‘He also told me to give you a message,’ Rosie continued. ‘He said he’d see you at Lavender’s party and that he’d bring the vegan cheesecake.’
•
What did this mean? How did Tommy even find out who I was and where I worked? And why was he sending me cryptic messages?
I wondered whether Rosie might be right, Was he flirting with me? I needed a man’s opinion, so after I hung up the phone I headed straight to Fernando’s make-up trailer in the courtyard. I knew Alysha was in a meeting with the party planner, which meant that Fernando would have time to deconstruct my love life for me.
When I knocked on the metal door of the make-up trailer and let myself in, I found my closest confidant sitting in a director’s chair, with a blow-up rubber ring underneath him as a cushion.
‘What on earth are you sitting on?’ I choked with laughter. ‘Is that Harlow’s life-preserver from her Lifeguard Barbie costume?’
Fernando wiggled his bum and then winced. ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, missy. I had an intimate part of my anatomy bleached this morning and it’s a little bit tender to sit on.’
I opened my mouth to ask more questions and then thought better of it. I didn’t want to be traumatised by the details and, knowing Fernando, he’d be only too happy to show and tell the area in question. I have to admit that it was hard to take his advice about my love life seriously when he was poised upon his inflatable throne, which let out squeaks every time he readjusted, like a whoopee cushion. Regardless, Fernando was the closest thing to a life coach I had, and so I filled him in about Tommy, our Whole Foods meeting and Rosie’s Chinese whisper.
‘I don’t know why it’s freaked me out so much,’ I moaned, slumping into the make-up chair opposite Fernando and tilting it back so I could stare at the poster of David Beckham he’d stuck to the ceiling of the trailer. ‘I don’t even know the guy. But just lately I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to actually have a boyfriend, even though I know it can’t happen.’
When I chose this career path I had to make a conscious choice to put my love life on hold indefinitely. I’ve had crushes over the years, usually on members of my boss’s entourage, from security men to pool guys. I’ve only ever flirted from a safe distance, though, and it’s never led to anything substantial. Instead I rely on my guy friends like Will and Fernando to give my life some male attitude when I need it.
‘What do you want me to tell you, sugar lips?’ asked Fernando, taking a slug of aloe vera juice from a bottle. ‘I may not be a nanny—thank god—but I spend enough time around you girls to know that dealing with loneliness is just part of your profession.’
I hated to admit that he was right. When you’re a nanny, it’s almost like being a single mother. There is no other adult willing to cover your duties so you can go out socialising for a night. I’m not complaining, I’m just explaining—it’s a widely acknowledged downside of the job. It’s a cliché, but the children I care for have to come first.
When I go for a job interview, the most common question I’m asked by prospective employers is ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ Every smart nanny will answer no whether or not they’re single, because it’s what the parent wants to hear. They don’t want you to be in a relationship, because they think you’re more likely to get homesick. You need to be focused on their children, not crying into your pillow or on the phone to your boyfriend.
It may sound unbelievable, but my relationship status is actually written into most of my contracts. If you check my file with the Applebys there will be a line in there stating, ‘The employee certifies that she is single at the start of her employment.’ They don’t have the power to stop you from falling in love once you accept the position, but most clients rely on the fact that it’s extremely unlikely to happen. Where would we find the time? Anyway, it’s not like I’m starved for affection. I get plenty of love from the children, and I have little time to feel lonely.
‘You and Alysha should bond over your abstinence,’ teased Fernando. ‘How long has it been since Sir Cam was last home? Six or seven months? I swear he only pops back once a year when he wants to impregnate her.’
‘Shhhhh!’ I hissed, glancing around the trailer as if my boss might Apparate in the corner like Voldemort. He waved his hands in a ‘Who cares?’ gesture. I sometimes forget how uncensored and fearless Fernando can be.
‘You know, Lindsay, sweetie—in all seriousness, you should think about online dating or something,’ he continued, oblivious to my scowl as he began painting his toenails with Chanel iridescent blue varnish. ‘I know none of you nannies have time for a full-blown relationship because you’re a bunch of martyrs. But that doesn’t mean you can’t casually date, does it? What about your Aussie hunk, Will? A fly-in-fly-out boyfriend could be just what you need.’
At the mention of Will I felt my lunch glug in my stomach, although I wasn’t sure why he had such an unsettling effect on me. I focused my ill-feelings at Fernando.
‘And how exactly would I have even a part-time relationship?’ I asked. ‘It would be a logistical nightmare. I can’t spend a night away from this house in case one of the children needs me.’
Fernando pulled a face. ‘Okay, I hear ya,’ he conceded. ‘It’s not like you could bring a guy back here. Can you imagine the TV cameras catching the guy of your dreams sneaking in or out? Not to mention the fact that at least one of the kids seems to crawl into your bed every night.’ We both let the reality of this sink in. ‘Sorry, my darling, I don’t know what else to tell you. That is exactly why I’m a superstar beautician and not a superstar nanny. I’d choose a romp over a rug rat any day, although I do admire and slightly pity your willpower. My bed is an over-eighteens zone for good reason.’
We both spent a few wistful moments staring up at David Beckham’s six-pack. Then there was a bang on the trailer door and a male voice hollered, ‘We start shooting in five. Alysha says can you bring the tear spray.’
Fernando reached for a clipboard with a schedule attached to it and ran his finger along the grid. ‘I better run, Linds. They’re shooting a “reunion” between Alysha and her sister, which is absolutely hilarious seeing as she’s an only child.’
As I said goodbye Fernando gave me a smacker of a kiss on the lips and slapped my bum. It was the most action I’d had in a year. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better answers, gorge,’ he exclaimed. ‘It just looks like you’re set for spinsterhood—either that or a career change. It is your choice to be here, after all.’
•
As I got in to bed that evening I half closed my eyes and stared at the empty pillow beside mine, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a boyfriend there looking back at me.
I couldn’t remember the last time my bed companion didn’t a) demand a bedtime story, b) wet the bed, or c) bring a teddy bear to cramp my personal space even further. As a nanny, would I always be the big spoon, wrapped around a teaspoon? It seemed very likely.
I’ve never admitted this to anybody, but sometimes I feel physically sick from homesickness. I’ve actually vomited from feeling so disconnected and disorientated. It’s usually far worse when I’m away travelling with a family, as I’m thrown off balance by the lack of sleep, strange diet and hot climates.
I can’t remember the last time I cried—probably because I spend so much time mopping up crocodile tears—but I have to find a way to let my emotions out somehow.
My homesickness seems to be getting worse as I get older. I don’t remember feeling as lonely when I was working for Steven Stavros, but that’s probably because he treated me like family. With power-hungry people like Alysha, you always feel like you’re an outsider, which can be hard at times. I’ve learnt little tricks, over the years, for dealing with homesickness. I gravitate towards anyone with an Australian accent, because listening to anyone say ‘G’day, mate’ instantly makes me feel better. I also don’t put up any photographs of my family because it makes me maudlin.
It’
s ironic, because I never have a moment to myself, but I’ve felt a constant emptiness inside me for about a decade.
That’s why the Tommy situation had left me so unnerved. How could I even contemplate a relationship, even if an opportunity did present itself, especially if the man in question was a celebrity? With my insane work hours, we would probably spend more time apart than we would do together. I have enough people to miss without adding a boyfriend to the equation.
As I pondered the impossibility of the situation, my bedroom door creaked open and a tiny silhouette stepped into the light. It was Lavender, dressed in white pyjamas and a pink tutu, trailing her comfort blanket, which was actually a three-hundred-dollar Versace bath towel. ‘Lindeeee, I can’t sleep,’ she whispered. ‘Will you tell me a story? My brain feels too busy.’
It was nearly midnight but we were both wide awake, so I followed her back into her bedroom. I shot an evil look at the reality television cameras stationed above Lavender’s beds. I had tried to stop them installing cameras in the kids’ rooms but the producers insisted they needed a ‘360 degree view’ of the mansion.
We crawled under the covers together, and Lavender pressed her little warm feet against my legs, which instantly brought both of us comfort. The book she’d chosen was Robin Hood. It was the Disney Version where Robin is a fox and Little John is a bear, and was currently her favourite story.
As I flicked through the pages, Lavender stopped me at a picture of Prince John, with a scowl so wide that it dislodged his crown. She pointed at his face and asked. ‘Lindsay, why is he so grumpy when he has all of the money?’
I decided to turn it into a teaching moment. ‘He’s unhappy because his friends have left him,’ I explained. ‘He’s sad because he’s lonely. You see, sweetheart, money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t buy you love.’
Lavender stared at me for a moment and picked her nose while she considered my comment. ‘But that’s not true, Lindsay,’ she said eventually, ‘Mommy pays you to love us, doesn’t she?’
Sometimes kids have an amazing ability to see the truth in a situation. They also teach you things about your world that you’d rather not notice.
10
I’ll tell you a secret. I can be just a little bit clumsy. If there’s an opportunity to trip, fall or make a fool of myself, I’ll probably do it. Don’t get me wrong, my clumsiness never puts the children I care for in harm’s way, but it does sometimes mean they end up laughing at me when I trip over my own feet.
You can imagine the chaos when I worked for the owner of a fast food chain who insisted that I skate around the house, wearing trainers with wheels in the soles, like all of the waitresses did in his restaurants. I have no idea how I lasted six months with no broken bones, although there was a lot of broken crockery. I used to get motion sickness after an entire day of rolling around.
On another occasion I ripped my leggings while playing Lego with the five-year-old son of a New York fashion designer. I was clambering up off the floor when I heard the tell-tale sound of fabric tearing. The little boy later drew me a picture to cheer me up—a perfect representation of the accident, complete with the gaping hole across my bottom and my purple spotty undies showing. I had to convince him not to bring the picture to school the next day for show-and-tell.
That hasn’t been my only clothing catastrophe. I once destroyed a five-year-old girl’s entire designer wardrobe by putting her delicates in the tumble dryer and shrinking them. She was delighted, as she ended up with the best-dressed dolls and teddies in town. Luckily her mum didn’t even notice; I just called her stylist and ordered a new capsule wardrobe—one of every item, in every designer, in every colour.
Most of these incidents happened at the beginning of my career and I like to think I’ve got better since then, or at least better at covering my tracks. I try not to beat myself up about these minor accidents. It’s not like I ever put a child in danger and I’m always telling the children they should embrace being ‘flawsome’.
However, getting stuck in a children’s playhouse was a feat of clumsiness even by my standards. Especially as it happened at Lavender’s birthday party, in front of a fleet of yummy mummies, a film crew, and my crush.
•
I should have known the day was doomed when Fernando shook me awake at 4 a.m. ‘Code red,’ he hissed in my ear, ‘Alysha is already up and on the warpath. You better get up fast and do damage control.’
I sprang out of bed. I make it a rule that I’m always up and dressed before my boss and especially before the children. This is not usually hard with Alysha, who’s a notorious late-riser, but I should have guessed that she’d be up early on party day. I kicked myself for not pulling an all-nighter. I’d been awake until 2 a.m. anyway, cutting bangs into the hair of fifty Barbies with a pair of nail scissors. Alysha had decided the night before that she wanted each guest to be given a Barbie that looked like Lavender to take home. Unfortunately my fringe-cutting skills got progressively worse as the night got later, so some of them looked more like badly stuffed scarecrows, with hair sticking out at strange angles like tufts of straw.
‘What’s her majesty on about now?’ I asked Fernando, as I yanked my hair into a ponytail and tried to smooth the pillow creases out of my cheeks. My best friend raised his eyebrows. ‘Let’s just say the apology flowers have started arriving,’ he said. ‘We’re at six bouquets so far and another florists’ truck just pulled in to the driveway.’
I inwardly groaned, because I knew exactly what that meant. Sir Cameron, who’d sworn that he would be there for the party, wasn’t coming. It was the same on every special occasion, whether it was a birthday, their wedding anniversary or even Christmas. Sir Cameron would promise that he’d make it, his assistant would forward his travel itinerary and then, at the very last minute, an emergency would occur on set. ‘I just have to stay and deal with this. The fate of the movie depends on it. Just tell the children that my artistic integrity is at stake.’
It looked like Lavender’s party would be missing one important guest, although it would probably come as no surprise to the birthday girl. The previous week she’d drawn a ‘family portrait’ at school, which included stick figures of her mummy, five sisters, her favourite teacher and me. ‘Where’s Daddy?’ I asked her. She pointed off the edge of the table and said, ‘He’s over there somewhere where we can never see him.’
Sir Cameron’s apology would be followed by a fleet of florists’ trucks, bringing bouquet after bouquet of Alysha’s favourite lilies. I wish that he would pick a more imaginative way to make amends because it was such a waste: Alysha ordered the housekeeper to throw the lilies straight into the compost bin. I had started to associate the smell of flowers with disappointment and fury.
‘I’ve got to run,’ exclaimed Fernando. ‘Alysha’s been crying all night. I’m going to need to use all the tricks in my make-up bag to cover those puffy eyes.’
This was good news for me, as it meant Alysha would be trapped in Fernando’s chair and not under my feet. I had a busy morning ahead, with six children to bath, dress as Barbies and take for manicures, including baby Chanel.
‘Oh, and wait until you see what Daddy has sent to Lavender as an apology,’ added Fernando sarcastically. ‘It’s in the garden. You won’t be able to miss it.’ When Sir Cameron missed Cherry’s christening he’d sent a sing-a-gram as an apology. However, this wasn’t just any sing-a-gram, it was the leading lady from Les Mis, who suddenly appeared at the church and burst into a rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’, then bowed and hopped back into a taxi. Sir Cameron didn’t know the meaning of understated, and I hated the way he thought he could buy his way out of people’s bad books.
I made my way into the playroom, which had a balcony overlooking the garden, so that I could see what Fernando was talking about. It wasn’t yet 5 a.m., so it was still dark, but the entire lawn was awash with pink spotlights that had been especially installed for the party. Under their glare, a team of seven constr
uction workers was busy building what appeared to be a small cottage next to the swimming pool, which would later be filled with pink fluffy bubbles.
I recognised the logo on the crates stacked next to the construction. It was a Golden Door Playhouse—the kind that Tom Cruise had apparently bought Suri for Christmas. I’d logged on to the company’s website out of curiosity, so I knew even their most basic playhouse cost $24,000. You were meant to get planning permission before erecting one, as it was basically the size of a granny flat. It had five rooms, including a living room, a study and a ‘media room’ equipped with a PlayStation 4 and a Blu-ray player. It came with electricity, running water and air-conditioning, and the kitchen had candy dispensers and a slushie machine. There was also the option of a vanity room with a manicure station, and a ‘trophy room’ where the child could display all of her awards and sporting accolades. From the size of the construction, it appeared that Sir Cameron had told them not to spare any expense.
‘What are you looking at, Lindsay?’ The birthday girl had wandered up behind me, rubbing her eyes and looking adorable in a pair of Burberry checked pyjamas.
I forced myself to sound excited. ‘Look at the wonderful present that Daddy has sent you, Lavender.’ She peered through the slats of the balcony, took one look at the men hammering below us, then turned and ran out of the playroom. This is exactly what I suspected would happen.
I finally found Lavender in my bedroom, hiding under my doona. She seemed to think of my bedroom as her safe place. Whenever she was upset about something it’s where I would find her. Often, if her mum was in a temper because she’d lost an audition or her favourite lipstick shade had been discontinued, I’d come in to my bedroom and hear a little sniff from underneath my bed or inside my wardrobe. I keep a packet of Hershey’s Kisses in my room to coax Lavender out.
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