The Perfect Nanny

by Karen Clarke

‘Well, I got my qualifications about a year ago, and got a job in a nursery. But you know me, I’m not good with taking orders, and the boss-lady was a right cow.’

  He laughed, the sound a welcome reminder of the person he used to be.

  ‘Then I got a job in St Albans.’ I was there to tell him about Sophy, but suddenly I was worried that if I did it would stir him up. Make things so much worse for him. ‘What about you? How you doing?’ I said it like Joey from Friends, recalling the back-to-back episodes we’d watched together. Comfort-watching we’d called it.

  ‘Same ol’ stuff.’ He shook his head, as though disappointed in himself. ‘A bit of labouring, and bar work.’

  Oh, Ryan.

  ‘You said you wanted to see me.’

  I stared into his face, wanted to take him in my arms and hold him close. ‘I just wanted to see how you are, that’s all.’

  The door of the pub opened, and Freya appeared, red-cheeked and out of breath, her curly hair flyaway, her smoke-grey anorak zipped to the neck, over straight-legged jeans. She had Evie’s pink teddy in her hand.

  ‘Freya,’ I called, as her eyes darted around the empty bar.

  ‘Liv,’ she said, spotting me. ‘Your mum said you’d be here. You forgot her teddy.’ She dashed over and thrust it into Evie’s waiting arms.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, bewildered that she would come all the way to Hatfield just to bring the bear.

  ‘You said Evie gets upset without it.’ She smiled at the child, and I had the feeling she longed to snatch her up and cuddle her.

  ‘Yes, well that’s true, but … well thank you.’

  ‘No problem at all. We wouldn’t want her to be sad, now would we?’ She pulled her eyes away from Evie and they landed on Ryan. ‘Who’s this?’ she said, with a friendly smile.

  ‘Oh. This is Ryan. He was Ben’s closest friend.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Martha talks about you sometimes, Ryan.’ Her voice dipped with concern. ‘I’m so sorry about Ben.’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ Ryan said, but I knew; to him – to all of us – it felt like yesterday.

  ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘And it should be left in the past.’ Her eyes moved from Ryan to me. ‘That’s what I tried to tell Liv. It was in the past, and revenge is never sweet.’

  Ryan screwed up his face, and turned to look at me. ‘Revenge?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I said, shaking my head, and trying to catch Freya’s eye.

  ‘Just because she’s found Sophy,’ Freya went on, clearly not reading my tone. ‘It doesn’t mean any good will come of digging it all up.’

  ‘You’ve found Sophy?’ His eyes widened. ‘Sophy Edwards?’

  ‘Anyway.’ Freya plonked a kiss on Evie’s head. ‘I’d better get back to your mum.’ She dashed across the bar, and out through the door, as though she’d twigged she’d spoken out of turn.

  ‘Sophy?’ Ryan said when she’d gone. He took a gulp of his lager. ‘You know where she is?’

  I nodded, anger stirring inside me once more. ‘She lives in St Albans. She’s living this great life, Ryan.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me.’ His voice was flat, and he was staring at the table, refusing to look at me. ‘She was smart, destined for great things.’

  ‘But she doesn’t deserve it, Ryan. Can’t you see that? Ben would still be here—’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure, Liv.’ He flashed me a look. ‘And what’s all this about revenge, for God’s sake?’

  My heart raced. I thought out of anyone, Ryan would understand. ‘Sophy’s a crap mum. She neglects her son. And I intend to become part of her life, so I can make her pay for what she did to Ben. To all of us.’

  ‘That’s not a good idea, Liv.’ His eyed narrowed. ‘Freya’s right. Leave well alone.’

  I grabbed my head, fingertips digging into my skull as I held in a scream. ‘I’m not about to knife her, Ryan, or drug her or anything like that; I just want to mess with her head a bit, that’s all. Why can’t you see that?’ I shook my head. ‘I wish I hadn’t come.’

  He fiddled with his beer glass. Clearly refusing to see the damage Sophy did was far-reaching. That he’d come out of university with an honours degree in chemistry, but had ended up alcohol-dependent and working in bars, thanks to her.

  I pulled my phone from my bag and looked at the time. Rested it on the table.

  ‘I need to change Evie,’ I said, rising, desperate to get away from him, before I lost it. I lifted her from her buggy, grabbed her changing bag, and headed to the ladies’.

  ‘I should go,’ I said, on my return. ‘Evie will need her lunch soon.’ I leant over to kiss Ryan’s cheek, a lump rising in my throat. He was such a mess, but it seemed he couldn’t see that Sophy had done that to him. ‘I’ll call you,’ I added, strapping Evie into her pushchair, and picking up my phone. I turned and wheeled her across the bar towards the door, determined he wouldn’t let me veer from my goal.

  Chapter 12

  Sophy

  ‘We didn’t want to wake you,’ Dom said as we drove home from his parents’ on Sunday evening, his face knotting with concern when I asked why he’d left me sleeping on their deep-cushioned leather sofa after a heavy lunch of roast lamb.

  Our weekly lunch with his parents at Greenacres, their Grade II listed barn conversion in Harpenden – a routine established as soon as we moved to St Albans – had been the usual affair, for me at least, until I’d woken with a start to find I’d drooled on the tapestry cushion where my head had lolled, and the house empty.

  ‘Mum suggested taking Finn for some fresh air to look at the horses in the paddock,’ Dom continued, and I flashed back to the note I’d found in an envelope on the doormat that morning, after Dom had gone to work, addressed to me. Watch Elizabeth, had been scrawled in pencil on a small sheet of lined paper and my breathing had quickened, some instinct warning me not to mention it to Dom. When he asked what it was, I said quickly, ‘Just a note from Petra about Mums Meet Up,’ and stuffed it in my dressing gown pocket. Now, I found myself wondering again, who would have put the note through my door and why? Did Elizabeth have an enemy I didn’t know about? Someone with a grudge? An ex-pupil from her riding school days? By all accounts, she’d had a reputation for being difficult to please, but it was her strict, uncompromising style that had made her – and her pupils – succeed.

  ‘We decided to let you rest, as you looked so peaceful,’ Dom said, flashing his warm smile. ‘Like Sleeping Beauty.’

  I let out an undignified snort, which provoked Finn’s first real belly laugh – a deep, gurgling sound. Dom asked me to do it again, revelling in the sound of our son’s joyful response, but the feeling of goodwill only lasted until we arrived home, when I headed straight to bed, reeling with a bone-deep tiredness that made me feel as if my blood had been drained and replaced with sand. I felt incapable of sitting in front of the TV, or playing with Finn, or even talking to my husband, let alone wonder who had it in for my mother-in-law and thought I should be watching her.

  Dom didn’t bother waking me for Finn’s bath time, or when he came to bed and I wondered whether I’d dreamt that I turned over in the night to see his face, glowing in the light of his phone.

  The following morning, I still hadn’t shown him the note and knew I wouldn’t. It would only worry him, and he had enough on his mind. It had been a warning to me, not him; that much was certain from my name on the envelope.

  Once he’d left for London after leaving a mug of cooling coffee by the bed with a vitamin tablet, I forced myself up and into the shower, determined not to let the day slip away from me. I steeled myself against the sting of cold water, letting it sharpen my senses. I had no idea whether Liv would turn up, but wanted to be ready if she did; not just dressed, hair blow-dried, skin moisturised, but in control instead of the shambolic mess I’d been last time.

  Finn was sitting up in his cot, rhythmically banging Jiggles against the bars, making bah, bah sounds, and the sight of him in his strip
y sleep suit made my heart swell with love.

  Ignoring my usual pang of apprehension, I crossed to the window and opened his panda-patterned curtains. The morning was bright, sunlight spreading across the room, over the Winnie-the-Pooh prints on the wall and the comfy chair I’d brought from the apartment, where I used to sit to breastfeed Finn in a sleepy haze, before it became apparent that I didn’t have enough milk and had to switch to formula, much to Elizabeth’s dismay.

  ‘If you’d persevered, he wouldn’t be so colicky,’ she’d chided carefully on one of her frequent visits to London, laying on pressure for us to move to St Albans by bringing brochures for houses for sale. I’d suspected she was secretly delighted to have an excuse to take Finn from me and give him a bottle, always ‘dropping in’ when Dom was working.

  ‘Come on, little man,’ I said brightly, padding to Finn’s cot. ‘Time for breakfast.’

  I tried not to mind when he resisted my attempts to pick him up, throwing himself back with a shriek when I finally got him out so he almost toppled from my arms.

  ‘Steady, steady,’ I cautioned tearfully, as much to myself as Finn, positivity seeping away as he kicked and bucked through his nappy change, protesting with wails and clenched hands when I tried to dress him. Downstairs, he upended his porridge bowl on the floor. When I gave him some chopped-up banana, he only ate one piece before mashing the rest into the tray of his highchair, finally rejecting his bottle of milk by swiping it out of my hand.

  By the time the doorbell rang at eleven-thirty sharp, my nerves were shredded. I hadn’t had time to eat breakfast or even drink my coffee, and an aspirin for a thumping headache hadn’t helped. Neither had a voicemail from Elizabeth, saying she’d call round after lunch to drop off a homemade casserole for our dinner as, ‘I know you don’t like cooking.’ It was kind of her, but made me feel useless.

  I’d already decided to go out, without or without Liv, and had managed to settle Finn with the help of his dummy and wrangle him into his pushchair. I jumped when the doorbell sounded again and hurriedly looked for my keys. They were normally in the front pocket of Finn’s baby bag, but a search yielded only a crumpled tissue. They weren’t on the hall table – polished to a sheen by Elizabeth – or in the kitchen.

  Impatient knuckles rapped the front door and I flew back to the hall and pulled it open to see Liv, backing down the steps.

  ‘You said eleven-thirty.’ There was a challenge in her voice and her gaze was frosty.

  ‘Yes, I’m … I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.’ I thrust a strand of hair back, feeling wrong-footed. ‘I was looking for something.’

  Her gaze dropped and she jammed her hands in her coat pockets, then lifted her head. ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Maybe the park?’

  Her nose wrinkled. ‘How about The Busy Bean café?’ She seemed to be making an effort to talk evenly and managed a thin-lipped smile. ‘It’s a bit cold for the park.’

  I wouldn’t have minded, especially as the sun was out, but I nodded, smiling at Evie as she waved at me from her buggy. She looked cute in her pink hooded jacket, thick tights and fur-lined boots. ‘Sounds good.’ I’d leave the door on the latch, I decided. I couldn’t face turning the house upside down for my keys, or phoning Dom to ask whether we had a spare one hidden somewhere. I’d only be an hour or so, at the most. ‘Let me get my coat.’

  It was a ten-minute walk to The Busy Bean. On the way, Finn sleepily sucked his dummy, hands reaching from under his blanket as though trying to catch the clouds scudding across the sky, while Evie peered round the hood of her coat, eyes drinking everything in.

  Liv walked fast, keeping up a stream of observations about our surroundings that didn’t require much response from me, which was just as well as being outdoors was making me feel light-headed. Everything was brighter and louder than seemed normal. The beep of a horn from a passing van as we reached the high street sent my heart rate rocketing.

  ‘You OK?’ As if sensing my tension, Liv paused midway through a comparison of house prices in the area to Scotland and Wales, which I’d only been half-listening to. ‘Sorry if I’m babbling,’ she said with a shrug. ‘It’s not been a great morning, to be honest.’

  I smiled at her admission, my heartbeat slowing. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘You too?’

  When I nodded, she flashed a quick smile, almost as if she’d guessed. Maybe her stream of chatter had been intended to put me at ease.

  We crossed the road to the café, which was sandwiched between a bakery and a shop that seemed to exclusively sell candles, judging by the window display.

  ‘This café’s a bit full of itself,’ Liv said, bumping the buggy up the kerb, causing Evie to clap her hands and dimple into a smile. ‘They do a good hot chocolate though. I’ve only been a couple of times, when I managed to escape—’ She cut herself off, flicking a glance at my face. ‘When I managed to get a couple of hours off.’

  ‘Aren’t you entitled to a couple of days off a week?’

  ‘You’d think,’ was all she said as we entered the steamy warmth of the busy café. The noise of clattering crockery, a hissing coffee machine and chattering voices was deafening after the quiet I was used to at home, where only the muted TV and Finn’s cries broke the silence, unless Elizabeth was there.

  ‘My first time,’ I said, raising my voice above the cacophony, relieved to see other mothers there with pushchairs. I recognised a couple of mums from the baby group: Petra, who gave me a sugary smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and Kim, with Dougie strapped across her chest in a complicated-looking sling. Her smile shrank when she saw Finn waving his dummy. ‘He’s a bit of a grumpy bear this morning.’ I hated that I was making excuses to someone I barely knew. ‘Nice to see you.’

  I hurried after Liv, who’d parked Evie’s buggy at a table in the corner and shrugged her coat off.

  ‘Hot chocolate or coffee?’ she said.

  ‘Hot chocolate.’ I wasn’t keen on café coffee, which was either too strong or too milky for my taste.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll get them.’ Liv headed for the counter before I could protest or get my purse out, waving hello to Kim on the way.

  I removed my coat and sat down. Finn arched his back, indicating he wanted out of his pushchair. Keen to keep him happy, I undid his straps and lifted him onto my lap, prompting Evie to stretch her arms in our direction.

  ‘Me out.’

  Panic zipped through me as I looked round. What if she ran off? ‘Liv will be back in a moment,’ I said brightly. She was almost at the front of the queue, so I bounced Finn on my knees in front of Evie to distract her. As she reached for his wiggling fingers, I looked through the window, catching sight of a familiar figure on the opposite side of the road, hurrying along, dark coat flapping around his knees. Dom? I blinked and looked again, but whoever it was had turned the corner. It couldn’t have been Dom. He was in London, working.

  My heart had started racing again. On impulse, I fished one hand in my bag for my phone, then stopped myself. Surely calling to check my husband was where he was supposed to be would only fuel his belief that I needed to see the doctor? There had to be hundreds of men who, from a distance, might bear a passing resemblance to Dom.

  As I straightened, another figure snagged my attention, hurrying in the same direction; tall, with long blonde hair poking from under a red, woolly hat. For a second, I was reminded of Alicia Bainbridge, who used to work with Dom before being head-hunted by another company. I’d met her at a works party once, and thought how coldly beautiful she was, her gaze washing over me as though I wasn’t worth bothering with.

  ‘She’s got a thing for me,’ Dom had said when I commented afterwards, wincing as though it pained him to admit it. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll get over it.’ He’d never mentioned her again.

  ‘Here we are.’ Liv was back with two big mugs of creamy hot chocolate, a swirl of cinnamon on top. ‘I wasn’t sure whether you wanted something to eat.’r />
  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ I was actually starving, but couldn’t face a trek to the counter, aware of Kim’s judgemental gaze sweeping in my direction, probably noting things to report back to Elizabeth the next time they met in the park.

  Liv delved into a canvas bag in the bottom of Evie’s buggy and pulled out a sippy cup, along with a little pot of carrot sticks.

  When Evie solemnly handed Finn a carrot stick, he gave it an uncertain look before pushing the end between his gums, eyes round as he tried to chew.

  ‘He’s so sweet,’ Liv said, crossing her legs and leaning forward, more animated around him than she’d been on Friday. She was dressed smartly today, her blue sweater flattering her creamy skin. ‘Does he take after you or his dad?’

  ‘A bit of both, according to my mother, though she’s only seen him on-screen since he was about six weeks old.’

  ‘She doesn’t live locally?’

  ‘Portugal.’ I was sure I’d told her before, but her visit to the house was a bit of an embarrassing blur. ‘She runs a guesthouse there with her boyfriend.’

  When Liv’s eyebrows rose, I found myself telling her about Mum relocating to the wine region of Arrábida four years ago, how happy she was with Tomas and how well their business was doing. ‘We went there a couple of years ago, and were on our way to visit in the New Year when I went into early labour.’ I suppressed a shudder at the flash of memory those words conjured up; the diversion from the airport to the hospital, the escalating pain, Dom’s erratic driving through a blizzard, and the certainty that I was going to lose my baby.

  ‘Sounds great.’ Liv took a long swallow of hot chocolate, glancing to check that Evie was OK. ‘Having a place in Portugal, I mean.’ I thought I detected a trace of bitterness in her voice but told myself I’d imagined it. ‘Are you an only child?’

  I blinked at the change of topic. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘My dad died young.’ I felt the usual pang, my only memories of my father the photos Mum had, of a smiling man with the same unruly red hair I’d inherited and a cheeky smile; one of him looking at her adoringly on their wedding day, another of him gazing at me in his arms just after I was born, his expression dazed but happy, and one where he was pushing me on a little swing in our back garden. Sometimes, I thought I could remember the feel of his woolly sweater against my cheek, the smell of the soap he used, the sound of his gravelly voice, singing me nursery rhymes, and I hoped the memories were real. ‘My mum and I get on well, but now she’s living abroad, it’s … well, I miss her. I always thought it would be nice to have a brother or sister.’