The Nanny (23 page)

She’s sitting at the kitchen table when I bring the twins back down, her arms folded. I don’t have to be a mind reader to see trouble coming.

Instantly I regret my childish power play. It’s not fair to take out my foul mood on her. And Jenna’s the last person I need to alienate at the moment.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so picky,’ I apologize. ‘It’s just that the twins will be crawling around Olivia’s back garden, and I’d hate it if
they ruined the lovely clothes you bought them. They should be kept for best—’

‘Look, Clare. We need to talk.’

Words you never – as employer or lover – want to hear. I sit warily opposite her.

‘It’s not about the clothes,’ she says quickly.

She hesitates, rubbing the palm of her hand up and down her inner arm as if she’s cold. I’ve noticed it’s something she does when she’s nervous or unsure.

‘I’ve been offered another job,’ she blurts. ‘It’s a lot more money, and the hours would be shorter too. You know how much I love the twins, and I’d hate to
leave you, but . . . well . . .’

She trails off. I simultaneously want to kill her and throw myself at her feet and beg her to stay.

‘I didn’t realize you were looking for another job,’ I say carefully.

‘Oh, I wasn’t. I’m really happy here. It’s just—’

‘Clearly you’re
not
really happy here, if you’re considering leaving.’

She flushes. ‘It’s not that. Something just came up and . . . and, well, I thought I should talk to you about it before I did anything.’

I smooth my hands outwards against the surface of the tabletop. ‘I can’t see why,’ I say evenly. ‘If you want to leave us, there’s nothing I can do to stop
you.’

‘But I don’t!’

‘I’m sorry, Jenna. I don’t quite understand. If you don’t want to leave, why are you telling me you’ve been offered another job?’

‘I’m in so much debt, Clare,’ she pleads. ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to pay it off. I can’t even afford the minimums on my credit cards. I’m
months behind with the rent, and now Jamie and I have split up, he’s refusing to let me break the lease, and I can’t do it unless he agrees because we both signed it
and—’

‘You’ve split up with your boyfriend?’

She nods unhappily.

I sigh. No wonder she’s so upset. At her age, breaking up seems like the end of the world. ‘I didn’t realize. When did
that
happen?’

‘The weekend before last. When I had to take a couple of days off.’

‘Two weeks ago? Where did you stay last weekend?’

‘With Kirsty, at Fran’s.’

‘Oh, Jenna. You could have stayed here. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You’ve had so much else to worry about—’

‘But you’re part of the family, I keep telling you that.’

‘I know, and I really don’t want to leave you, but—’

‘Look, I’m sure we can work something out.’ I rub my eyes wearily. First Craig, and now Jenna. I don’t know how I’m going to afford any of this, but I don’t
seem to have a choice. I can’t lose either of them. Jenna rubs me raw sometimes, and she can be a bit bossy, shoving my nose in my inexperience; but when it comes to babies, she
is
the one who knows best. I’d be lost without her.

Maybe I could pay off her debt for her. It can’t be that much. ‘What do you owe?’

‘About . . . well, about sixteen thousand all together.’

‘Sixteen
thousand
?’

She bites her lip. I’m not surprised she’s embarrassed. How on earth can she have racked up a debt of £16,000? What has she been buying, Picassos?

‘Jenna, who offered you this job?’ I demand. ‘It’s someone you’ve met here, isn’t it? One of my so-called friends – wait. We had that charity meeting
last week. It was one of them, wasn’t it?’

She looks uncomfortable.

‘Who, Jenna?’

‘Olivia,’ Jenna mutters.

‘Olivia Coddington? My
friend
Olivia?’

‘I shouldn’t have said anything . . .’

‘I’m glad you did,’ I say tightly. Once the rest of the committee find out what she’s done, her name will be mud. And if she thinks I’m going to sponsor her
membership of the Hurlingham after this, she’s got another think coming. ‘I don’t know how much she’s offered you, Jenna, but I have to tell you, you’ll earn every
penny. Olivia’s last two nannies haven’t lasted three months between them.’

‘I know. I don’t want to leave you, but I really need the money. Is there . . . could you . . . I hate to ask, but . . .’

More money
. Of course. Jenna already earns more than most of my friends’ nannies, because of the extra work involved in looking after twins. And she’s only been with us a
few months; hardly time for a pay rise.

I need her, of course I do, the last thing I want is to lose my nanny now; but I feel like I’m being held to ransom. If I give in this time, am I going to be facing the same scenario in
another few months?

‘Let me think about it over the weekend,’ I say finally.

I spend the rest of the day at work fretting about nothing else. Maybe I
should
let Jenna go. I can’t afford to match the kind of salary Olivia can offer, and if Jenna’s
heart isn’t in it, I don’t want her looking after my babies.

Perhaps I could take care of them myself, I think wildly. It’d certainly please Marc; and I’ve been surprised how much I’ve missed spending time with them, too. I never
intended to be this sort of mother. Maybe I could give Craig a bit more of the independence he craves, and take on a part-time role myself. Enrol the twins in a nursery. I could juggle things
somehow—

I’d never cope. Who am I fooling? Look how I went to pieces last time.

But they’re older now. In eighteen months, they’ll be ready for nursery school. I don’t want Poppy calling Jenna, or anyone else, Mummy.
I
want to be there for her
first steps, her first word. What’s the point of having children if I’m going to hand over my mothering to someone else?

At the end of a long, difficult day – Craig, bristling with ideas and self-importance, has been in and out of my office every five minutes; and then my Islington manager, Wendy, broke the
news that she’s four months pregnant – I’m relieved to get home, and say goodbye to Jenna for the weekend. I’ve had about as much of staff problems as I can stand for one
week. I’m looking forward to spending a couple of hours simply enjoying my children.

Rowan and Poppy, however, have other ideas. They scream, spit out their food, squirm and cry in the bath, and throw up twice each over their clean babygros. It’s as if they’re
picking up my anxiety and amplifying it a thousandfold. By seven-thirty, they’re bouncing off the walls, and I want to tear my hair out with frustration. What on earth was I thinking? I
can’t do this. I could
never
do this. Motherhood is 99 per cent slog, grind and mind-numbing boredom. It’s not worth going through that for the one moment when they smile at
you or say your name. I’m sorry, it’s just not. I’ll pay Jenna anything she wants if she’ll just stay.

I’m cleaning up a bottle of milk Poppy has thrown against the stove door when Marc gets home. In my rush to mop up the mess, I’ve forgotten to cage Rowan in the playpen; as Marc
enters the kitchen, he grabs hold of the plastic tablecloth and attempts to pull himself upright. A bowl of chocolate mousse – for Fran’s barbecue tomorrow – catapults off the
table and spills all over my cream linen Jigsaw skirt.

‘For God’s sake, Rowan!’ I scream.

‘You don’t have to shout at him,’ Marc says coldly. He picks up his son and soothes him with exaggerated patience. ‘He’s only a baby. He didn’t mean to do
it.’

‘I’ve been dealing with them on my own for the past four hours!’ I cry. ‘I’ve put in a full day at work too, Marc! The last thing I need is to come home and clear
up after these two monsters!’

‘
Monsters
?’

All the frustrations of the day spill over. ‘They’ve been absolute horrors! As soon as I get one settled, the other one starts. It’s a total nightmare—’

‘Can’t you control two small babies for five minutes?’

‘It’s not that easy—’

‘My mother had six children under eight,’ Marc says. ‘
She
managed.’

‘She didn’t work!’

He shrugs. ‘Your choice.’

‘If I didn’t have the company, we’d be on the streets right now,’ I flare.

He pushes his face into mine. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that you
drove
me to take chances? Flaunting how much more money you earn, how successful you are. Too successful to
look after your own children—’

‘You try it!’ I start to sob. ‘It’s impossible.
They’re
impossible. They hate me. They’ve been fine all day with Jenna. It’s
me
they
can’t stand. I’m a terrible mother. I should never have had them. They’d be better off without me.’

I wait for Marc to tell me I’m being ridiculous. Of course I’m a good mother, of course my children love me. I’ve just had a bad day, it’ll be better tomorrow.

My husband levels a cool look at me.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Maybe we would.’

All right, I know. The sugar-water and chocolate biscuits were a mean trick. I do feel a bit bad about it now. The twins were probably bouncing off the walls after I left last
night. But the last thing I need is Clare thinking she can manage without me. I don’t want to have to quit and work for Olivia What’s-her-face. It’s just that I’m
so
fucking broke.
I’ve
got
to find more money somehow. Clare can afford it. If she really wants to.

I knock back my cocktail, wondering where the fuck Kirsty’s got to. I’m starting to feel slightly sick from the heat and the tequila and the smell of sweaty, unwashed bodies. My head
pounds in time with the music. I wish she’d get a move on. She’s supposed to be going to the loo, not having a flipping baby.

To be honest, I shouldn’t have come out tonight. I know she’s only trying to cheer me up because I’ve left Jamie, but I’m really not in the mood to meet anyone new yet. I
still feel really crap about the way things finished. Six years is a long time to be with someone, even if it did totally suck by the end. At least I should’ve had the guts to end it in
person, instead of leaving a pathetic message on the answer-machine. I know Jamie’s been a bit psycho recently, but it was still a shitty thing to do. I don’t really blame him for
changing the locks on me. The trouble is, I’m still paying rent on the flat, and now I’ve got nowhere to stay at weekends. Kirsty’s been great, but I can’t doss on her floor
for ever.

I glance around the heaving club. If I
was
looking for someone new, it wouldn’t be anyone here. I still can’t stop thinking about Xan. Bloody Clare. Why’d she have to
interrupt us the other night? All her ‘we’re friends and equals’ crap. Yeah, sure; until it looks like I might end up her sister-in-law.

You know, she can be a right cow sometimes. Like with that shit yesterday over the twins’ clothes. They looked
great
in those outfits I bought them. She only changed them into
those boring sweatpants so she could get one over on me. She’s always pulling rank when it suits her. Telling me what the twins can and can’t drink, what they can and can’t wear,
what time they should go down for their naps. Like, if you’re such a bloody good mother, why are you bothering to employ
me
?

She could easily give me a pay rise if she really wanted to. She’s got tons of money. But no, she has to make me grovel. ‘I’m sorry, Jenna. I don’t quite understand. If
you don’t want to leave, why are you telling me you’ve been offered another job?’ It was really embarrassing having to tell her how much I owe. And then she gets this face on,
like I’m the first person on the planet to max out their credit cards. Everyone’s in debt these days. She’s worse than my mother. I mean, what business is it of hers anyway?

I grope in my bag for my mobile. If Kirsty doesn’t come back soon, I’m out of here—

‘I’ve met these really cute guys,’ Kirsty giggles, emerging from the mass of pulsating bodies. She nods towards a couple of stud muffins who look like they live at the gym.
‘Whaddya think?’

I shrug. They’re OK. Just not my type.

‘Don’t be such a stroppy tart,’ Kirsty hisses. ‘Forget Jamie. He’s a fucking loser.’

If she knew what he’d done to me that night, she’d go round and cut off his balls with a breadknife. But here am I, feeling guilty for dumping him! I don’t even
like
him! It’s not like I’ll miss him. Why am I always so bloody
feeble
?

It’s never going to happen with Xan. Seriously, what do we have in common? My life sucks, but I’m not that fucking sad. He’s only out for one thing; but I’ve never slept
around, and I’m not starting now. Clare doesn’t know how lucky she’s got it, going home to a regular shag every night. Everyone bitches about how miserable it is to be married,
but they should try single for a change.

Kirsty shoves a Bacardi Breezer in my hand. ‘Here. Have another drink.’

‘I don’t want another drink.’

‘Would you lighten up already?’