by Jill Childs
The crowd laughed and heckled him.
‘Hey, Dom!’
‘Late night?’
‘Thought you’d missed the boat!’
He hadn’t been here long, but already everyone seemed to know him and to like him. He smiled and took the can of Tsing Tao he was offered, pulled the ring and drank in a single fluid movement. Then he turned and his eyes found mine without any sign of surprise as if he knew exactly where to look. There was a knowing amusement in his face that made me blush. I had the sense, in that moment, that he’d known all along that I’d been checking him out as he approached, that he sensed too all the times I’d looked out for him in the street, scanned restaurants or bars in search of his face. Perhaps he’d done the same.
A thick-set man pushed through to shake his hand and pull him back to another part of the junk. I moved to the stern with my own knot of friends, excited to see him and wondering if, after all, I was the reason he’d come along.
We sat in companionable groups on the warm, wooden deck, the gathering breeze lifting our hair, cans in hand, bare legs stretched out towards the water. The slowly flattening churn led our eyes back towards the tightly packed skyscrapers of the Hong Kong skyline. It slowly receded. The throb and crush of the city gradually dispersed on the wind. Soon all we could see were the low grassy mounds of passing islands and the wheeling sea birds riding currents of air.
I lay there, feeling the sun on my body, the first beers loosening my muscles, the engine throbbing through my skin, the salt, fish smell of the water in my nostrils.
It was hard to think about the rest of the world at moments like this, to believe anywhere else even existed. That in New York, the winter cold was only just starting to thaw, people pulling jackets closely round them as they headed out of the steaming, dusty subway. That in England, streets glistened with rain and families were pulling on woollen scarves and coats to set off to draughty churches, already looking forward to a roast. How could it be dark and misty and cold when here the lid was lifted off the world, letting in all this light and warmth, even in March?
It was hard not to feel smug. I wondered if I could share those thoughts in my next email to Sophie or if that was too much, given the small bleakness of her own life, still living in some poky flat.
The young woman lolling next to me pointed out Lamma Island and started talking about an amazing hike there with a fish restaurant at the end, right on the beach, cold sand between your toes as you cracked open fresh prawns in garlic and drank ice-cold beer.
The junk skirted Lamma and somewhere beyond the far shore, in a secluded spot off a long, deserted beach, it weighed anchor. Rocks rose steeply at the back of the beach, dotted with scrubland. Boat staff lowered the metal ladder at the back. Now we were sheltered and still, the breeze cut and the sun pressed down at once, hot and heavy.
The drinks had been flowing since we came aboard. Now men and women peeled off shorts and shirts to reveal swimsuits and lowered themselves down from the boat, screaming and splashing in the water. Some struck out for the shore. Others swam in lazy circles or floated on their backs, arms out, gazing at the sky.
I swam too, but not for long. I dried off on deck, making a pool of salty water which slowly evaporated around me, leaving white streaks on the wood. The saltwater made my skin tighten and my thighs tingle. I imagined Dominic watching me and knowing exactly what I was doing as I languidly turned from stomach to back, showing myself off to him.
Later, the boat staff served lunch, then, when we’d eaten, raised the anchor and took the junk as close to the beach as they could. One by one, everyone dropped off the ladder and swam, then waded to the shore, emerging from the surf onto the beach to play games there. Races. Beach tennis. Beach football.
Dominic didn’t go. I hung back and watched for him. He’d disappeared, biding his time below deck. I told the others I had a headache and wanted to wait it out on the boat.
Dominic emerged after all the others had gone. I was sitting on the deck, my swimsuit dry again now and my shorts slipped back over it. He sat beside me, as if he expected to find me waiting, and handed me a cold can of Tsing Tao. His body was so close to mine, I felt the heat rising from his side.
He said, ‘Not swimming?’
‘Neither are you.’
He brought out a cigar and lit it. I sat, close to him, enjoying the thrill of being alone together. Below, the boat staff clattered to and fro in the galley, washing up after lunch, calling to each other in raucous Cantonese.
‘They can’t understand,’ Dominic said, ‘why people with so much money, people with fancy air conditioning, want to spend the day out on a boat in the hot sun. Why people who can swim in expensive swimming pools splash about in the dirty sea.’
I laughed. He was teasing me, of course, he couldn’t understand them any better than I could. ‘What else are they saying?’
‘What could that clever, beautiful young woman possibly see in that guy with the cigar?’
He raised an eyebrow and my heart pulsed. I tried to sit up straight and keep my stomach in, lifted my knees and let my long legs dangle.
He tipped back his head and his throat stretched, long and dark, and he blew out cigar smoke and it smelled rich and heady and drew us together.
I thought: oh god, if this goes wrong, it’s going to hurt like hell. Then: but it’s too late, I’ve already fallen.
He turned to look directly at me at last, his eyes intense. ‘So, lovely Caroline, what exactly should we say to that?’
And so it began.
Three
Sophie
My first full day in charge of Lucy wasn’t how I’d imagined it. In some ways, she was very easy to look after. No tantrums, no fights, no drama. But in other ways, she was extremely difficult.
Perhaps it was partly because I wasn’t used to being with a three-year-old. I wasn’t sure how to talk to her. Children like simple things, surely, at that age, don’t they? But whatever I tried, it seemed to fail. I struggled to engage her, to get her to have fun.
In the morning, when Caroline left for her big presentation, I wrapped Lucy up warmly, made some sandwiches and we set off into the woods. I tried to help her climb a tree. She wasn’t interested. I tried chase. Nothing. I tried to persuade her to play hide and seek. She just stood there, a tiny, forlorn figure dwarfed by the trees, her hands flat at her sides, staring at me as if she wished I’d go away and leave her alone. Her hair stuck out in tufts, making her look even more like a waif and stray. The village hairdresser had done her best the previous afternoon to even up the damage, but it was clearly going to look peculiar for a while until the shortest sections grew.
I’d planned too that we might have a go at building a den together. Maybe having our sandwiches inside it, afterwards. Isn’t that what kids love?
I scratched my hands to pieces pulling out broken branches and twigs and trying to marshal them into order, leaning them in a bushy row along the edge of a thick, leafy bush. Lucy sat on a rock, a little distance from me, sometimes watching with dull eyes, sometimes poking in the dirt with a stick.
‘Come on!’ I cried with false enthusiasm when it was finally ready. ‘Aren’t you coming inside?’
I crawled on hands and knees into the scrappy lean-to and crouched there, waiting. The wood smelled of mould and sap, the earth of rotting leaves. When I turned over dead leaves with the toe of my boot, a woodlouse scuttled out. A spider’s web swam into view close to my face and I brushed it away. Damp was slowly working its way through the seat of my trousers to my buttocks. There was no sign of Lucy.
When I heaved myself out again, uncomfortably moist and starting to get cold, twigs and leaves stuck in my hair, she turned her thoughtful, sad eyes on me.
‘Do I look funny?’ I waggled my stained palms at her, brushed off the front of my dirty trousers.
No reaction.
The rain started, splattering against the leaves like pellets. I offered her my hand. She hesitated, consi
dering it for a moment, before putting her small, clean fingers on mine and allowing herself to be led back inside the house to picnic instead on the nursery floor.
Within an hour, the wind had risen. It threw bursts of water against the barred nursery windows at the top of the house. It was a slow afternoon. I drew pictures for her and ended up colouring them myself while she watched.
She sat, straight-backed, on my knee and looked dutifully at the illustrations as I read her stories, her eyes studying every page. There was no shortage of books on her shelves.
Just before tea-time, we made chocolate chip cookies together. She studied my movements as I weighed out the ingredients and clearly understood me when I gave her instructions. She tipped the items, one by one, into the mixing bowl with quiet intensity. When she stirred, she was careful not to spill and never sneaked an occasional chocolate chip, as I’m sure I would have done.
Her eyes were alert, but she never spoke to me. She never hummed or sang to herself. There was a deadness in her. She was a three-year-old who seemed to view the world with the weariness of an old man.
Later, when we’d finished tea and Lucy was getting sleepy, Caroline came home and found us in the kitchen. She lifted Lucy onto her knee for a cuddle. Lucy hardly responded when her mother tried to draw her closer.
‘Well, beautiful, have you been a good girl?’
Lucy didn’t say a word.
‘She’s been brilliant,’ I put in. ‘We’ve just been making cookies, haven’t we, Lucy?’
‘I could smell them! Well done!’
When she went to kiss Lucy on the cheek, the child pulled away from her, slipped to the floor and, unbidden, set off up the stairs towards her room.
Caroline got to her feet. ‘I’ll do bath-time tonight. You have a break.’
I said, by way of apology: ‘I think she’s missing Tanya.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Caroline said over her shoulder, as she headed towards the door. ‘She’ll be fine.’
* * *
Later, once Lucy was asleep, Caroline and I sat over supper together in the kitchen.
She was buoyant with excitement. We celebrated with a glass or two of wine as she poured out the story of her day, her eyes shining. The flagship hotel for the Burrells chain was a couple of hours drive away in a lavish estate, with a golf course and spa. They offered high-end weddings and corporate events and luxury weekend breaks for families too, the kind of client who’d certainly want a properly qualified nanny if the service were available, so their parents could relax and enjoy a spa day or a round of golf.
‘I suggested sleepover nannies too.’ She beamed. ‘You know, nanny and kids in connecting bedrooms. Sell it to the kids as a slumber party so Mum and Dad can have a proper evening out and some privacy afterwards.’
I thought about my own parents and how uncomfortable they’d have been with all of that. I rarely ever had a babysitter, when I was a child. Mum and Dad were the ones who tucked me into bed each night and read me a story. I knew I could count on them being there, always. They were the ones who came stumbling through to me, bleary-eyed, in the night, if I cried out.
‘And you’ll never guess… where do you think the sales director’s from? Singapore! She really liked me, I could tell.’ Caroline reached across the table for my hand and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘They’ve asked me to go back tomorrow and pitch to the Managing Director. Oh, Sophie, I’m sorry, I know I’m going on. I just can’t believe it!’
I tried to smile, thinking instead about Lucy. ‘So you’re going back tomorrow?’
‘Definitely!’ She paused and seemed to read my mood. ‘Sophie, l know it’s a lot to ask, really I do. Could you possibly, you know, keep an eye on Lucy again tomorrow? I’d be so grateful. She really seems fond of you.’
I hesitated, not convinced. ‘It’s not just tomorrow, though, is it? What if they offer you a contract?’
Caroline reached for our plates and cleared them away, stacked the dishwasher. She brought out a tub of fancy ice-cream and two bowls and started to dig some out. Her face was thoughtful.
‘I’ll be honest,’ she said. ‘We’ve had several nannies since we moved out here and none of them has been great. They’re too young. Too inexperienced. Lucy’s a sensitive kid. It’s been a big change for her, coming back here. All this chopping and changing isn’t helping.’
I thought about Lucy, standing so still and stiff amongst the trees, her arms rigid. She did seem lost.
‘It’s just terrible timing, you know?’ Caroline went on, hacking at the ice-cream, her lips pursed. ‘I really don’t want to make the same mistake again, to grab hold of the first nanny I can find – and believe me, finding someone who’ll live out here in the sticks, isn’t easy.’ She handed me a bowl of ice-cream and a spoon. ‘But this could be my big break. It hasn’t been easy for me either, coming back. I’ve given up a lot. It was Dominic who loved this house. But it’s a holiday home for him, you know? He isn’t the one stuck here all the time.’
She put the tub back in the freezer, settled back in her chair. The ice-cream was thick and creamy, laced with chocolate chips and marshmallow. I thought it over. I was fond of Lucy. I didn’t want to see her passed from one temp to another either. She needed more than that. But she wasn’t my daughter, she was Caroline’s.
I said, ‘What about nursery?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe. If there even is a decent nursery round here.’
I remembered my chat with the hairdresser the previous day. She’d raised nursery too, asking if Lucy was planning to start pre-school, as she called it.
‘The hairdresser said there’s a great nursery in the village. “Little Monkeys”. Have you heard of it? Montessori. Her own children went there. I could give them a call, if you like?’
Caroline brightened. ‘Would you? That would be great.’ She nibbled at her spoon. ‘Maybe you could take her to meet them, if they’ve got places. It might be just what she needs. Take her out of herself a bit. Make some friends.’
I nodded. ‘OK.’
She smiled and, for the first time since she’d come home, her shoulders relaxed.
‘Thanks, Sophie. I’m really grateful.’
We sat in silence for a while, savouring dessert.
I thought about the next day or two and what I could do with myself if Lucy did go into nursery.
‘That sort of beach house on the ridge, just along the cliff from here. Is it yours?’
She kept her eyes on her bowl as she answered. ‘The people before us used it as an out-house, I think. I haven’t bothered clearing it out.’
I had the sense that she didn’t want to talk about it, but I held my nerve and carried on.
‘I thought maybe you painted there. I saw an easel—’
She shook her head. ‘Just a load of junk in there, that’s all.’
I hesitated, trying to read her expression. ‘I was just thinking, if I’m staying on a few more days, just while you figure out what to do about Lucy, maybe I could have a look? It’s such a great spot.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know…‘
‘It could make a brilliant playhouse for Lucy. Or a sort of day-room for the next nanny to use.’
She shrugged and reached for the bowls, pushed back her chair. ‘If you want.’ She pointed to one of the kitchen drawers as she headed towards the dishwasher. ‘The keys are in there, somewhere. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It looks filthy.’
I watched while she bustled round the kitchen, clearing away stray knives and spoons and wiping down surfaces. Her mood had darkened and I wasn’t sure why.
‘What did Dominic say about your news? Is he thrilled?’
‘Haven’t told him yet. I’ll give him a call now.’ She rinsed out her cloth and hung it over the tap to dry, then paused on her way out of the kitchen and turned back: ‘Thanks for helping out with Lucy. Really.’ She laughed. ‘I must admit, it was a bit of a shock when you called from the station but I’m so glad you’re h
ere.’
And she was gone.
* * *
The nursery manager sounded great on the phone when I called the next morning. Relaxed and friendly.
I’d prepared a whole spiel about Lucy and how much she needed to meet other children as she settled into a new country, but I didn’t need any of it.
‘Of course.’ I could feel the smile in her voice. ‘Bring her along.’ In the background, toddlers screeched and shouted and feet thumped. ‘Any time you like. We’re here!’
When I hung up, heartened, I went into the hall to go upstairs and wake Lucy. I jumped. She was standing there, halfway down the main staircase, a still and silent ghost in her long white nightie, one pale hand gripping the banister.
‘Lucy! You’re awake!’
She didn’t move. I bounded up the stairs to meet her, my arms open for a cuddle which never came. I wondered how much of my phone call she’d heard.
‘How do you fancy an adventure?’
She didn’t answer. I took her hand in mine and led her down to the hall and into the kitchen.
‘It’s you and me again today. Did Mummy tell you?’ No answer. ‘You and I are going to find some lovely children to play with. Good idea?’
No response.
I filled her bowl with cereal and set it in front of her. Elephants marched in procession round the rim.
‘I’ll come too. There’s nothing to worry about.’
I found a brush as she reached for her spoon and started to eat. I did my best to fluff out the tufty hair, then added a fabric-covered hairband to hide the worst of the damage.
‘I bet there’ll be loads of toys to play with,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’
Not a word.
* * *
Mrs Minns, the nursery manager, was a stout, motherly woman in her fifties. She looked as if, when it came to small children, she’d seen it all before.
We sat together on tiny chairs in a corner of the nursery and I did my best to fill out forms on a clipboard as the children played.
