I frown, but lean forward, keen to hear more.
‘There was one pap in particular who took a dislike to Lorna – probably because she was very good at shielding the kids from the photographers – so he started up a rumour about her having an affair with Mr Aisles. It was completely untrue, but she began to receive hate mail, and one day someone even smeared her car with dog poo.’
‘Oh, my goodness, that’s horrific!’ My hand flies to my mouth as the other nannies look on complacently.
‘But the Aisles really are a lovely family,’ Anna continues. ‘They love their children so much and would do anything for them. I honestly think when you’re trying to find them a nanny, you want to find someone who already understands the life of a celebrity nanny and who has a thick skin when it comes to the paparazzi bullshit you have to deal with.’
The other nannies nod in agreement. ‘But they also need to be able to love those kids like their own. Their mum travels a lot for work so isn’t around all the time and the dad, although quite hands-on when he can be, is often working most weekends. So, you need to find a surrogate mummy, someone who the kids can completely fall in love with.’
I nod and make a mental note in my head – nanny must be kind.
‘And a degree in Lego construction might help too!’ laughs Alexa. ‘Either that or a magical ability to make everything perfect in every way!’
We all raise our coffee mugs and cheers to that – I think this might be one of my most difficult jobs yet.
Ten minutes later and the nannies’ coffee break is officially over as we are all bombarded by 12 over-excited toddlers announcing that music class is about to start. Self-consciously, I tidy up Coconut’s hair (her previously immaculate French plait is now falling out in all directions and I’m pretty certain she has ice cream smeared across her left cheek). She takes my hand and, along with the other nannies and their charges, we are led back into the living room. I try not to gasp out load, but I’m not sure I do a great job as Alexa grabs my hands and squeezes it as if to say, Calm down, this is completely normal.
Sitting in the middle of the room is one of the most famous rock stars from the sixties. Despite almost certainly now being in his eighties, he is still wearing a tattered leather jacket and various tattoos decorate his forearms and neck. He is balancing an electric guitar on his knee and pulls his dark glasses down onto his nose as we all enter.
‘Grandad!’ one of the little boys, who I think is called Hunter, throws himself at the rock star and pulls his sunglasses from his face, promptly placing them on the bridge of his own nose.
The rock star laughs and ruffles his hair affectionately. I’m so star-struck, I don’t know what to do. Here I am, about to do a toddler music class, with one of the greatest rock stars in the world.
Oh my goodness, my dad would be so impressed!
Alexa prods me in the ribs and I look around to see that the rest of the nannies are now sitting in a circle on the floor around the rock star, toddlers on their laps. In front of them are small bags of instruments. I follow their lead and place Coconut down on my folded legs, letting her rifle through the bag.
Five minutes later and we are all singing along to ‘Wheels On The Bus’ led by a bona-fide rock god. If I could tell you I have ever been in a more surreal experience I would, but this honestly tops it. As Coconut happily bashes two tambourines together and I try to remember the words for the song (plus the actions – the nannies know the actions!), I cast my eyes around the room.
More parents have arrived and it seems the celebrity status has doubled tenfold. I spot a beautiful British actress throwing her head back in laughter at the guy currently in the running for the next Bond. In the corner, a very famous member of a girl band patiently plaits her daughter’s hair whilst simultaneously glancing at her BlackBerry. I inhale deeply, then exhale, before joining in with the next verse of the song.
This is just so surreal. Sometimes I really do think I have the best job in the world.
* * *
I flopped into bed at ten that evening, completely exhausted from the day’s activities. After our singing class, I was instructed to take Coconut to a vegan restaurant in Notting Hill for her lunch. We were then driven halfway across London to Hampstead, where she had a private swimming lesson in the pool of an ex-Olympian swimmer. I was introduced to staff member after staff member when we eventually fell into the Aisles’ house at 5pm (so many, in fact, that I found it impossible to remember names) before I was told that Mr and Mrs Aisles were impressed with my work today and were happy for me to get on with finding them a nanny – regardless of the fact I hadn’t met them yet.
‘They are very private,’ explained Mila as she nodded at the butler to hand me my coat at the end of the day. ‘Maybe tomorrow they will call to discuss requirements but if not, everything is in the file.’
She flicked her finger in the direction of my handbag, which was currently holding two lever arch files full of rules, job descriptions and the CVs of some nannies recommended by some of the Aisles’ friends. I waved goodbye to Coconut, who had peeked through the curtains, her face flushed with tears when she realised I wasn’t going to be her next nanny/partner in crime. I must admit, even I had a lump in my throat as my Uber drove down the road away from the house.
That little girl had just stolen a piece of my heart.
Having checked on a sleeping Rupert, I pulled my duvet up around me, laid out all of the files on my bed and reached for my glasses. Patrick was working abroad so I had our bedroom to myself, meaning I could sit up in bed this evening and start learning as much as I could about what the Aisles wanted.
Casting my eyes over the two files that Mila had handed me that afternoon, I was instead drawn to the scruffy little notebook Alexa had bestowed on me when we were chatting with the other nannies.
‘Guard it with your life,’ she warned as she handed it to me. ‘There are some top nanny secrets in there.’
I had nodded and promised to return it to her as soon as I could, thanking her profusely for being so kind in lending it to me. I think she realised I had been given a pretty huge task in finding a new nanny for this family, and she – and the other nannies – wanted to help as much as possible.
So I turned to the first page and started reading. The headline, written in scruffy scrawl in a red biro simply said, ‘The rules of a celebrity nanny’:
1. Put most of your personal life on hold. Loneliness is guaranteed with many high-profile jobs and many celebrities will presume that their family is now your family so don’t expect much of a social life.
2. Make great friendships with the other staff. Here is a list to consider: housekeepers, butlers, maids, masseurs, bodyguards, security guards, chauffeurs, tutors, chefs, managers. They understand what you’re going through much better than anyone ‘on the outside’ and can give you hints on how to cope with certain celebrity behaviour – these people are your allies!
3. Be prepared to move to a new country at a moment’s notice. Most celebrities don’t like to plan. If they wish to go to France for the weekend, then they go. But we all have to go too! You could call it exciting, which it can be, but with two toddlers and a baby to care for and making sure you have all their needs as well as your own, you must be prepared to be flexible and keep that smile well and truly planted on your face.
4. Give social media a wide berth. Talking of temptation, this is one area to be very wary of. Your privacy and the privacy of your employers is extremely important. It is vital that you keep it that way.
5. Make sure you don’t look like the nanny. Some famous parents will instruct you to keep a low profile when the cameras are clicking. Why would they need a nanny? They can do EVERYTHING without the help of anyone, of course! Be prepared to always make it look as though the celebrity is doing everything themselves. If you spot paparazzi, step back so that you are out of shot.
6. Get some defensive driving lessons. You may have to become a decoy for a paren
t trying to escape some unwanted photo shoots and when you’re being chased by unrelenting photographers, knowing the car you’re in and how to drive it is so important.
7. Don’t even think about having a partner. Nannies in relationships are frowned upon as it means there might be someone in the mix more important than the children. You’re best to remain single.
8. Be prepared to fix every problem before the parent knows it’s a problem.
9. Things to demand in your contract: All food/drink, living arrangements, living expenses, holiday visas, a car with insurance, travel insurance, regular plane tickets back to your home (if you live abroad), a personal trainer (should the family want you to look a certain way), clothes allowance.
10. You will be forced to have MI6/FBI-grade background checks. That means DBS checks, references, interviews and even drug tests are all done before you meet the celebrity.
11. You Have to Live the Same Lifestyle as The Celebrity Mummy. If the family don’t eat wheat, dairy or sugar and ban alcohol and coffee from their home, you’ll have to be on board with this too.
12. You won’t be allowed a mobile phone. Magazines will pay thousands for photos of celebrity kids, so it’s easier to have a strict phone ban. That means checking your phone and electronics in at the door.
13. Don’t let a child repeat an outfit twice. Sometimes it’s useful to make a note of what they’re wearing each day, so they don’t get papped in the same outfit.
I sigh and pick up my pen, reaching for the first CV in my pile. I’ve a feeling tonight’s going to be a long night.
Chapter 25
It was one of those days when my phone didn’t stop ringing. Rupert was a year old and life had never been busier. We had decided to move out of London to the Cotswolds (something we had dreamt of doing for years and then realised we NEEDED to do once Rupert starting walking). I was surrounded by cardboard boxes, trying to pack as efficiently as possible whilst also trying to entertain my little boy. I peered around the corner of the kitchen island to see if my latest plan had worked – it had! My little boy was happily positioned in front of the washing machine, watching the pile of dirty laundry I had just put in whirl and disappear in the water.
Who needs expensive baby toys?
‘Hello?’ Trying to sound as professional as possible (and not like a frazzled mummy mid-boxing her London life away) I picked up my mobile phone.
‘I found your website and was wondering if you could help me?’ A clipped British accent came through the phone and I could tell the request was going to be an interesting one. ‘I’m not yet pregnant, but I want to book a maternity nurse.’
For those of you not in the know, a maternity nurse is someone who comes to help look after you and your baby once you leave hospital. They can be absolute lifesavers to some parents who like the idea of having a baby expert in the house who can also help with feeding the child or answering any questions they might have.
I stall slightly before answering:
‘Sorry, did you say you’re not yet pregnant?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I hope to be pregnant in the next month or so and I wanted to book someone immediately.’
I peer over at Rupert to check he’s still OK and then heave myself up off the floor to sit at the kitchen table.
‘Sorry, can I take your name?’
‘It’s Amisha.’
‘Lovely to meet you. Now, I don’t know how much you know about maternity nurses but usually women wait until they are at least 12 weeks pregnant or more before actually booking one. That’s because they usually arrive when the baby is born, so without a due date they will be pretty impossible to book.’
I hear Amisha sigh down the phone. ‘But I heard that in order to get the best, you have to book ASAP. A friend of mine whose children go to school in Knightsbridge said there’s only one maternity nurse she would ever book and all the mothers at school fought over her. She ended up having a year’s waiting list.’
‘There are plenty of amazing maternity nurses out there—’ I start to explain, but Amisha cuts me off.
‘But I need this very specific one. It will make the other mothers so jealous if I land her and they don’t.’
Ah, competitive parenting. Amongst certain classes there seems to be an ‘only the best’ attitude, which is fine in itself, but sometimes the competitiveness over who actually has the best can get a bit extreme. This point was made even clearer when I received my second phone call of the day.
‘He did it! He bought it for me . . .’ Lisa was a client who I had been working with for a few months and she was constantly complaining to me about how annoying her husband was. By ‘annoying’, I think she means ‘He won’t get me everything I demand’ but following this phone conversation, I realised she was obviously very good at getting her own way.
‘He got me the Ferrari for the school run!’ she gushed down the phone. ‘The other mothers are going to be green with envy when they spot me and little Mikey arrive at the school gates. All of Mikey’s friends will be so jealous!’
I ‘congratulated’ her and decided there was no point in reminding her that she practically lived next door to her son’s school, so the school ‘run’ could have actually been done on foot.
With Rupert now bouncing away happily in his ‘circle of neglect’, aka a plastic Jumperoo that plays tinny music and flashing lights, the doorbell rings and I jump to my feet, praying it’s the removal men.
‘Special delivery. Sign here please.’ I take the cardboard box, scribble my name on the plastic divide offered me and take the package into the living room. After kicking away mounds of bubble wrap and taking some boxes off the sofa and placing them on the floor, I sit down and open the package.
Wow, they really did do a good job!
I pull out the brown and beige dress with matching brown hat and white gloves and sigh.
Verity will love it.
I snap a photo and send it via WhatsApp to her.
* * *
Verity is a client with two toddler twins, who had contacted me a couple of months ago to help find her a nanny. Her list was extensive: fluent in French, skier, good cook. But there was one word on the list that had been circled in red pen which I couldn’t ignore: Norlander.
A Norland Nanny is often considered the cream of the crop when it comes to nannying. Norland is a prestigious nanny college in Bath, where young girls train to degree level to be a career nanny. Not only do they have extensive childcare and newborn training, but due to often being hired by celebrities or members of the royal family, they are also taught martial arts, cooking (on an AGA, no less) and extreme driving skills (so they can dodge the paparazzi). Despite interviewing numerous nannies, Verity was adamant that she had to have a Norlander. The problem was, no Norlander was applying for the job. This might have been because she only wanted someone for two days a week, or the fact the salary she was willing to pay wasn’t huge, but no matter how many calls I put into Norland, they were unable to send anyone our way.
‘I think if your client could offer more days’ work or a more competitive salary, then some of the nannies might be interested,’ explained a tired-sounding secretary at the college. ‘But at the moment, no one has applied for the position.’
Determined not to fail, I had managed to find Verity a nanny who I thought was as good – if not better – than a Norlander. She had 15 years’ experience of working with toddlers, a degree in childcare and incredible references from all of her previous families. But there was one problem . . .
‘She’s not a Norlander, though.’ Verity threw her hands up in the air and sighed loudly. ‘I’ve told all my friends we’re getting a Norlander. I don’t want to be the only family in our area without one.’
Eventually, Verity hit on an ‘amazing’ plan, which she shouted down the phone to me at 2am.
‘Sorry for waking you, but I’ve just thought: we can always dress that nanny you found me in a replica Norland outfit. That wa
y, no one need ever know!’
Presuming Verity had had a few too many after-work drinks, I told her I’d call her back in the morning. On the phone to Verity the next day, I had managed to convince her she really didn’t need a Norland dress to justify the standard of her nanny. However, a few hours later, whilst browsing eBay, I had to stifle a laugh as I came across a replica Norland fancy dress outfit for just five pounds. I swiftly pressed ‘buy’ and couldn’t wait to send it across to Verity with a cheeky note attached. I’m not sure her nanny will ever forgive me!
* * *
I must admit, there are times when I wish parents would just look around and realise there is no need to be competitive. But a bit like football teams entering a big stadium, some new mothers tend to puff out their chests and barge into parenting all guns (and wallets) blazing, reaching for the Best Parent Award with open arms. The competitiveness doesn’t end at the children, though. I have had fathers literally wave their credit cards at me and demand I suggest ‘the most expensive push present possible’ for their wife. For those of you who don’t know, a push present is essentially a reward for giving birth. In my experience, it’s a man’s way of saying, ‘My darling, you have pushed a baby out of your vagina and now I shall shower you with thousands.’ Push presents are something I’m asked about regularly, thanks to lots of women’s magazines now pushing them (literally) as a must-have for any new mother. There are some beautiful and thoughtful gifts one might buy for a new mother – I still gaze down in awe at my amazing fingerprint necklace that Patrick bought me when Rupert was born, which has his tiny fingerprint engraved in it. Then there are also some ‘gifts’ that can get a bit excessive. Such as the house in the Maldives one client bought for his wife as a thank you for giving him a son, or the diamond choker rumoured to have cost over half a million pounds!
Secrets of the Mummy Concierge Page 17
