The Au Pair

by Janey Fraser

  ‘But she doesn’t like William,’ continued Paula. ‘He calls her ’Ant’ and keeps asking if she’s really an insect, which gets her really mad. He went into her room the other day. Absolutely disgusting! The bed was unmade. There were clothes all over the floor. Everything stank of sweat and …’

  Her voice tailed off as the back door opened. Uh-oh. From the look on the new girl’s face, her English, not to mention her hearing, might just be better than her hostess gave her credit for.

  ‘Your son venture into ma chambre?’ repeated Antoinette, chewing yellow gum at the same time as speaking. ‘My room is Pry Vate! It says so in the book that the agency gave me.’ As if on cue, she whipped out a leaflet and handed it to Jilly as though she was the judge in all this. ‘Look!’ she repeated.

  Jilly, thanks to her pre-children days in HR where she’d been used to scanning staff contracts, was a quick reader. It did indeed say that an au pair was entitled to her own room and that this should be considered private – or ‘Pry Vate’ as Antoinette had put it. There were also a host of other regulations which, so it seemed, were heavily weighted in favour of the au pair rather than the employer.

  Paula’s face, meanwhile, had gone rather red. ‘I’m sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘I actually asked William to go in. I thought the window needed opening to let in some air.’

  ‘Hair?’ Antoinette shivered, pulling her pink raincoat around her as though to protect herself from interfering Englishwomen and nippy summer weather. ‘There is too much frizzing hair in your country.’ Her eyes moistened. ‘It is not like home.’

  Poor kid! Jilly felt a jerk of sympathy for her as big, fat tears rolled down the girl’s face. Paula was really kind at heart but did have a sharp tongue which had been known to loose itself occasionally at PTA meetings.

  ‘I’m sorry, Antoinette,’ Paula said. ‘I really am. Is there anything that would make you feel better?’

  Instantly the tears stopped. ‘I like to see my friends.’

  ‘Your friends? I didn’t know you had any.’

  ‘My new friends.’ Antoinette’s tone had changed to one of hair-tossing defiance. ‘The friends I create at school.’

  Paula was nodding eagerly as though keen to make up for her earlier crime. ‘Well, I know I asked you to babysit tonight but if you want, you could have an evening off.’

  ‘No.’

  For a minute, Jilly thought Antoinette had said ‘Non’ but then she realised, as the doorbell rang, that she had said ‘Now’. Suddenly that phone call in the garden became clear! The little monkey had put on a display of homesick tears – helped by Paula’s admission that ten-year-old William had invaded her room – and now, judging from the stream of foreign voices coming into the house, had invited round the local au pair mafia.

  ‘Paula,’ she began but her friend merely shrugged, mouthing, ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Tu veux du café?’ Antoinette was saying to a tall, skinny, blonde girl with a picture of a red heart next to the Eiffel Tower on her skinny T-shirt which clearly didn’t have a bra underneath. ‘C’est decaff. Very good.’

  ‘I feel as though this isn’t my own home any more,’ whispered Paula as another girl wandered in, wearing a pair of frayed denim shorts over black tights and a pale lilac pashmina elegantly twisted round her neck. The effect, odd as it was, was incredibly stylish and exuded so much more confidence than Jilly had had herself at that age.

  ‘All I needed was another pair of hands but now I seem to have inherited a busload of foreigners in search of an adventure at my expense!’ Suddenly she stopped, clasping her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, where’s Immy?’

  Jilly pointed through the window to the top of the slide where a small pair of fists were flailing furiously. ‘Looks like she’s stuck again.’ She glanced at Antoinette who was now handing round the biscuit tin to her new friends, two of whom were actually sitting on top of Paula’s marble island, long legs crossed provocatively. ‘You look after this lot and I’ll sort her out.’

  *

  Poor Paula, thought Jilly, driving home. What a dreadful situation! Apparently, Antoinette and her friends were going clubbing tonight. What would happen if she didn’t get back safely? Such a responsibility!

  Was this what lay in store for her as a parent, Jilly thought suddenly. She had started her family comparatively young. How terrifying to think that Nick, her eldest, was only three years younger than eighteen-year-old Antoinette! So far, touch wood, he’d been reasonably easy apart from the usual arguments about Facebook and loud music. He didn’t stay out late. He hadn’t had a girlfriend to distract him from homework. And he didn’t smoke, which was more than she could have said about her brother at that age!

  On the whole, she thought slightly smugly to herself as she pulled into the drive of their deceptively spacious 1930s semi, her little family was ticking along quite nicely. All right, the house wasn’t as tidy as she would like it – just look at that pile of football kit that Nick had dumped on the floor, and the trail of muddy footprints going up the stairs. But it was home! Their home.

  Frankly, she thought, bending down to pick up a postcard from her parents, she’d much rather live in semi-chaos (was there any other way with three children?) than share their personal space with a hostile stranger like the surly black-eyed Antoinette.

  Yet so many mothers did it! In fact, it was quite rare here in Corrywood not to have a cleaner or an au pair. One of the parents at Puddleducks – Johnnie’s mum – had gone one further and had a string of Swedish male ‘mothers’ helps’ who had made pick-up time quite exciting.

  Maybe that’s what she needed. A sexy Swede to boost her self-confidence and be a firm hand with the boys if she ever went back to work. Jilly felt a tremor of unease as she began to gather up Nick’s football stuff. ‘When are you going back?’ was one of those subjects she and Paula discussed every now and then, if only to convince themselves that it was still a possibility.

  Jilly’s mind went back to uni where she had met David during freshers week. They’d been inseparable and it had seemed perfectly natural to get married straight after graduation. The fact that she landed her dream job in HR at the same time was an added bonus! But not long after, she had fallen unexpectedly pregnant with Nick.

  Both she and David had had high-flying career mothers and because David was doing well, they agreed she should be a full-time mum, especially as it would make sense to have another baby soon. But that just didn’t happen! No particular reason, said the doctor. It can be like that sometimes. Yet ironically, just as Nick started school and Jilly began polishing up her CV, she found she was pregnant with the twins.

  Wonderful as it was, part of her had felt rather deflated that she wasn’t going back to work after all. But as David said, it didn’t make sense with three children to bring up. Yet all the way through the nappies and the sleepless nights and the homework arguments and the long, sometimes tedious school holidays, she secretly played the going-back game in her head, as though persuading herself that she wasn’t ‘just a mum’.

  Who was she kidding? Not only had her confidence sunk but HR had moved on so fast that all her skills were out of date. Besides, David wasn’t keen. ‘What’s the point of having children if you’re not around for them,’ he always said firmly. ‘How would you manage during the holidays or if the kids were ill or when I’m away?’

  He had a point. Take today. Jilly glanced at her watch. Only an hour to go before it was time to collect the twins from after-school cricket practice. Then there would be the usual squabbles and arguments over tea (everyone wanted something different), not to mention Bruno who needed walking.

  Not for the first time, she wished her parents hadn’t taken on this small wiry terrier from a rescue centre. Bruno spent more time with them than with Mum and Dad thanks to their new-found passion for cruises.

  ‘You don’t mind dogsitting for us, do you, darling?’ her mother was constantly saying. ‘It’s very good for the children to have
him around, don’t you think? Teaches little Bruno to share!’

  Talking of the dog, where was he? And where was Nick? The messy football kit indicated he’d got back earlier from school than usual.

  ‘Anyone there?’ she yelled up the stairs. No answer. No one ever answered in this house unless they wanted something.

  Surprise, surprise! Her son was lying stomach down on his bedroom carpet, glued to Facebook. It was a wonder there wasn’t an umbilical cord between her eldest and the screen. Meanwhile, Bruno was growling in the corner with a pile of dirty underwear around him. Honestly! Why couldn’t he just grab shoes like other dogs instead of having a fetish for underwear?

  ‘Nick. NICK!’

  Still no answer. There was only one way to deal with this!

  An angry face with a mop of blond hair glared up at her. ‘Oy, Mum. What are you doing?’

  ‘Pulling out the plug so you’ll listen. You were meant to have tidied up the kitchen.’

  Nick rolled his eyes. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘Then can you do it now?’

  ‘Give me a break, Mum. I’m listening to Great Cynics.’

  ‘Then you won’t get your allowance.’

  ‘Fine.’ He turned over on to his stomach again, picking up a packet of salt and vinegar crisps even though it was almost lunchtime. ‘There’s nothing to spend it on anyway. This town’s crap. I’m bored.’

  ‘Then you can stop being bored and tidy up instead! Besides, there’s only two weeks until we go away.’

  ‘Camping in France?’ Nick gave her a pitying look. ‘That’s so sad.’

  ‘No it’s not. It will be fun. Look, I’ll do a deal. If you take Bruno for a walk, I’ll sort out the kitchen.’

  Nick groaned. ‘In a minute.’

  ‘No, Nick. I said NOW.’

  As she spoke, there was the sound of the front door slamming. Looking out of the window, Jilly saw to her surprise that David’s grey BMW was in the drive. That was odd! He was never usually back before eight or often nine at night. And wasn’t he meant to be in Manchester tonight?

  ‘David?’ She flew down the stairs and into the sitting room where her husband was pouring himself a large gin and tonic from the drinks cupboard. David didn’t drink at lunchtime! Not during the week, anyway. ‘What’s going on?’

  His face looked uncertain. Troubled even. ‘Sit down, Jilly.’ He led her to the sofa, a nice squashy comfortable Sanderson with a floral blue and yellow print that Mum had given them when she was ‘downsizing’. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’

  Oh God no. Her mouth went dry and her throat tightened. Was he ill? Had something happened to Mum or Dad on the cruise?

  ‘What?’ she croaked. ‘Quick, tell me.’

  David looked away and she felt a lurch of panic. ‘Please,’ she repeated, grabbing his jacket, ‘what is it?’

  He looked in her direction but his eyes couldn’t meet hers. ‘I’m ashamed,’ he said quietly; so quietly that she could hardly hear him.

  Jilly felt a trickle of sweat running down her back and her hands go clammy. To think she had been secretly smug just now at Paula’s about her own love life. How could she have been that naive? She knew enough women at school who’d been through this. Women whose husbands suddenly, out of the blue, announced they were having an affair and were leaving; usually for some predatory bitch in the office.

  ‘For God’s sake, tell me what you’ve done!’

  His eyes continued to wander. ‘It’s not what I’ve done, Jilly. It’s what they’ve done to me. I don’t have a job any more. Well, I do, but it’s not the same.’ He sighed. ‘I should have told you but I didn’t want to worry you. They’ve been making cuts at work all over the place. Then my boss called me in this morning and said that they were closing the new division.’

  ‘But that was your baby!’ Jilly tried to think straight. David had been brought into the insurance firm because of his financial experience. He’d set up a series of new proposals which, until the credit crisis, had been profitable. She’d known it wasn’t doing that well but she hadn’t realised things were that bad.

  David laughed shortly. ‘That’s why they’re mad at me.’ He shook his head as though he was cross with him self. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. I took a bit of a gamble with something and, well, it hasn’t paid off.’

  ‘What kind of a gamble?’

  He stood up, walked to the fireplace with its mock gas fire beneath – ‘very realistic’, everyone always said – and looked up at the silver-framed photographs on the mantelpiece. Nick at his christening in a much younger Jilly’s arms when she hadn’t needed to highlight her hair. A grinning David with a twin in each arm. Mum and Dad in front of a huge cruise liner on their thirtieth wedding anniversary.

  ‘I persuaded them to offer a new kind of insurance package. But it’s bombed. Made them lose money. Quite a lot of it.’

  ‘So they’ve sacked you?’ she managed to say.

  ‘No,’ continued David in a voice that didn’t sound like his. ‘But they’re offering me another job in the company instead.’

  Thank goodness for that!

  ‘It’s still not good,’ he said quietly, observing her face. ‘It’s the same basic salary but it doesn’t have a commission structure.’

  But they needed that in order to …

  ‘Pay the mortgage.’ He completed her sentence for her in the way he was always able to. Jilly drew her husband towards her, showering him with little kisses. The fact that he wasn’t having an affair – absurd idea really, given how much they loved each other – made her feel giddy with relief.

  ‘I’ve always said,’ she murmured into his jacket, ‘as long as we’re all together and healthy, it doesn’t matter what happens in life.’

  ‘Yes.’ David’s voice wavered. ‘But how will we manage?’

  ‘We’ll cancel the holiday for a start. We’ll make cutbacks. And I’ll get a job!’ It seemed so easy to say that she almost believed it.

  David shook his head. ‘But we’ve talked about this. Both of us have said how difficult it would be for you to go back to work and look after the children.’ He ran his hands through his dark hair which had tiny flecks of grey at the side. Flecks which, she suddenly realised, hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. ‘I feel so guilty that I’ve put us in this situation!’

  Jilly clutched David’s jacket even more tightly as though scared he might slip away. ‘You were only doing your best. I’ll think of something. Something that I can do and look after the children.’

  But what? Avon? Door-to-door selling? Market research? Then, suddenly, a picture of the sulky Antoinette in the garden, puffing away at her Gauloise, came into her head. What was it that Paula had said? Anyone could set up an au pair agency business round the kitchen table! It wouldn’t have to take long. Just a couple of ads on the net and the local paper. Word of mouth would help too …

  ‘In fact,’ she said, feeling an unexpected thrill of self-worth and excitement shooting through her, ‘I think I might just have an idea …’

  JILLY’S AU PAIR AGENCY

  SMALL, FRIENDLY, HANDS-ON BUSINESS,

  ONE HOUR FROM LONDON.

  SPECIALISES IN PLACING RELIABLE AU PAIRS

  IN LOCAL FAMILIES.

  REASONABLE RATES.

  VETTING ASSURED.

  Chapter 2

  ‘THERE’S SOMETHING IN the post for you,’ said her mother. ‘Look! It is from Angleterre.’ She pronounced the last word with an emphasis that suggested extreme danger mixed with lethal curiosity.

  Marie-France stiffened as Maman pushed the letter with the airmail stamp across the kitchen table towards her, with an expression which she’d learned to read over the years. It meant: what is going on?

  Collette Dubonne always liked to know what was going on. So, too, did Marie-France. When you were so similar – they shared the same long dark wavy hair, trim but voluptuous figure and the dubious ability to dive in without looking – it was bound to lead to arg
uments. In such cases, distraction was a good idea.

  ‘Tu veux du café, Maman?’

  ‘No, Marie-France,’ retorted her mother sharply. ‘I do not want any coffee, thank you. I want to know what is going on. Now are you going to tell me or shall I find out for myself?’

  Her mother put her head on one side coquettishly as though her daughter was one of her many admirers and gave her a knowing look. With only three years to go before her fortieth birthday, she was still a lovely woman with that wide smile and full mouth, which was never without its veneer of gloss. Her impeccably plucked eyebrows arching slightly at the ends indicated a woman who was not to be messed around. Indeed, she was far more beautiful and youthful than most of Marie-France’s friends’ mothers, which was why people often mistook them for sisters. Sometimes when she looked at pictures of her mother at her age, it was like looking in the mirror.

  The only difference was that Marie-France was more level-headed, mainly because she didn’t drink as much as her mother. Not that her mother was an alcoholic, but she did like her half a bottle a night and that sometimes made her tearful or melodramatic. Now, however, she was in her sharp, on-the-ball mood.

  ‘Don’t play with me, Marie-France. I want to know why you have received a letter from England. Qu’est-ce passe? And don’t look at me like that. Give me some respect.’ She sighed. ‘When I was your age, we did what our parents told us.’

  Marie-France made a ‘pah’ sound. ‘You know that’s not true – at least not in your case.’

  Her mother held up a beautifully manicured hand. ‘Don’t think you can change the subject like that. Who is that letter from?’ She examined the postmark, frowning because it was too faint to read the name of the town.

  Very well, Marie-France told herself. She had to face the music at some point so she might as well get it over with now. ‘Because I am going to work over there as an au pair.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  Honestly! Her mother should have been an opera star. She certainly had the dramatics to go with it, not to mention the well-developed pout. Collette Dubonne had a reputation in the village as a force to be reckoned with. Just as well that one of the few people who could match her was her daughter.