by Janey Fraser
Her heart contracted when she thought of that time. They’d been so tiny and so vulnerable! Who would have guessed that they’d grow into such big hulking boys who couldn’t keep their fists off each other?
‘No.’ She began spooning out the ice cream, wishing she could add a slosh of tranquilliser to it. Someone could make a real fortune out of that flavour. ‘I wouldn’t inflict you two on anyone.’
Alfie frowned. ‘What does “in flict” mean?’
‘It means that I don’t want anyone I don’t know living with us. It wouldn’t be fair on you or on them.’
‘Why?’ Alfie seemed to have forgotten about the PSP, which Jilly had managed to hide in the fridge to avoid further arguments.
‘Just because. That’s all. Now here’s your ice cream. After I’ve made my phone calls, we’ll go out.’
‘Where?’ asked Harry suspiciously.
Nowhere exciting. Just the supermarket. The fridge was completely empty apart from one solitary fish finger clinging for dear life to a block of ice at the back because she’d forgotten to defrost again. And she’d run out of bags for the Hoover as well as wipes for the kitchen surfaces.
‘Can we go roller-skating?’ piped up Alfie.
‘Maybe later if you give me some peace for half an hour.’ She raised a hand in a high five. ‘Deal?’
Too late. They’d already scarpered, leaving a trail of chocolate ice cream behind them. Not just on the carpet but on the walls as well, judging from the brown handprints. One more cleaning job to do before David got back. But in the meantime, she could get on.
She hadn’t realised what a big business this au pair lark was. It might have helped if they’d had one themselves but Mum had always declared that anyone who chose to leave their offspring with a stream of French or German or Swiss girls was ‘asking for trouble with one’s husband’. Instead, Mum had chosen to send her and her younger brother Jeremy away to boarding school. She’d loved it. He hadn’t.
In the holidays, they’d been dragged into Mum’s office and told to ‘do some drawing’ or, when they were older, to amuse themselves at home.
‘You ought to send the twins away,’ declared her mother every now and then, waving her hands as though they were a pair of nuisance flies.
‘I want to be there for them, Mum.’
‘Are you saying that I wasn’t for you?’
The conversation would inevitably end there with Jilly not wanting to hurt her mother. For the truth was that Mum hadn’t been there for them, thanks to her fashion-design business, which had become hugely successful over the years. And now she had children of her own, she could see that she and Jeremy had missed out on cosy after-school chats with Marmite fingers. Instead they’d had stilted how-are-you conversations after six weeks away.
Two years ago, her mother had sold her business – at a really good price – and joined the cruise set. ‘You meet all kinds of interesting people,’ Mum had declared. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how we managed before. You really ought to socialise a bit more, you two. Beats marriage counselling any day.’
Socialise? All David wanted to do when he got home was to slump on the sofa in front of the evening news. When they did go out – about once a month – it was always on a Saturday and usually round to Paula and Nigel for a takeout curry while the girl next door babysat. On alternate months, their friends would come to them. It might seem tame to her parents but it suited David and her.
The sound of laughter from the boys next door indicated they were having a ceasefire. Thank heavens! She could now get on with the stack of paperwork and take another look at the website, which she’d managed to set up herself. Not bad really, even though she could do with a section called SATISFIED CUSTOMERS. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before she could add one.
Half an hour later, Jilly’s stomach rumbled as a reminder that she hadn’t had breakfast. But Europe was an hour ahead and if she didn’t get a move on with more calls and emails, she’d be in trouble. Blast. There went the phone again. Maybe she ought to get a business line so she could tell if it was work or personal. But that would be another cost …
‘Jilly? It’s me.’
Paula always announced herself as ‘me’, assuming everyone knew who it was.
‘Look, Antoinette has taken Immy to toddler gym so I thought we might have a coffee. Shall I come round?’
It was tempting! But she had to be disciplined if she wanted to make this agency work. ‘Sorry, Paula. I’m working.’
‘Can’t you have a break?’
Paula sounded like a child who wanted another to come out to play.
‘I’d love to. Really I would, but I’ve got to give this a chance. You know things are difficult …’
‘David’s still finding it tough then?’
‘Yes, but don’t mention it to him. His ego’s rather fragile at the moment.’
‘Poor you. Still, you’ve placed an au pair with Dawn, haven’t you?’
‘I owe you for that. Thanks.’
Jilly felt a wave of gratitude towards Paula, who had discovered that Dawn, another school mum and a member of Paula’s Tai Chi class, was looking for help. Dawn, they all agreed, was rolling in it. Not only did she have a driver, a gardener and a cook, but she also lived in a beautiful house at the top of Laburnum Hill, considered one of the best areas in Corrywood. The girl from the small village near the Swiss border had really landed on her feet there!
‘Look, I’m sorry but my mobile is going. Must dash. Call you later.’
‘Hi. This is Dawn.’
Oh no. Had she changed her mind?
‘MUM! MUM! HE WON’T LET ME WATCH MY PROGRAMME!’
‘IT’S MY TURN TO CHOOSE!’
‘NO IT’S NOT!’
‘YES IT IS!’
‘Hi!’ Jilly fought to raise her professional voice above the noise. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘No. I’m afraid it’s not.’
She knew it!
‘I’d forgotten I’ve got a lunch appointment which I can’t get out of and our driver’s got the day off . So I can’t meet Mary-France at the airport. I’ve tried to text her to say get a cab but her phone is off.’
‘MUM! MUM!’
‘That’s probably because she’s still going through customs,’ said Jilly tightly. ‘And it’s Marie-France, not Mary-France, by the way.’
‘Whatever. Look, you couldn’t do me a really big favour, could you?’
‘MUM!’
‘Can you pick her up for me? Otherwise she’ll just have to wait there until evening.’
What did Dawn think this was? The Marks & Spencer collection service? ‘Marie-France has never been abroad before, Dawn. She’s going to be worried if she’s left there for hours.’
‘MUM!’
‘I’d be well grateful.’ Every now and then Dawn’s south London roots came out although she did her best to hide them with a rather fake-sounding accent that was a cross between Geordie Shore and The Only Way Is Essex. ‘I’m paying you a fairly hefty agency fee after all, aren’t I?’
Hefty! It was on the tip of Jilly’s tongue to point out that it was actually far more competitive than many other agency rates but stopped just in time. David had warned her that it might not be easy to do business with other mums at school. It wouldn’t do to fall out with anyone. Not yet, anyway.
Crash.
‘MUM! HE’S BROKEN SOMETHING.’
‘IT WAS HIM, NOT ME.’
‘NO IT WASN’T.’
My God. The kids were becoming virtually feral through parental neglect. ‘OK,’ said Jilly resignedly, switching off her laptop. ‘But there will be someone at your place, won’t there, when I bring her back?’
JILLY’S AU PAIR AGENCY: GUIDELINES FOR AU PAIRS
Before arriving in the UK, you are bound to be nervous about meeting your new family. This is normal! Before long, this apprehension will disappear and you will feel at home!
Chapter 5
MARIE-FRANC
E FELT ALMOST sick with excitement from the second that the plane left the ground to the moment it thudded down on the tarmac. Incroyable! She had finally flown for the very first time in her life and now, here she was in Angleterre!
Hoisting her large pink suitcase off the luggage carousel, she made her way through the Green Nothing To Declare channel, searching the sea of faces waiting expectantly by the barrier.
‘I will wave a piece of paper with your name on it,’ Madame Green had promised in her email. But she could see neither her new family nor a sign.
Marie-France suddenly felt very small inside. Awkwardly she reached the bottom of the walkway, put on her sunglasses to hide her concern and sat on her suitcase, trying to look as though this was normal.
Remember, she told herself firmly, why you are here. Any number of these men milling around might actually be her father! It could be that one over there, wearing a white shirt under a smart blue jacket but without a tie. He was the right sort of age. Or it might be that other man waiting by a coffee shop, with slightly long brown hair curling on to his collar and dark shades. Such coincidences happened, did they not? It was perfectly possible that her father was, by chance, at one of the busiest airports in the world on business. He might well spot her in the crowd and see that she looked exactly like her mother!
The thought sent excited tingles of apprehension running down her spine just as they had when her mother had said it was time ‘to tell you something’ on the eve of her eighteenth birthday. Then, finally, it had all made sense! She’d always felt a natural affinity with Angleterre even though she had never been here before.
Once, when she had been fourteen, an enterprising teacher at her school had organised an exchange with a school in London. But when she’d pleaded with her mother to allow her to go, Maman had simply said she didn’t have enough money for the air fare. So that had been that. Instead, she’d had to content herself with being top in her class for Anglais.
‘You are a natural,’ her teacher would say admiringly, and that had made Marie-France feel really good about herself. Now at last she could see why! English was in her blood!
These excited flights of fantasy distracted her for a while but an hour later, there was still no sign of anyone coming up to claim her. Right. Enough was enough. She would call Madame Green at once. Fishing for her mobile in her handbag, she felt a small lump of sick forming at the bottom of her throat. By mistake, she must have left her phone on silent instead of switching it off on the plane, which meant the battery was now dead.
Marie-France looked around. Arrivals had got even busier yet there was still no sign of anyone approaching. There was nothing to do but wait. If no one turned up by the evening, she’d book into a hotel with the emergency money she’d brought with her in crisp euro notes from the bank.
‘Marie-France!’
Enfin! A medium-height slightly plumpish woman in jeans and flats with shoulder-length mousy blonde hair – nothing like the photo in the welcome letter! – was heading towards her, clutching a piece of paper that had her name in black spidery writing. Her warm, jolly smile set Marie-France’s mind immediately at rest.
‘Madame Green?’
Relief made her kiss the woman enthusiastically on both cheeks but the surprise on her hostess’s face reminded her of her mother’s warning. ‘The English do not kiss when greeting each other. They shake hands. C’est tres sale. Make sure you wash your hands well, ma petite!’
‘Actually, I’m Jilly from the agency.’ She flashed a different kind of smile. An apologetic one. ‘Dawn was delayed so she asked me to collect you. Did you have a good flight? Yes? Great. Is this your luggage? Right. Let’s get it into the car. I’ve got to be quick. I’ve left the boys inside.’
What was she saying? Marie-France tried hard to concentrate on the flood of words coming out. It was all so different from her English lessons at school where the teacher had spoken more slowly and written words up on the whiteboard.
Still, she understood enough to know that, for some reason, Madame Jilly was here instead of Madame Green. Eagerly, she followed her rescuer to a big airport lift where several others squeezed in with them along with their cases.
‘Right,’ said Jilly brightly in a voice that reminded Marie-France of Maman’s when she was making the best out of a tricky situation. ‘The car’s over there. It won’t take us long to get back and then …’
‘Excuse me, madam.’ A large man with very short hair and an orange jacket was blocking their way. ‘Afraid this entrance is closed. There’s been a bit of an incident.’
Beside her, Jilly stared straight ahead as though she had just noticed something and emitted a short shrill scream that reminded Marie-France of the cockerel in the village at home. ‘Oh my God. The boys! I knew I shouldn’t have left them!’
Confused, Marie-France saw Madame Jilly slip past the official and race towards a rather dirty-looking white car which had somehow slipped down the slope and crashed into the one in front. An angry-looking man with a briefcase was waving his fists. Mon Dieu!
Now what was happening? A small boy was climbing out of the front of the dirty white car and Madame Jilly was shouting at him with a face that looked very different from the one she had shown to Marie-France.
‘I told you, Alfie, to sit still. You were meant to stay in the back, not let off the handbrake. Now look what you’ve done!’
The handbrake? That word sounded familiar from a vocabulary exercise at school. It was something to do with cars, n’est-ce-pas?
‘Harry dared me to drive!’ Alfie was snivelling, tears streaming down his face. He was a cutie, thought Marie-France, with those brown freckles. In the back of the car, she could see an identical face peering out worriedly. So Madame Jilly had twins! And there was even a small brown dog in the back, paws pressed up against the window. So sweet!
‘Please,’ she said quietly. When her mother was ranting and raving, it was always best to speak softly to calm her down. ‘I will care for your boys while you rearrange your problems.’
‘Thank you.’ Madame Jilly had tears in her eyes too. ‘I am so sorry about this.’
‘So am I.’ The man’s angry voice cut in. ‘I need your insurance details and your name and address. Frankly, I also ought to report you for neglect.’
Neglect? What was neglect? Marie-France resolved to look it up in her dictionary later but for the time being, it was clear that Madame Jilly needed her help. At least neither car looked badly damaged. She opened the front passenger door before realising it was the driver’s. Of course! In England they did things the wrong way round.
‘Bonjour!’ She opened the rear door and held out her hand to the two small boys in the back. ‘Je m’appelle Marie-France.’
Two identical faces stared at her with suspicion. ‘What does that mean?’
‘You do not learn French?’
‘Sort of.’ One of the faces screwed itself up as though it had just tasted something he didn’t like very much. ‘But we’re not very good at it.’
Marie-France was reminded of the summer camp she had worked at last summer in Geneva. Maman had been right when she’d accused her daughter of not liking babies. So vulnerable and needy! But she had got on well with the nine- and ten-year olds in the children’s club at the Swiss hotel and the twins looked as though they were a similar age.
‘Not very good at French? We will change that with my magic song. But first please deposit the dog on the front seat as it makes me sneeze.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Right. Now sing this after me! Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques …’
It was ages before Madame Jilly got back into the car. Her face looked red and flushed. Poor woman!
‘Thank you so much, Marie-France.’ Turning round, she smiled gratefully. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Bruno, DOWN.’ She shook her head. ‘I know I shouldn’t have left the boys but I was so worried about being late for you and I thought it would be quicker if I just dashed in without them.’
‘Mum, Mum, we can speak French now! Sea voo play means “please”. And mare sea means “thank you”.’
Marie-France laughed. ‘You have learned some new words, vraiment!’
‘Mum, Mum. Can Marie-France live with us instead of going to Tom and Tatty Arna?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Madame Jilly was swinging out of the car park into a road past huge billboards advertising exotic destinations. ‘But you might see her during the holidays perhaps.’
‘Tom’s really spoilt.’ This was the small boy on her right. ‘You’re always saying so, Mum.’
‘I don’t think I actually said that—’
‘Yes you did! When he had a monkey at his birthday party, you said it was extra arrogant.’
‘Extravagant, actually …’
‘And you said Tatty Arna was really rude when she came to tea cos she got down before we’d finished.’
Marie-France could recognise certain words. Arrogant? Rude? This didn’t sound very promising.
‘They live in this GI-NORMOUS house,’ said the small boy on her left, stretching out his hands to make the point.
‘And they’ve got a swimming pool!’ bubbled the other one.
‘I’ve told you before, boys,’ said Madame Jilly’s voice from the front. ‘It’s not the houses that people live in that matters. It’s what the people are like.’
‘Yes, but you said that Tom’s mum was noo vo reesh.’
Nouveau riche? What was wrong with new money? She and Maman had spent so many years of being careful that any kind of money was welcome.
They were turning on to a busy road now and Marie-France stared out of the window, taking it all in. So many buildings! Not one green field in sight! Meanwhile the boys’ constant chatter made the journey pass surprisingly fast.
‘Have you climbed the Eyeful Tower?’
‘Do you have a French Queen?’