The Model Wife Part 12

They were giggling when the men came back into the room. Suddenly Thea felt cold. She looked at her watch. 'Listen, I've got an early start. I'd better get going.'

'Maybe you could give Stan a lift,' Dunc said hopefully.

'I was going to get the Tube,' Thea lied. She'd had every intention of leaping in a black cab. Taxis were her great indulgence, you could put them all against expenses, though rumour had it that Foxy Roxy was planning to put a halt to this practice. Well, all the more reason to enjoy it while it lasted.

'I could walk you there,' Stan said eagerly.

Thea looked at her watch again. 'Gosh, actually, it's later than I thought. Maybe I will get a cab.' She looked unwillingly at Stan. 'Where do you live?'

'Acton.'

'You're nowhere near me. I'm in Stockwell. I could drop you at the Tube if you like.' She made her offer sound like a doctor asking the patient to choose between amputating a leg or an arm. Stan got the hint.

'No, don't worry, I'll walk. Fresh air would do me good.'

Rachel stood up and hugged her friend. 'It's been great to see you. We'll do it again soon.' She lowered her voice. 'Just the two of us next time.'

Thea felt a lump in her throat. For a second, she'd been worried she'd lost Rachel. But maybe there was still a c.h.i.n.k of hope. All the same, as her taxi accelerated down a virtually deserted, Sunday night Upper Street, Thea felt a bleakness inside, a realization that in her absence her London life had changed unalterably. She'd better find a hot foreign story quickly to take her away for a bit. The joy of life on the road was that you lived in a bubble where you didn't have to worry about the mundanities of everyday life. Tomorrow she'd start scouring the foreign sections for something that could take her away from this new, earthbound existence.

16.

Having decided at least to give Brigita, Farrah's nanny, a try, Poppy was surprised how easy it was to organize. After her call, Brigita came over the very next morning with a big smile and a cuddly elephant for Clara.

'Now then!' she cried from the doorstep. 'Good morning, Mummy. Pleased ta meet you.' She had a very peculiar accent, half Slavic, half Yorks.h.i.+re. She bent down and chucked Clara's cheek. 'And you too, my beautiful princess.'

'G'waaay!' shrieked Clara, burying her face in Poppy's crotch.

Poppy smiled. She'd been hoping for a matronly type in a brown uniform and cap. But Brigita seemed a good second best. She was in her late twenties with cropped brown hair tidily framing a round face. She wore a long patchwork skirt, a baggy brown jumper, st.u.r.dy lace-ups and blue woolly tights. She looked like the kind of nanny whose days would be spent making toys out of old egg cartons and romping round the playground, while at night she would be tucked up in her bed at ten with a mug of cocoa and a copy of the Bible.

'Where are you from?' Poppy asked, leading her into the house.

'From Latvia!' Brigita cried, as if she'd said from Jupiter. 'But my boyfriend he is Englishman. From 'artlepool. I come here to study astronomy but I need to earn money and I discover a real love for children, so I get a job with Farrah and I am... oh... I am as 'appy as a pig in muck with her. But now she don't need me any more, because the boys are both at school so she say to me, "Go and work for Poppy and Luke. They are good 'uns. They will treat you right."' She looked Poppy up and down. 'Farrah say you are model, but this is no true, I think?'

'I used to be. Before Clara.'

'Well, the bairns they make the women fat. This is the life.'

'Er...' Nonplussed, Poppy gestured at the sofa. 'Sit down. Would you like a gla.s.s of water?'

'No, Mummy! Don't be like this. I get you you a gla.s.s of water. Tell me, where is the kitchen?' a gla.s.s of water. Tell me, where is the kitchen?'

'No, it's OK.'

'No, really! I find it.' Before Poppy could stop her, Brigita had disappeared into the kitchen. It was a while before she returned.

'Here you go, Mummy. I'm sorry, kitchen is dirty so I need to clean up first. And I can find no ice. Would you like? I can go and search in freezer again.'

'I'm fine,' Poppy said faintly.

She tried to conduct a bit of an interview, though that was a total misnomer since, unless Brigita had confessed to a penchant for freebasing, the job was hers. But in any case, Brigita surpa.s.sed herself by pulling a print-out from her bag with a list of toddler activities in the area and asking which ones Clara attended.

'None of them,' Poppy said, embarra.s.sed. She'd tried, of course, but she found it so difficult sitting alone on a hard chair, watching Clara fighting with other children for a battered doll's buggy, while all the other mothers sat in tight, cliquey circles she hadn't a clue how to infiltrate.

'Oh right. So what do you do all day together?' She chucked Clara under the chin. 'Pretty girl. You don't look nothing like your mummy.'

Potter about. 'You know,' Poppy shrugged, 'go to the playground. Read stories.'

'Of course, Mummy. But it's time Clara was mixing a bit with other children, I think.'

Then she asked a lot of questions about allergies and what Clara liked to eat and potty training, and then Clara did a poo right on cue, so Brigita rolled up her sleeves and changed her nappy without visibly holding her breath, then blew a big raspberry on her tummy to make her giggle. Poppy said the job was hers, four days a week, if she wanted it and Brigita said she did, very much indeed. Could she start a week on Monday? Poppy asked.

'I can start tomorrow if you like!'

'Oh no, no, no,' Poppy said. The thought of being catapulted so abruptly from her old life into her new one was more than she could take. She needed a week to prepare herself and Clara mentally for the new regime.

'As you wish.' Brigita shrugged. 'I'll come at eight, Mummy.'

'Eight? That's a bit early, isn't it?'

'I start for Farrah at eight.' Brigita looked taken aback.

'Maybe nine?' Poppy bargained.

'Well, if you are really sure. I mean, Farrah she is fair throng.'

'Sorry?'

'Very busy,' Brigita said a little impatiently. 'She always goes to gym every morning for one hour before work.' She looked Poppy up and down again and shrugged. 'But every woman has the different priorities, I guess.'

Poppy had meant to say they'd have a trial period of a month, she meant to discuss pay and holidays and the things Luke had told her to ask, but in the flurry of it all, she totally forgot. Never mind. They'd talk about it later.

And so, a week on Monday, the doorbell rang at nine sharp. Brigita bustled in and before Poppy knew it, Clara was sitting in her high chair eating a large bowl of porridge.

'That's amazing,' said Luke, entering the room in his suit. 'Clara usually chucks the healthy stuff on the floor.'

'I make a smiley face out of these blueberries,' Brigita said with false modesty. 'That makes her hungry.'

'She's great,' Luke mouthed at Poppy, as he switched the kettle on. Poppy nodded, dumbstruck with jealousy and nerves.

Brigita lowered her voice. 'Now, don't take this the wrong way, Mummy, but I think is best if you stay out me way today. If you're around Clara, she will get confused and be a little monkey. The more time we are alone together the quicker she will get to know and love Brigita.'

'OK,' Poppy agreed meekly.

Not quite knowing what to do with herself she had a shower and dressed. Poppy couldn't deny it: it was a joy to perform these two seemingly simple tasks without Clara exploiting her mother's brief unavailability by either throwing soap and toothpaste in the loo or deciding to climb in with her fully dressed. But Poppy was too anxious to enjoy her new freedom. She dried and dressed as hastily as she could then dashed downstairs to find Brigita b.u.t.toning Clara's coat without any of the screaming (Clara) or yelling (Poppy) that usually accompanied this deceptively simple-looking manoeuvre.

'We're going to the playgroup at the church,' Brigita said. 'Come on, Clara, let's go!'

'Oh, right,' Poppy said, as her daughter skipped out of the door without even a backward glance. As the door slammed, she stood slightly dazed. She'd antic.i.p.ated tears and resistance and clinging to Mummy. Instead, it was as if she'd never existed.

A sudden vision of the future presented itself to her: a vision of Clara getting older, going to school, making friends, not needing her any more. It had started already. So what was she going to do? Both short and long term, Poppy hadn't a clue. She glanced out of the window. The sun was s.h.i.+ning in a watery blue sky. She felt as redundant as Jake the Peg's extra leg. She could go for a walk on her own, she supposed, it might be more relaxing, but she didn't think that was why Luke had wanted a nanny.

'I keep myself very busy, you know, running the house. Doing a bit of charity work. Working out...'

Her phone rang. Mum.

'h.e.l.lo?' For once Poppy was quite glad to hear from her.

'Just calling to see how the new girl's settling in.' Louise was clearly behind the wheel of her Porsche Boxster. She only ever called when she was bored and stuck in traffic.

'She only started an hour ago, but I'd say really well.'

Louise snorted. 'Typical you, Poppy, ever the optimist. Well, you won't listen to my advice because you never do, but I'll tell you anyway: lock up your booze and put a code or something on the phone. G.o.d, when I remember the trouble I had with your girls-'

'OK, Mum.' Poppy decided to needle her. 'How's Gary?'

'Gary?' Louise sounded like Scary Spice learning she wasn't allowed to fly business cla.s.s. 'I haven't a clue.'

'Weren't you going on holiday with him?'

'Was I? I don't think so. No, no.' Louise lowered her voice. 'Actually, there's someone new on the horizon. Jean-Claude.'

'Oh yes.' Poppy's heart sank. She'd heard this hushed, excited tone so many times and it always spelt disaster. 'Where did you meet him?'

'When Christine and I went on our girls' spa trip to Malaga. He was in the same hotel as us for a conference. He's a professor of linguistics at the University of Ma.r.s.eilles. So good-looking, Poppy. I can send you a link with his photo.'

'So he's French?'

'Mmm. Isn't that exciting? But he speaks excellent English.'

'How much time did you spend with him over the weekend?'

'He joined me and Chris for dinner on our second night and then the next morning I had a lovely chat with him at the breakfast buffet which was very very lavish, I must say, though I forced myself to steer clear of the croissants. I gave him my card and he said he'd be in touch.' lavish, I must say, though I forced myself to steer clear of the croissants. I gave him my card and he said he'd be in touch.'

'And has he?'

'No. So yesterday I googled him and found his email address and sent him a nice email with my number on it, because he probably lost it, you know what men are like, and now I'm waiting for him to get back to me. He's wonderful, Poppy, I know you'll like him, he's really clever and-'

Poppy couldn't bear it. She resorted to her usual standby. 'Mum, Mum! I'm really sorry but there's someone at the door. I've got to go.'

'Oh. All right.' Louise was miffed. It was her her role to end calls. 'Call me later and let me know how the role to end calls. 'Call me later and let me know how the girl's girl's settling in. And I'll email you Jean-Claude's details.' settling in. And I'll email you Jean-Claude's details.'

'OK. Thanks for calling.'

'Oh, and just one more thing.'

'Yes?'

'Now you have this girl, what are you going to do with yourself all day?'

'I've just called my agency,' Poppy lied. 'They've got loads of work lined up for me and I'm going in to see them about it this afternoon.'

'Oh yes? Well, that's very good.' A noise of honking. 'Oh, thank heavens, finally we're moving. All right, Poppy, speak soon. Bye!'

Exhausted from the conversation, Poppy flopped back on the bed. Talking to her mother always left her drained. Perhaps she'd go back to sleep for a bit. But then she thought about the lie she'd just told and the same new icy resolve that had made her call Brigita tingled in her veins. Wanting to feel businesslike, she went into Luke's study, shut the door and, heart doing a samba in her ribcage, dialled her agency.

'h.e.l.lo, Prime Models. Jenny speaking.'

A new receptionist since her day. 'Hi. Could I speak to Barbara please?'

'Who may I say is calling?' Jenny yawned.

'It's Poppy.'

'Poppy who?'

'Poppy Norton. I mean, Price.' It had been a while since she'd used her old, unmarried name. It took her back.

'Will she know what it's in connection with?'

'I'm a client of hers,' Poppy said stiffly. She was starting to remember why exactly she'd hated modelling so much; how soul-destroying it was to be constantly treated as if you were something to be sc.r.a.ped off a shoe.

'Hold, please.'

As she waited to the strains of Amy Winehouse, Poppy looked round the room. The walls were covered with pictures of the highlights of her husband's career: Luke in a flak jacket in the desert in Iraq; Luke shaking hands with the Queen; Luke with President Bush. As so often, Poppy had the sense of being a visitor rather than the mistress of this flat, where the furniture had been chosen by David, their landlord, and delivered in a John Lewis van and virtually everything that made a house a home pictures, ornaments, books, CDs, DVDs belonged to Luke, Poppy having had virtually no time in her short life to acquire mementoes. She'd thought about redecorating, because she had a vague idea that was what stay-at-home mothers were supposed to do, but when she'd suggested it to Luke he'd pointed out that David wouldn't be too pleased.

'Poppy!' cried a voice that sounded as if it had been gargling bleach. 'Long time, no hear. We were wondering what the h.e.l.l had happened to you. How's it all going?'

'Really well, thanks, Barbara. Still alive, despite the baby, ha ha.'

'Oh, yes, the baby. How is is he?' Poppy could hear Barbara tapping rapidly on a computer. he?' Poppy could hear Barbara tapping rapidly on a computer.

'It's a she, actually.'

'Sorry, she she.' Now she sounded as if she was opening a giant-sized packet of crisps. 'Do you think you're about ready to return to the real world, Poppy? After all, it's been what more than two years?'

'Something like that. And yes, I do think I'm ready. I've got a nanny now you see, so-'

'Great, great. Well, come in and see us. Soon. Bring some baby piccies.'

'Oh yes, I will. I've got some lovely ones of her on the slide. She looks-'

'Ah. Bless. Sweet.' Barbara sounded as interested as if Poppy had tried to tell her about last night's dream.