The Nanny Part 1

The Nanny.

MELISSA NATHAN.

To Joshua, Eliana, and, of course, Avital, my Tallulah.

In memory of Allan Saffron.

Prologue.

In Highgate, north London, Vanessa Fitzgerald, accounts manager at Gibson, Adams and Bead Advertising Agency and mother of three, stared at her new nanny, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Leaving?" she repeated. "You mean...a holiday?"

"No," said Francesca slowly and firmly. "I meeen leeving."

"I think she means leeeeving, dear," said Vanessa's husband, d.i.c.k.

"I wunt to...erm, 'ow yoo saiy? Trrabel," explained Francesca. There was a long pause. "Ze glawb," she clarified.

Vanessa scrunched up her face in concentration. "You want to...?" She trailed off.

"Trrabel ze glawb," repeated d.i.c.k, finis.h.i.+ng his whiskey. "It's very simple, darling."

"d.i.c.k, you are not helping," said Vanessa. "This isn't funny."

"It sounds funny."

"But it's not."

"Righty-ho."

Vanessa returned her attention to Francesca.

"You want to travel the globe? The world?" she tried.

"Yais!" cried Francesca excitedly.

There was a pause.

"And you can't take the children with you?" asked Vanessa.

Francesca frowned at her boss.

"Now who's not being funny," said d.i.c.k, putting his tumbler in the sink.

"Well who's going to look after them then?" shouted Vanessa suddenly. "And don't leave that in the sink-put it in the sodding dishwasher!"

d.i.c.k turned slowly to his wife.

"I can't imagine why our nannies keep leaving," he said calmly, placing the tumbler in the dishwasher with elaborate care. "Maybe they don't like being shouted and sworn at as much as I do."

Vanessa shot d.i.c.k a look that hit him where it hurt. Straight between the eyes. His was a small brain, but she still knew how to hit it in a single go.

"Or maybe," she told him, "they're just sick of putting your tumblers in the dishwasher for you."

Francesca coughed lightly. d.i.c.k and Vanessa ignored her. She'd just handed in her notice, they didn't have to be nice to her anymore.

"It will be me who has to find a temporary nanny," Vanessa told her husband, "at the same time as interviewing for full-time nannies at the same time as keeping down my own job-sorry, career-because you're too busy poncing around in that b.l.o.o.d.y excuse for a shop."

"I happen to work in that shop six days a week-"

"You drink latte and scratch your b.a.l.l.s six days a week, and you know it."

d.i.c.k smiled at his wife and changed the subject. Vanessa turned away from him and concentrated on the matter at hand-to keep breathing.

G.o.d, she'd thought today had been bad enough. First the tube strike, then that b.a.s.t.a.r.d new client rejecting their latest offering because it "just didn't sing to him," and then her PA announcing that the tight abdominal bulge she'd pa.s.sed off thus far as a bad case of lactose intolerance, was in fact a baby, due in four months' time.

The only thing that had kept Vanessa going all day had been the thought of coming home to some peace and quiet, the children all tucked up neatly in bed, some takeout-unless the nanny had happened to leave something from lunch-some vino and a video of last night's EastEnders. Instead, she'd come home to a nanny who wanted to trrabel ze sodding glawb.

She took a gulp of Pinot Grigio. To help with the breathing.

"Okay, Francesca, thanks for letting us know," she heard d.i.c.k say, as if Francesca had just mentioned that one of the children had lost a sock. Francesca left the kitchen. d.i.c.k spoke first, quietly, putting his arm round his wife's shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "You didn't even like her."

Vanessa whined, but d.i.c.k squeezed her tighter.

"You know it's true," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "She lost Tallulah the other day."

Vanessa leaned her head on his shoulder, exhausted.

"She found her again," she mumbled into his sweater.

d.i.c.k snorted and put his arms round her, his hands resting gently on the curve of her back. "She can't even speak the language properly."

"Neither can the children," pointed out his wife, "but I don't want them to leave. Not for ages."

"Good," said d.i.c.k. "Neither do I. Let's have s.e.x."

Vanessa tensed.

"I've got a better idea," she said. "Let's find a new nanny, then have s.e.x."

d.i.c.k sighed. He knew better than anyone that Vanessa was perfectly capable of keeping to her word if there was a principle involved.

"How long will it take?" he asked.

Vanessa shrugged. "Depends on how much we're willing to pay."

"Well that's easy then," said d.i.c.k. "Let's pay gold dust."

They smiled at each other. It was a deal. After all these years, d.i.c.k Fitzgerald knew exactly how to seduce his second wife.

Chapter 1.

Jo Green's eyes glazed over as she stared at the half-eaten cake on the table, twenty-three candles now splayed messily around it. How symbolic, she thought. One minute ablaze with light, warmly celebrating life's journey; the next, a crumbling testament to the disappointment and guilt that life's little highs invariably bring. Then she decided she really must stop listening to Travis.

She yawned. With the kitchen lights off, a soporific mood had descended upon them all like a sudden fog.

Her father, top trouser b.u.t.ton undone, rubbed his hand over his stomach in smooth, rhythmic circles, conducting his body's quiet celebratory wind sonata, in several movements.

Jo and her mother exchanged glances.

"In some countries that's a great compliment," said Jo.

Hilda snorted. "Oh he's multilingual, your father."

Bill belched softly again and proceeded to rub his stomach the other way.

"I don't like to stop him," Hilda muttered. "He has so few hobbies." She s.h.i.+fted herself from the table. "Right. Who wants another cuppa?"

"Don't mind if I do," answered Bill.

"I'll make it," said Jo.

"On your birthday?" Hilda's eyes crinkled up in a smile that created so many lines in her flesh it left almost no room for her face. "Don't talk daft."

Bill slowly and carefully smoothed the edge of the tablecloth with his hand, manfully ignoring the female battle of wills being fought around him.

"n.o.body makes coffee cake like your mother," he told Jo, pointing his finger at her.

"You can't have another piece." Hilda switched on the overhead light.

"Oh come on." He blinked. "It's the girl's birthday."

Hilda leaned back against the sideboard, hugging her grey cardigan round her while the kettle boiled.

"Go on then." She sighed.

Bill winked at Jo. "Another slice for the birthday girl?" he asked, wiping the knife clean on the edge of the cake plate.

"A sliver," said Jo. "Thanks."

"And for the chef?"

Hilda swirled hot water round the special-occasion teapot.

"Oh, go on, we might as well finish it off."

Jo watched her parents and when she remembered they could see her, smiled. And then her thought patterns executed a downward swoop of epic proportions. They started high up with Aren't I lucky? before nose-diving without warning into Is this it? Then, with seconds to spare before exploding into a fireball of self-pity, up they arched, regaining their grip on the world with, Ooh. Must return video.

Jo's emotions had been trampolining all day. Her first waking thought as a twenty-three-year-old had been that she had joined the ever-growing group of birthday haters. Until last night, she'd always considered herself one of those lucky types who loved birthdays. She now realized that this was because, up until now, she had been young. Twenty-three, for some reason, signaled the end of an era for her more conspicuously than a Hollywood sound track.

As her emotions continued to yo-yo, with rather more emphasis on the downward than upward "yo," the Green family started their second round of tea and cake in a cosy, yet somewhat reverential, silence.

All too soon normal service was resumed.

"Seeing Shaun and the others tonight?" began her mother.

"Mm."

"Nice lad, that Shaun."

"Mm."

Hilda's concentration was temporarily waylaid by an untidy slice of coffee cake, but before long she was back on track.

"Sheila's a good girl, too."

"Mm."

"Just needs to lose a little weight," added her father, bang on cue.

More cake, more tea.

"Wonder when James'll do the honorable thing and make an honest woman of her," mused Hilda.

"When she's lost a little weight I shouldn't wonder," concluded Bill.

Her parents drained the last of the tea, the predictability of their conversation satisfying them that the earth still spun on its axis, while Jo had a disturbing snap vision of birthday cake hurled against the floral wallpaper.

"Thanks for the cake, Mum," she said quickly, and got up. "I'll be off. See you later."