‘Come on, guys, don’t argue,’ James said quietly. ‘How about a little after-dinner drink?’ He went to the kitchen, came back with a bottle of Baileys and poured everyone a large glass. ‘I know this is hard, you two, but we’ve only got tonight with you and we want to enjoy it. Do you think you can leave the discussion for another time?’
I silently applauded my husband. His message was subtle but clear: don’t drag us into this fight. Donal and Lucy exchanged a look that said the discussion was far from over, but then they sat down and took a deep breath.
‘Serge is looking great,’ I said, moving onto what I thought was safer ground. ‘And he’s really beginning to talk.’
‘Yeah, he has a few words now, all right.’ Donal almost smiled.
‘They’re mostly sounds, but it’s sweet hearing him try,’ Lucy said, draining her drink.
‘Well, Lara only started talking when she was almost three.’
‘It’s great when they begin to chat,’ James said. ‘They’re so much more fun and they play so much better together.’
I held my breath. James had just given Donal an opening, and I knew he’d take it.
Donal clinked his ice around in his glass. ‘Poor old Serge has no one to play with, and it’ll be difficult to sort out a sibling for him with my wife living in another country.’
Lucy flushed. ‘You know I don’t want another child.’
‘Well, I do. That poor little lad needs a sibling. Every kid needs a brother or sister. Don’t they, James?’
James coughed. ‘Well … it’s nice to have a sibling. I certainly liked having Henry around when I was growing up.’
I kicked James under the table. What was he trying to do – add fuel to the already raging fire? I tried to help: ‘But it’s also nice to be an only child because you get your parents’ undivided attention. Only children often turn out to be very successful – look at Lucy.’
Lucy smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks, Emma. At least someone doesn’t think being an only child is the worst thing in the world.’
But Donal was having none of it. ‘Every child wants a brother or sister to play with. I love kids. I want a whole pile of them. I want a house full of noisy kids running around, having fun. It’s what life’s about.’
Lucy slammed her hand on the table. ‘I don’t want that, Donal. I really struggled after Serge was born and I still don’t find it easy. Another child would not make things better. It would make things much worse.’
I caught James’s eye and motioned towards the kitchen. Without another word, we got up and went inside, but we could still hear our friends arguing on the patio. It was awful.
Donal groaned with exasperation. ‘Life is about kids and family, not a fat bank balance and a big house.’
Lucy threw her hands into the air, her voice rising. ‘Donal, all we’ve done since Serge was born is fight. How can you possibly think another child is a good idea? I’m not good at being a mum. I try, I really do, but it doesn’t come naturally to me and I spend all my time feeling guilty about it. Another child would kill me.’
Donal shook his head. ‘No, it wouldn’t. You know the score now, what to expect. A second child would be much easier. There’s no shock the second time – we know what to do with a baby. And it could be a little girl, a lovely little girl who looks just like you.’
Lucy was not budging. ‘I do not want another baby. I will never want another baby.’
Donal’s voice was like ice. ‘Well, I do, so we appear to have a problem.’
‘This is bullshit. I’m going to bed.’ Lucy stormed into the house and marched up the stairs to the bedroom.
James and I watched her go, then Donal strode into the kitchen.
‘Should I go after her?’ I asked Donal.
He shook his head. ‘She’s drunk. Let her sleep it off. Christ, what a night!’
‘I’ll just check on her for a second.’ I tiptoed upstairs, and when I looked into the bedroom, Lucy was fast asleep, fully clothed on top of the bed. I took off her shoes and gently placed the cover over her. I’d never seen her like this, so angry and bitter. I was really worried about their marriage. That had been no normal argument: it had been vicious and hurtful.
When I came back down I could hear James and Donal chatting outside. As I tidied up the kitchen I listened to their conversation.
‘She’s obsessed with her bloody career,’ Donal said.
‘It means a lot to her, but then it always has. Lucy’s always been a career girl,’ James said.
‘She’s going to be living in a different country from her son.’
James sighed. ‘I know, mate. It’s not easy.’ I knew James didn’t want to get into a slagging match – he never did. He was always the measured one, the one who looked at both sides of a story or argument.
Donal’s voice dropped lower and he sounded weary. ‘What happened to us? We used to have so much fun together, but since she had Serge she’s been so cold and distant. She’s always running out to work. It’s as if she prefers to be in the office than at home.’
‘Look, we all have our troubles. Emma and I were at each other’s throats before we moved here. But things are good now. You’ll get through this. It’s just a bad patch.’
I wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear James telling Donal about how badly we’d been getting on. These things were private. I didn’t want him discussing our arguments with anyone, not even his best friend.
‘It’s a very bad patch.’ Donal stood up. ‘It’s been going on for a long time, and the frightening thing is, I don’t see it getting any better, especially now that she’ll be away all the time, getting even more detached. Sure she’ll be like a stranger in the house.’
‘Hang in there and you’ll probably find she’s home more once she gets settled into the new job.’
Donal slapped James on the back. ‘Good old James, always the optimist. I hope you’re right. You’re lucky with Emma – she’s a great bird and a great mother.’
If I hadn’t been eavesdropping, I would have hugged Donal. I waited for James to agree wholeheartedly and praise me too, but all he said was ‘I know she is. Now, come on, let’s get to bed. The kids will be up in four hours.’
‘I’ll crash on the couch, thanks,’ Donal said.
‘Oh, right. I’ll grab you a blanket.’ James came in and asked me where the blankets were.
‘I’ll get it. Can you just bring in the rest of the dishes from the patio?’ I asked.
While James cleared up, I fetched Donal a blanket and pillow.
‘Thanks. Sorry about this and about all the fighting. We weren’t very good dinner guests.’ Donal looked sheepish, which at six foot five was difficult.
I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s fine, but please go easy on her, Donal. She’s trying. I know she’s obsessed with work and that it’s hard on you and Serge. Hopefully, when she gets this company up and running, she can rework her schedule to be more family friendly.’
Donal held the pillow to his chest. ‘Will you talk to her, Emma? Please? She won’t listen to me.’
‘I’ll try, I promise.’
‘Thanks.’ Donal lay down with his long legs hanging over the edge of the couch. The poor man was unlikely to get a wink of sleep.
I went back into the kitchen to help tidy up the final dinner things, but James had finished it all.
‘Bed?’
‘Yes, please.’ As we walked upstairs, arm in arm, I clung to James. ‘Don’t ever let us get like that,’ I whispered. ‘I never want to feel such anger and hate towards you.’
He smiled at me and rubbed my cheek. ‘We won’t, darling. We’re not like them. For one, we both want the same things.’
He was right. ‘Do you think they’ll break up?’ I wanted him to say, ‘No way.’ I wanted him to reassure me and tell me that our best friends would be fine.
‘It’s possible,’ he said.
‘What?’ I was horrified. Did he really think that? S
urely it was just a phase, granted a very bad one but they’d work it out. They had been so happy before and could be again. I believed that.
He shrugged. ‘Emma, people break up all the time. Lucy and Donal are at each other’s throats. I actually thought he was going to hit her at one point. He’s so angry with her and I understand why. It’s all about Lucy and her job.’
‘Yes, but she is paying the mortgage – and we’ve all just moved country for your job. The person earning the main salary does kind of dictate what happens.’
James glared at me. ‘Lucy doesn’t have to take this job. She could have stayed in the job she had. She chose to leave, Emma, but I was forced to. I do not appreciate you comparing the two situations when they’re completely different.’
‘Sorry, you’re right. It’s not the same. I just feel sorry for both of them. I hate seeing them so unhappy.’
James put his arm around me. ‘Me too.’
‘Communication and compromise,’ I said, spouting from a book I’d once read about marriage.
‘And regular sex.’ James grinned.
‘Except at two in the morning when your wife is exhausted.’ I smirked.
‘Fair enough. I’m wiped out, too. Let’s get some sleep. Hopefully things will be calmer in the morning.’
But they weren’t. Lucy and Donal left without having uttered a word to each other.
6
After the disastrous dinner with Lucy and Donal I realized I had very little time left to find a nanny and get everything sorted. I began to panic. I called Poppy for advice. She was really helpful and gave me the names of a few more websites. Plus she told me she had spoken to Maggie, her cleaning lady, and that Maggie’s daughter, Claire, was available for work and, even better, had previous experience in childcare.
By Monday afternoon I had lined up three interviews for Wednesday. The first two were coming through the agency in Putney, a Spanish girl called Elena, who was in her early twenties, and Betty, a local woman, who was fifty-three. I had arranged directly with Claire to meet her too. I was secretly hoping the Spanish girl would work out and that all four of us would be speaking Spanish within the year. Wasn’t that how Gwyneth Paltrow had done it? If it was good enough for Gwyneth …
James had muttered something about me handling it all, but I wasn’t having that. I insisted he interview the prospective nannies with me, arguing that it was important to have two perspectives on the candidates. Hiring a nanny is never straightforward. You want a paediatric nurse who cooks like a Cordon Bleu chef and has Blue Peter-type arts and crafts skills. But you don’t want her to be so wonderful that your children end up preferring her to you. You want someone who is smart enough to handle any crisis that may come along while you’re at work, but you don’t want someone telling you how to raise your children. You want someone who is firm with the children, but not bossy or stern. You want someone who will give the children hugs, but not too many. You want someone who will keep the house tidy, but not spend time vacuuming when she could be teaching them the fine art of origami.
The problem is, you want someone who loves and cherishes your children as much as you, but who will not take your place. That’s why grandparents make the best childminders, because they love the children as much as you do, but they don’t want to be parents again. At the end of their minding, they’re happy to hand them over.
I made a list of questions that I wanted to ask, things I felt would reveal the candidates’ true personalities and help me make the right choice.
On Wednesday morning, James sat in his tracksuit, jiggling his legs and looking at his watch. Elena arrived very punctually at nine thirty. I flung open the door, ready to love her.
Elena was drop-dead gorgeous and wearing a very short, tight sundress with no bra. I took one look at her and knew there was no way this stunner was getting the job. I opened my mouth to tell her to go straight home, but then I thought it would be rude, so I reluctantly invited her in.
James was texting when we walked into the room. When he looked up and saw Elena, he dropped his phone. He actually dropped his phone – I couldn’t believe it. It landed with a thud on the floor. My decision never to hire Elena or anyone who looked like her was confirmed when I saw his face. What was it about older men and young girls? The men turn into complete idiots around them. I’d seen it at work in Dublin all the time. Afternoon with Amanda had models on every day to show off the clothes in the fashion segment, and every man over forty would drool as they walked by. It was harmless, but at the same time a bit pathetic.
Women didn’t do that. Mind you, I had found myself lusting after Taylor Lautner in the Twilight movies. I was appalled when I found out he was only twenty when he’d made the first. I felt like a dirty old woman but he was very hot …
James jumped up. ‘Very nice to meet you, Elena. Please have a seat.’ He led her to a chair. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, gracias, I am fine.’
‘Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all,’ James persisted.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Not even a glass of water?’
‘James!’ I snapped. ‘She’s not thirsty.’ I turned my attention to the pretend interview, and asked Elena about her childcare experience.
‘Well, I love chil-deren. I am having the brothers and sisters at home in Espain and I am playing with them all the day.’
‘That sounds fantastic,’ James enthused.
I glared at him, but he was too busy staring at Elena’s chest to notice. I tapped the information sheet the agency had given me. ‘It says here that you are currently with a family in London. But you’ve only been with them two months and you want to leave. Why is that?’
Elena looked down. ‘The mummy is not very nice to me. She say mean thing to me.’
‘That’s terrible,’ James said, his voice dripping with sympathy and indignation at her plight.
‘What kind of things does she say?’ I asked.
Elena pouted. ‘That I am taking too long in the shower and that I am too slow ironing the clothes and that I am bad at the cooking.’
Was this girl really that stupid? First, she turns up for an interview in a skin-tight mini dress with no bra on and then she proceeds to complain about her current employer.
‘She sounds like a very difficult woman,’ James said, as if he’d like to go and give her a piece of his mind. ‘I can assure you, there will be none of those unpleasant comments if you work here.’
‘Are you a good cook?’ I enquired, before James jumped in and offered her the job on the spot. I could see her now, prancing about in her teeny-tiny skirts, spatula in one hand and Spanish olive oil in the other. Over my dead body …
Elena shrugged. ‘I am OK. I can make the toast and the scrambly eggs.’
I suddenly had the urge to laugh. This girl should be on a TV show. She was ridiculous. ‘What about ironing? Are you slow?’
‘Emma!’ James interrupted. ‘I’m sure Elena is a perfectly good ironer. Besides, there’s not a lot of ironing to do here.’ James turned to Elena and smiled. ‘I wear a lot of sports gear, you see, because I coach a rugby team.’
Elena’s eyes widened. ‘I am loving the sports. I like to jogging very much.’
‘I can see that you’re very fit.’
‘James!’
‘What?’
‘Inappropriate!’
‘Maybe you could ’elp me be more fit.’ Elena beamed at him.
I’d had enough of this girl. She could go and flirt with someone else’s husband. I stood up. ‘My husband will not be helping you with your fitness regime. Now, it’s clear that you are not remotely suitable for this job.’ I frog-marched Elena to the front door. ‘Thanks for coming, but let’s not take up any more of your time. I would suggest you wear jeans and a jumper to your next interview. Mothers do not appreciate nipples. ’Bye now.’
By the time James had got to the door, it was closed. ‘That was very rude,’ he said.
�
��No, James, staring at a young girl’s cleavage and dribbling is rude.’
‘I was not.’
‘Oh yes you were, and if you think for one nano-second that I’d have her going for late-night jogs with you and doing lunges in the front room, you’ve another think coming.’
James flexed his muscles. ‘I was looking forward to showing her some of my moves.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘What moves? The diving-on-the-couch move? The flicking-the-remote-control move? Or your pièce de résistance, the opening-a-can-of-lager move?’
James grinned. ‘Very witty, darling. I’ll have you know that I’ve been training with the team every day. I’m feeling much fitter.’
He looked it. For a man of forty-three, James was very attractive. Sometimes I wondered what he saw in me. When I was dressed up I looked good, but day-to-day I felt plain. Even though my hair was now a nice auburn colour, I was still an insecure red-headed teenager inside. People, mostly my mother, were always telling me how handsome and charming James was and it made me feel paranoid. I felt as if they thought I wasn’t worthy of him, as if he’d somehow married beneath him, punched below his weight.
I made a resolution. It was time for me to lose the extra weight I’d been carrying and shake up my wardrobe. London was a good place to start. Babs could help me pick out some age-appropriate but edgy clothes. It would be easier to diet once I started work. No more home-made flapjacks for the kids – the majority of which I ended up eating. As soon as I started work it would be a skinny latte on the run and a low-fat yogurt for lunch.
As Elena left, the next candidate, Betty, arrived for her interview. The minute I saw her, I felt I had found the perfect nanny. Betty was primly dressed in a long-sleeved blouse, sensible navy slacks and Scholl sandals. She was the kind of woman who wore a strong bra and big pants. There was no fear of James running away with her. She was more vicar’s wife than femme fatale.
‘So, Betty, you said when we spoke on the phone that you have experience in childminding,’ I said, after we’d done the introductions.
Mad About You Page 7