by Jenny Colgan
‘So . . . your husband?’
He was still speaking.
‘Not my husband. My ex-boyfriend.’ She sighed, snapping back to reality. Oh God. Jaz. ‘He wants me to move back to London.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘I said I couldn’t,’ she added hastily. ‘You know. Well. Until Nina’s back.’
‘And then . . . ?’
He reminded himself he was disappointed simply because she was the best au pair they’d ever had. The children would miss her, he told himself.
Zoe shrugged. ‘They’ll be back at school by then . . . I . . .’
She sighed.
‘Can I not think about it right now?’
‘Of course,’ said Ramsay. ‘I don’t think we could handle a Nanny Eight.’
She smiled. Of course she was just the nanny to him. Of course she was. She was just an employee. She was Mrs MacGlone, give or take forty years.
She’s a member of staff, Ramsay was telling himself. She works here. Au pairs come and go, of course.
As one they tipped their coffees into their mouths and downed them.
‘Right!’ said Zoe, trying to be breezy and preparing to jump up. ‘Time for . . .’
But just then came a set of headlights careering on the gravel and the sound of a car screeching to a halt.
Chapter Twenty-three
There was a loud banging at the back door, but whoever was knocking didn’t wait for it to be answered and instead stumbled straight in. Zoe and Ramsay both jumped up in a way that looked rather guilty. Standing in front of them, the lights of the car still on behind her, music blaring out of it and the engine running, was Larissa.
Zoe noticed two things straightaway: that she looked absolutely beautiful – she was wearing a tight cerise dress, necklace and, OMG, was that a tiara set in her tightly coiled blonde hair?
And secondly, she was clearly very, very, very drunk. She was wobbling precariously in heels on the flagstone floor.
‘Darling?’ she said. She looked dizzy and sad. ‘Darling?’
Ramsay started forwards.
‘Oh crap,’ he said. ‘Oh, Larissa. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I totally forgot.’
‘I’ve been there . . .’ she said, slurring. ‘I’ve been there . . . with all those horrible men making remarks . . . making remarks about you, Ramsay. And me.’
She sniffed dramatically.
‘Do you want some tea?’ said Zoe quickly. ‘Or a glass of water?’
Larissa turned round as if she’d noticed Zoe for the first time, as indeed she had.
‘Oh!’she said, her voice cracking. ‘Oh. So this is how it is.’
‘This isn’t how anything is!’ said Zoe.
‘Larissa, sweetie, calm down. Come on, let me drive you home,’ said Ramsay.
She looked at him, mascara running down her face.
‘I was . . . I tried so hard with you, Shackleton Ramsay Urquart,’ she said very, very loudly.
‘Oh, there it is,’ said Zoe. ‘Seriously, why make Shackleton have it? I’m sure he’s got a nice middle name.’
‘Sssh,’ Ramsay was saying. ‘Come on, sweetie, I’ll take you home.’
‘I tried so hard. I was nice to your horrible fucking kids. I come round here all the time. I call you, I take you out, I . . . I . . . Are you fucking her?’
‘What?’ said Ramsay. ‘Come on. I’m taking you home.’
‘Fucking the au pair! Of course! Don’t tell me – she used to be a nun and she plays the guitar.’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m taking you home right now.’
Zoe was bright red and made to get out of there.
‘Don’t you move!’ shouted Larissa. ‘Get me a whisky!’
‘She’s not the help,’ said Ramsay.
‘I can speak for myself, thank you,’ said Zoe, flaring up.
‘Of course she’s the fucking help!’ said Larissa. ‘You’re banging the help. Always did fuck down, didn’t we, darling?’
It was as if she’d torn off a mask. Everything was coming tumbling out.
‘You’re drunk,’ said Ramsay. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’
Zoe privately thought rather the opposite; that this was what she had wanted to say for a long time.
‘Larissa. Please. Let me drive you home.’
‘How on earth will you have the energy after spending all evening fucking the au pair?’
‘I’m off,’ said Zoe, absolutely puce now. Ramsay shot her a pained look but she ignored it.
‘I had to sit there . . . everyone asking after you . . . everyone looking pityingly at me. At me! I forgot to tell them you prefer poor little girls . . .’
Zoe got up and headed for the kitchen door. Standing there were all four of the children. Even the great house couldn’t block out the screaming.
‘Oh great,’ said Zoe. ‘Come on, you guys, let’s get back to bed. It’s nothing.’
‘NOTHING?’ screamed Larissa. ‘Ha! Meet your new mother, children. There she is. You think she’s the nanny, but no. She’s moving in! And doing your dad. Hope you enjoy it, nanny! It’s the one thing he’s good for.’
Zoe stiffened, but didn’t turn around. The children’s faces were stricken.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Come. Come with me. Now. Shackleton, help me. Listen. It’s okay. Sometimes grown-ups drink too much alcohol and say silly things they don’t mean.’
Now Larissa was singing ‘Here comes the bride’ in a high voice.
‘Make her absolutely stop,’ said Patrick.
Ramsay put his hand out to take Larissa outside.
‘DON’T YOU TOUCH ME!’ she screamed. ‘DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TREAT ME LIKE THE FIRST ONE.’
At this, Zoe pulled the children out of the kitchen and slammed the door.
Chapter Twenty-four
Zoe was shaking with fury as she dragged Patrick and a tear-stricken Hari away, and Shackleton gently led his sister up the stairs. From behind them came Larissa’s screeching, followed by Ramsay’s quiet, murmured tones. Eventually, at last, the car drove out into the night.
Zoe ushered everyone into Patrick’s room and sat them all down on the beds, then went to the sink and drank a glass of water down in one gulp, trying to get hold of herself.
That Larissa could behave like that in front of Ramsay’s children – in front of her own child – Zoe was so furious she wanted to scream, throw things, hit stuff. Obviously the woman was upset and drunk and dejected but even so. Even so. Who could do that in front of children, drunk or sober?
It took many deep breaths and was with an exceptional effort of will that she managed finally to turn around to a row of worried and upset children. She didn’t want to tell them they’d been right in their analysis all along.
‘Now,’ she said, feeling her heart racing. ‘Sometimes adults . . . drink too much . . . and behave in ways that . . . well. Aren’t ideal. And in this case, Larissa was . . . very tired. And got the wrong end of the stick. And said some things I’m sure she didn’t mean, that definitely aren’t true and I’m sure she’ll feel awful about them in the morning. And that,’ she added with a flourish, ‘is why you shouldn’t ever drink.’
They stared at her, except for Mary, who was staring out the window.
‘I think,’ said Patrick eventually, breaking the silence, ‘she absolutely does not like you.’
‘Well, not everyone likes everyone,’ said Zoe automatically. ‘And that’s okay.’
She went and knelt down by Mary. ‘Darling. I know you understood some of those words. You know it’s not true, don’t you? Larissa was just being . . . highly strung.’
Mary’s face was icy.
‘She wants to marry Daddy. But she can’t, because you’re going to marry him.’
‘Oooh!’ said Patrick.
‘No!’ said Zoe. ‘Jesus! No! That’s not it at all. I promise.’
Mary shook her head.
‘It’
s true! It’s true! I saw you!’
Zoe blanched with guilt. Saw what? There was nothing to see, there had been nothing, nothing . . .
‘At the Samhain! I saw you hugging!’
Mary blinked. Oh Christ.
‘We were dancing, Mary. For two seconds. That was all! Nothing . . . nothing like what you think.’
But her face was bright red because it hadn’t been nothing to Zoe, and Mary, her dark eyes burning into Zoe’s face, knew it.
‘YOU’RE LYING!’ screamed the girl. ‘YOU’RE LYING! EVERYONE LIES TO ME! EVERYONE LIES!’
And she stood up and charged out of the room.
Part Four
‘The ravens are gathering,’ the Beefeater told them, pounding his pike on the turret floor. ‘They’re getting ready to fly. And when they do, they shall turn the sky black and the river red and the stones will crumble and the earth will crack and weep for all who are lost. So. Who would like a Tower Bridge tea towel to take home?’
Wallace stared at him. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I said, “Who would like a Tower Bridge tea towel to take home ?”’
‘Me!’ said Francis loudly.
From Up on the Rooftops
Chapter One
It took for ever to settle the boys, and Zoe knew she had to get to Mary. She calmed them, told them it was just an upset lady talking and eventually agreed to let Hari sleep in Patrick’s room, just this once. The boys got into the same bed and she stroked their heads.
‘It’s not true,’ she whispered. ‘Go to sleep.’
Shackleton had slouched off and Zoe was worried about him; he kept things so bundled up. But she had to deal with Mary.
‘Go away,’ was the answer to her knock. ‘GO AWAY!’
‘I just want to talk to you.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you. Ever. EVER.’
Zoe went and grabbed a large blanket from a chair at the end of the hallway.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to sit here until you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere, Mary. I’m here for you.’
‘I hate you!’
‘That’s fine too.’
Unfortunately, a long emotional day had taken its toll, and lying on some surprisingly comfortable cushions from the sofa on the long landing, Zoe found herself without any fight left in her, the events of the day too huge and stressful to take in all at once. When Zoe had a small problem, she could lie awake and worry about it for hours. Here, with a big one, she was too overwhelmed, and sleep overwhelmed her.
Ramsay, arriving back two hours later, having had an entirely unsatisfactory drive back to Larissa’s during which he had planned on telling her a few home truths and instead had had to put up with Larissa refusing to get in the passenger seat, then, when he’d basically had to lift her in, she’d fallen immediately asleep with heavy snores. He had covered up the beautiful dress with his big coat, and had driven the deserted country lanes in complete silence, seething and upset, not even realising how fast he was going until he almost killed a deer and realised he was likely to kill Larissa and himself and leave the children in an even worse state than they were in now, and so he had pulled over and given himself ten minutes to calm himself down.
He finally deposited her at Lochdown Manor where, to his horror, several of her loathsome posh hunting, shooting and fishing friends were still up, killing a bottle of whisky. They had been his crowd too, once upon a time, and they were delighted to see him and seemed to find Larissa’s little interlude absolutely hilarious.
‘Oh Christ, knew you were in for it, Rammy boy,’ said Crawfs. ‘She was fuming all evening.’
‘Remember when she slut-dropped with the waiter to make you jealous? And you weren’t even there?’
‘Christ, she was a mess.’
Ramsay realised he was at severe risk of feeling sorry for Larissa and so took her upstairs, took off her shoes, if not her tights, and put her to bed in the vast Laura Ashley bedroom he had come to know on nights when he had felt so lonely he couldn’t stand it one second more. He had thought she was so sweet.
He filled a large glass of water and put it next to her and, as he turned his head to look at her blonde head one last time, shook his head. He had the worst taste in women. The worst. No more. He was done with it.
The boys ragged him out of the house and he took her car home. She could sort it out later. He sped back to The Beeches, along the dark side of the loch, the setting moon illuminating long wakes across the chop, the depths as mysterious as ever. The weather was getting up. It looked like their run of crisp clear autumn days was coming to an end. Storms were forecast, although the only forecast you ever needed around here was ‘changeable’.
He was staggering with tiredness by the time he got back to the house. Zoe would, he assumed, leave in the morning. She had said she was going home. This would do it.
Oh God, what a mess. What a bloody mess, the lot of it. It was four in the morning. He might as well try and get a little sleep.
He was astounded to find Zoe lying sentinel in front of his daughter’s room. He realised that he had been absurd; his first thought had been that she would leave. Her first thought was for his only daughter.
He looked in on Mary. She was lying there breathing steadily in a way that seemed slightly suspicious to him so he said her name very quietly, but she didn’t answer, and after a moment or two went up to the bed, crouched down and kissed her on the forehead.
‘I love you,’ he said quietly.
* * *
Mary lay as quietly as she could in the bed. She knew it. He had proven it. He was apologising to her. He loved her. She tried to keep her eyes still so the tears didn’t leak out on to the pillow.
* * *
Ramsay almost tripped over Zoe on his way out of the room. Her face was so open in sleep, it felt intrusive to stare at her too closely. His hand went up to stroke her hair, then he grabbed it back again. Enough. Enough bloody trouble.
She was the second sleeping woman he left that evening. His feelings towards them were very different.
Chapter Two
At first, when she woke, Zoe didn’t know where she was, only that she was freezing and upset and felt absolutely horrible.
Secondly, she realised that she was lying on the floor, and it was morning, and rain was hitting the windows. All of this was awful. Oh God. What had happened?
Gradually the events of the preceding day came back to her, and she sat up in the long corridor, groaning.
Oh God! She hadn’t meant to fall asleep! She was meant to be checking on Mary! Oh God! She leapt up, all her senses on fire. Oh Christ. Was there an adult in her life who didn’t let this child down? She knocked, and on getting no answer felt icy water plunge through her veins.
‘Mary? Mary?’
She rattled the door, which opened. The room was empty; the window was open. A freezing gusty wet wind blew in.
She’s downstairs getting breakfast, Zoe told herself. She’s just downstairs with Hari, getting breakfast.
The idea of Mary helping Hari out with anything was profoundly unlikely, but she clung to it regardless and tore down the stairs.
The kitchen was empty. Everyone, it seemed, was having a long lie-in after their dramatic late night. The two little coffee cups were still sitting by the sink. Zoe stared at them as if she couldn’t work out what on earth they were. It felt like months ago.
‘HARI!’ she hollered, then tore up the stairs.
‘Patrick? Have you seen Hari? PATRICK?!’
Her voice now had a tone of panic in it. The little boy came to the door, wiping his eyes. He glanced back at the now empty beds.
‘I have absolutely not seen Hari, Nanny Seven,’ he said.
‘Christ,’ said Zoe, trying not to panic the little boy. ‘Where is . . . Hari? HARI!’
She ran up to the servants’ quarters, banged open every single door, little identical rows of metal beds one after the other, but no Hari. He always, be
at a rhythm in her heart, came when called.
Nothing.
She tore back down again. By this time Mrs MacGlone had arrived, and Ramsay was downstairs.
‘Mrs MacGlone! Coming in . . . have you seen Hari? He’s not here!’
‘Have you checked everywhere?’ said Mrs MacGlone. ‘I mean, there are a lot of rooms.’
‘Yes!’
‘All the cupboards? You’re sure he’s not playing hide and seek?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘He can’t. We don’t play that game.’ Her voice shook out to a sob ‘He can’t shout out when he’s found.’
‘I’ll check the other rooms,’ said Mrs MacGlone.
‘Well, do it then,’ said Zoe, a tightly coiled wire. ‘And Mary too.’
Mrs MacGlone frowned as Zoe ran to the back door and threw it open. The wind blew in and tried to slam the door back in their faces. There was Mrs MacGlone’s tread on the flattened grass – and, just visible, on the frosted grass across the lawn – two more sets of footprints.
‘She’s taken him,’ said Zoe, going white.
‘What?’
He was there so suddenly, so utterly, filling the doorway, pulling on jeans and an old fisherman’s sweater over a striped pyjama shirt that looked as old as the house.
‘Where is he?’
‘Mary . . . Mary’s taken Hari . . .’
Ramsay swore.
‘Are you sure? They haven’t just . . . gone out to play together?’
The wind roared through the trees.
‘That . . . that is not really the kind of thing they do,’ said Zoe through chattering teeth.