scanned the email Sandra had sent me earlier and then reached over to take my hands.
‘I’m not going to lie to you, Tiffany. This is probably going to be one of the toughest jobs of your life . . .’
Chapter 23
A week later and I’m back in the UK, standing in the hallway of a magnificent mansion in Chelsea. I had walked around this area a lot when I lived in London and always marvelled at the sheer size and glamour of the houses.
‘You must be Tiffany – I’m Angela, one of the PAs. If you can come this way . . .’
Angela ushers me into an expansive living room with a domed ceiling. Light is spilling through it, creating rainbow-infused shadows on the oak-panelled floor. The room is completely spotless. There is one large window overlooking a small but immaculate garden and three white leather sofas surrounded by vase upon vase of white hydrangeas. I subtly look over my shoulder to see if any toddler toys have been stashed away in a corner in a mad hurry to make the room look tidy, but I can’t see a single flash of colour or an arm of a teddy bear anywhere.
‘This is the adults’ living room,’ explains Angela, as if reading my thoughts. ‘Coconut and Jacob are not allowed in here on any occasion.’ She hands me a folder and flicks it open, pointing at a room plan of the house, which has various red crosses throughout it. ‘These rooms are all child-free, so both the children and nanny are never to be seen in any of these locations.’
I squint at the piece of paper and notice there is a red cross through the garden area – surely not?
Again, Angela appears to read my mind before I can question anything.
‘The children are allowed access to the second garden, which is to the left of the house down the back stairs. It’s far more child-friendly and their parents like to be able to relax in the formal garden without the noise of the children disturbing them.’
I nod solemnly, trying to convey understanding, although to me this is one of the most surreal things I have ever heard.
What parent doesn’t want to hear their children doing roly polys in the garden or squealing with laughter?
At that moment, there is a brief knock at the door and a petite woman, dressed in a normal maid’s outfit, enters.
‘This is Consuela,’ Angela gestures towards her and Consuela bows – actually bows! – at me. ‘The new nanny will have to liaise with her daily about the menu for the children. Are you taking notes?’ She looks at me pointedly and I whip out my notebook and scribble down: Menu with Consuela.
‘Today is going to work like this . . .’ Angela sweeps around the room, puffing up hydrangeas whilst simultaneously glancing at her BlackBerry. ‘You will step into the role of the nanny and deal with Coconut and Jacob for the day. The idea is, you get a feel for the job, so when you start interviewing nannies for us, you can tell them what we expect from them.’ I nod in what I hope is a silent, but understanding manner. I’m suddenly feeling very nervous – I’m certainly not a nanny and just hope I can pull this off. Again, Angela seems to sense my concerns: ‘You will have our other nanny with you at all times, of course. Usually, we have three nannies on the go at any given time so there is one per child and one as a backup.’
A backup nanny? Wow, I must admit I had never heard of that before.
‘So, just to be clear . . . The job you want me to recruit for is the nanny for Coconut?’
‘Yes. She is nearly four. Starts school in September so we need a nanny who can entertain her until then.’ She beckons towards the file I’m holding. ‘Everything you need to know is in there. Why don’t I leave you for a bit to go over it all and then I’ll introduce you to Mr and Mrs Aisles and the children?’
With that, she has swept out of the room, leaving a trail of Hermès perfume in her wake, and I’m left alone with the file aptly labelled in type on the front: ‘Nanny Rules and Job Credentials’. I flip it open and see a list of ‘Must-haves’ on the first page. Oh, my goodness, this was going to be one tough job to fill! Here’s a cut-down example of some of the credentials listed:
• 15/20 plus years’ experience (must be a career nanny). OK, so that shouldn’t be too hard to find. Career nannies are the sort of nannies who really devote everything to their job. They have usually trained at Chiltern or Norland (some of the most prestigious establishments). A few nannies I have met in the past spring to mind and I make a note of their names next to this.
• Fluent in at least three languages (must be willing to speak English in the morning and another language in the afternoon – French or Japanese preferred). I gulp loudly. I’ve heard of families wanting bilingual nannies before, but have never seen such exact instructions about what language they should be speaking at what time of the day.
• Willing to sign attached Non-Disclosure Agreement. There is a pink Post-it note stuck on the page, directing me to the back of the file, where a ten-page legal document sits. I flick through briefly – I’ve never seen a Non-Disclosure this long – and decide to tackle the details on this when I’m back home that evening.
• Must have proficient abilities in skiing, swimming and horse riding.
• Ideally plays one musical instrument to a very high standard.
• Self-defence training preferred – although we are willing to pay for lessons, if need be.
• Degree in Child Psychology a bonus.
I run my eyes down the rest of the list, the butterflies in my stomach getting greater at each bullet point. There’s no doubt about it, this family really are looking for Mary Poppins. The funny thing is, I’m not nervous about finding them the ideal nanny – there are lots of nannies out there who work their backsides off to be the best and I’m pretty certain I’ll be able to find at least three or four I can send this family’s way. The nerves in my stomach are there because, today, I have to BE this nanny.
What am I going to do at 2pm when they expect me to flick over to another language? I barely passed my French GCSE . . .
Before I have another moment to worry, the door is flung open and a little girl, her head almost obscured by a halo of wild white curls, runs over to me and flings herself into my arms. She smells of peaches and plasticine.
‘Are you my new nanny?’ she asks, her blue innocent eyes looking up at me in wonder. ‘Mummy said you’re going to look after me today, but I want you to stay forever.’
She envelops me in a huge hug and I smile openly – what a gorgeous little girl!
‘Page 7, clause 6a: No cuddling the children. I suggest you spend some more time reading the rules.’
A tall, thin woman who reminds me slightly of Skeletor from the He-Man movies strides into the room and removes who I presume must be Coconut from my lap. ‘Mrs Aisles prefers her nannies to touch the children as little as possible so they don’t become too attached.’ She proffers a hand to me and I stand up to shake it. ‘I’m Mila, Jacob’s primary nanny. Are you ready to go? We are due at Baby Pilates in ten minutes.’
Coconut has positioned herself behind my back, out of sight of Mila, and I feel her little hand reach into mine as Mila storms out of the door. I squeeze it gently and she squeezes back. Immediately, I feel a bond with this little girl. It’s as though we have a secret code already – I’ll look after you, you look after me.
Coconut leads me out of the room and points to a red duffel coat and patent plum shoes in the corridor. ‘You have to put those on me,’ she whispers. ‘And don’t forget to collect my snack from Consuela in the kitchen – Mummy likes us to be vegan on a Monday.’
‘Oh, thank you, Coconut . . .’ I bend down to her level and speak softly. ‘But I think I have to wait here to meet your mummy and daddy. Angela said—’
‘Oh no, Mummy and Daddy won’t meet you yet,’ Coconut explains eloquently. ‘They only meet new staff members once they have been approved by Angel
a and then Derek – he’s our butler.’
I feel a shadow fall over us and I look up to see Mila, her tall, skeletal frame looming over us.
‘Come, Coconut.’ She points a finger in Coconut’s direction and then flicks it towards me. ‘And you . . . Mrs Aisles has just texted to say she will meet with you later this afternoon. For now, you are the nanny.’
* * *
Moments later, I am sitting between an excited Coconut and Jacob, being driven by their distinguished chauffeur Manock to their Pilates lesson. Coconut hasn’t stopped talking.
‘Jacob is only six months, but he loves Pilates, doesn’t he, Mila? Mummy says all babies must do Pilates by the time they are one. I started when I was three months, didn’t I, Mila? Mummy said I was the youngest in the class, but also the best. Mummy said I could put my toes in my mouth before any of the other babies . . .’
I smile encouragingly at Coconut as she talks, trying to make a mental note of what life must be like for these children on a daily basis. Mila, in the meantime, is talking away loudly on her mobile in the front seat – she has barely looked at me or said one word since we left.
This is going to be a long day.
Chapter 24
‘Change of plan!’ Mila barks at no one in particular. ‘Pilates has been cancelled – let’s head over to Christian’s as he’s holding an impromptu play date.’
Coconut squeals in excitement at my side and the verbal diarrhoea starts again. ‘I love Christian. He’s my godfather, but Mummy said he doesn’t believe in God. Mummy says that doesn’t matter, though, because godfathers are really only there to give you presents. Christian gave me a rocking horse for my first birthday and I fell off it and bumped my head, didn’t I, Mila?’ She cranes her neck to get Mila’s attention in the front seat, but Mila is too engrossed in her BlackBerry to notice.
Minutes later, the car pulls up at a huge white gate which has a security guard outside. Manock rolls down his window and the security guard clocks Mila and ushers us through. The house is very similar to the Aisles’ house and benefits from being set discreetly behind a high wall, offering a feeling of privacy. The road it’s on looks like it has jumped out of a Mary Poppins’ movie, with pink cherry trees lining the pavements. I notice the street sign says ‘The Boltons’ and make a mental note to google the area when I get home.
If ever I win the lottery, this is where I would want to live.
Coconut clambers out of the car the second we pull up and I busy myself getting Jacob out of his car seat. Mila snatches him from me, reminding me she is his nanny, and then ushers me to follow Coconut’s retreating back. I gather up what I presume must be Coconut’s backpack (scooping up a Barbie doll, which has made a bid for freedom) and shove it back in the bag before following her down the long marble corridor of the house and into a huge living room.
To say I’m star-struck is an understatement. The room is filled with about six other children, ranging from babies to five-year-olds, but it’s the adults who leave me speechless. Whilst the children play with various toys and musical instruments on the living-room floor, lounging on sofas are a plethora of famous musicians, actors and TV presenters, all drinking coffee and talking loudly. I can feel a red-hot blush rise on my face as a very famous rock star raises his coffee mug in my direction and smiles. A man, who I presume must be Christian, envelops Mila in a stiff hug and then saunters over to me, a leather jacket strewn casually over his shoulder:
‘You must be the new nanny. Welcome!’
He has a thick LA drawl and something clicks in my brain – I think he was the star of an interior design show I watched briefly on my trip to New York.
‘She’s the Mummy Concierge,’ Mila is quick to answer before I get a chance.
‘The other nannies are in the conservatory,’ he says, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘We are going to start the music class in a bit, but for now, why don’t you mingle with the others and grab a decaf?’
I look over towards Coconut and see she is happily constructing a wooden puzzle with another little boy who I think was in Hello! magazine a few weeks ago. She looks happy and calm so I put her rucksack down on the floor near her and make my way to where I presume the conservatory is, following the laughter. As I put my hand on the door and gently push it open the laughter stops and five terrified-looking faces greet me.
‘Oh goodness, we thought you were Christian and that you’d been eavesdropping!’ says one stunning girl with wild red hair. She walks towards me, smiling. ‘We were just having a gossip about the latest celeb demands. You must be Coconut’s new nanny, right? I’m sure you have some stories . . .’
She offers me a spot on a tall bar stool propped up against the breakfast bar and I try to climb up onto it as elegantly as I can, smiling as I do so. One of the other nannies jumps up and offers to make me a coffee and I’m handed a box of biscuits, which it seems everyone is gorging themselves on. As I listen to the excited chatter happening around me, I can feel the stress seep out of me – these girls are much more my type of people.
A petite blonde with her hair in braids sits cross-legged on a stool to my right and plays with the laces on her baseball boots as she listens. I guess she’s in her early twenties and just as I’m about to start up a conversation, she jumps up off the stool and starts rummaging around in a bag by her feet.
‘Hudson needs his jabs,’ she explains to the other nannies as an alarm sounds on her Apple watch. ‘He’s diabetic,’ she adds, looking over in my direction. ‘Thankfully, I was a paediatric nurse before this job, so it doesn’t faze me.’
She produces a little medical kit and ambles towards the door, calling Hudson’s name as she does so. A little boy of about four years old emerges, dressed in a knight’s helmet and brandishing a wooden sword, and his nanny expertly lifts up his shirt and pushes what looks like a pen into his tummy. He doesn’t even flinch, instead waving his sword in the direction of the living room and runs off to join his friends.
‘He’s a trooper,’ the nanny, whose name I now know is Anna, explains as she notices what must be a very impressed look on my face. ‘His parents couldn’t bear to inject the insulin themselves – his mum hates needles – so when they hired me, the fact I’m also a nurse really helped.’
For the next 15 minutes, I sit and chat with the other nannies, listening intently as they exchange horror stories about life as a celebrity nanny. Despite the fact they all look young, I very quickly learn that these nannies probably have more experience than most. Three of them are bilingual, one has just graduated from Oxford University and another used to ski for England. Alexa, nanny to two-year-old Tallulah and eight-year-old Scarlett, chats about some of the previous jobs she has had with other celebrity parents.
‘The dad was a nightmare,’ she reveals, raising her eyebrows as she speaks. ‘He couldn’t keep his penis in his pants and the press inevitably found out about it.’ I listen open-mouthed as she talks. ‘Every time a story broke, I’d get a phone call ordering me to pack up the kids and drive to their secret holiday house before the paparazzi arrived. I had to teach the children hand gestures they could use to alert me if they saw a photographer.’
‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ says Nikki, an American nanny who is lounging on the sofa, drinking a green smoothie. ‘My previous employer had a thing about how we had to walk in case we got snapped by the paps. I had to walk in formation with her entire entourage. Her friends, assistants, bodyguards and nannies had to fan out behind her, like geese in a flying V formation.’
The other nannies collapse in hysterics and I can feel competitiveness surge through the room.
‘You think that’s bad?’ says a tall black girl, twirling her dreadlocks. ‘A mum I once worked for has a rule about her kids “walking lightly”. I wasn’t expected to just enforce this rule, I had to follow it as well. God forbid if I made any noise walking to the bathroom!’
I look around in amazement at the girls surrounding me. I’d often
heard stories of what it was like working as a celebrity nanny, but usually dismissed them as likely to have been exaggerated. Sitting here now, I could tell stories like this were just part and parcel of the job though.
‘So, tell me . . .’ I pick this moment to enquire about what I should be looking for in a nanny for the Aisles. ‘What was their last nanny like and why did she leave? Any tips on the sort of person I should be looking for?’
Anna hands me another biscuit – how do these nannies stay so thin? – and then reaches into her bag. She looks over at the other nannies and they all nod. Solemnly, she hands me a small notebook. ‘So, here’s a bit of a guide,’ she says whilst I gently flick through the pages. ‘When you’ve worked as a celebrity nanny for a while, you learn a few things and this is something we always pass on to others who get into our circle. Just so that they know what to expect.’
The first couple of pages are bullet-pointed notes – I see words such as ‘self-defence’ and ‘paparazzi’ and can’t wait to read it all properly.
‘But when it comes to the Aisles, I actually think they are one of the best families to work for.’
‘Yeah,’ Alexa butts in. ‘I knew their old nanny Lorna and she said the parents are actually quite down to earth – once you see past all the celeb stuff – but it’s the staff who cause problems. Some of the staff have been working for them for years and they don’t relish new members coming into the household. I think that Mila woman can be a bit tricky . . .’ She grimaces as she says this and I nod, completely understanding – Mila certainly hadn’t come across as that ‘encouraging’ when I first met her.
‘Lorna left because she couldn’t deal with the paparazzi element,’ Alexa went on to explain. ‘She absolutely loved Coconut and Jacob – she was in pieces when she had to leave them – but the paps had started to hound her and followed them everywhere. She was worried about the safety of the children.’
Secrets of the Mummy Concierge Page 16
