Heard someone call me.
“Holly!”
I froze.
Harry hissed “Yessss!” under his breath and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Keep walking!”
“But –”
“Holly! Hang on!” Oliver had broken into a run now.
“Wait – don’t look yet,” Harry hissed at me under his breath. He turned first, and then made a big deal of elbowing me to turn around. “It’s your friend!” He motioned to Oliver who had by now caught up with us.
“Oh! Hi, sorry, Oliver, I didn’t realise – what’s up?”
Light and airy, light and airy, light and airy.
He looked from me to Harry and back again.
“Oliver?”
“I’d prefer to have a word with you on your own actually.” He looked at Harry again.
My heart leapt.
“Oh! Should I be worried?” Harry puffed up his chest in mock machismo.
“No, Harry, of course not! You go on to Houlihan’s, and I’ll catch up with you.”
Harry shot Oliver an excellent dirty look and shuffled off down the street.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well?” he practically shouted. “What do you mean ‘well’?”
“Sorry, Oliver, what exactly is the problem?” How I kept my voice level was a miracle.
“You’ve no idea?” He swung his arm back towards the front door of McGuire’s. “Could you explain what the hell is going on?”
“Going on? I still don’t know what –”
“For fuck’s sake, Holly – ‘I changed my mind, I got a job’!” he mimicked.
I almost laughed aloud at the vitriol in his voice.
This seemed to enrage him further. “I’m glad you find the whole fucking thing so funny!”
“Well, I’m sorry that you don’t! I still can’t see what your problem is. At the end of the day, I’ll do whatever makes me happy.”
“Happy? With that fuckin’ Neanderthal?”
“What do you want, Oliver?” I asked quietly. The peculiar sense of loyalty I felt towards Harry wouldn’t allow me to let Oliver ridicule him in the street.
“You know what I fucking want!”
He turned and kicked the wall behind him.
My hand shot to my mouth. Now would not be the time to laugh. But this episode seriously could not be going any better.
I resisted the temptation to speak.
He turned to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were staying in Ireland?”
“I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if there was any point – and, well, then the week got away from me. It all happened very quickly, you know.”
“So I see.” There was no escaping the sarcasm.
“I’m not so sure that I need to apologise for that,” I said and turned to walk away, every muscle in my body resisting.
But before I could go two steps, he grabbed me from behind and spinning me around, started to kiss me with a force that shook the breath from my body. I couldn’t help reciprocating before a warning voice in my head screeched stop.
So I screeched, “Stop!” and shoved him back with a force I didn’t know I possessed. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Meet me. Later. Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever. Just meet me!” he pleaded.
“I can’t,” I said, looking back up the street after a fast-disappearing Harry.
“You can.”
“Well, you certainly can’t!” I snapped. “You’ve a girlfriend, remember?”
“Let me worry about that. Just call me.”
“No.” I started to walk away, afraid he would see the sweet smile of victory etched on my face.
“I’ll ring you then!”
“I won’t answer!”
“You’d better, or I’ll come looking for you.”
I turned and laughed, all pretence at seriousness gone now.
“Good luck with that!”
Chapter 18
“Amber!”
“Noooooo!”
“Amber!”
“Noooooo!”
I turned and buried my sore head in the pillow but I could still hear the all-too-familiar exchange of words.
Damn you, Amber! Actually no – damn you, Mark!
It was my morning off. Did I really have to go down there? I’d had a late night . . . I groaned.
Damn you, Harry . . .
Then I remembered in one glorious rush exactly what Harry and I had been celebrating until the early hours of the morning.
Oliver.
Mission accomplished.
“Noooooo!”
The screeches were still audible from below. I pulled on my Gap hoodie, dragged a toothbrush across my teeth and stumbled downstairs.
“Holleeee!”
A semi-naked Amber tore across the room, almost knocking me off my feet.
My gaze traced her steps to where Mark sat on the couch, surrounded by an assortment of children’s clothes. He looked so helpless and miserable that I started to laugh. I knew I was less than effective when it came to controlling her, but I’d credited him with a higher level of competence – after all, he was herdad.
“Man! You look worse than I do,” I said without thinking.
“I think I feel it,” he said glumly.
“What’s the problem?” I asked, trying to swat away a whooping Amber who was doing a good job of tugging down my pyjama bottoms.
“I can’t get her dressed. Not that it matters – Jamie says he’s not going to the football.”
“Oh?”
“So that’s that then.” He looked at the mess around him and sighed.
“Whoa – not so fast!” I shoved Amber onto his lapand, pulling together everything I learnt in one week of dealing with her, clicked on the TV in front of them. “Wait there a minute.”
I knocked softly on Jamie’s bedroom door. He was sitting on his bed. Just sitting there, not playing with anything.
Just sitting there.
He didn’t look up when I came in so I sat beside him.
“What’s up, sport?”
No answer.
“I hear you don’t want to go to football?”
No answer.
“It’s a pity. Oisín’smum said you were real good at it.”
He sighed.
Okay, it wasn’t much, but it was a start.
“Want to talk about why you don’t want to go?”
He shook his head.
“Someone annoy you at it?”
He shook his head again.
Suddenly there was a screech downstairs, followed by a roar.
Jamie flinched, and then sighed again.
“She’s pretty loud, isn’t she?” I said.
He nodded.
“She doesn’t mean it – she’s only a baby really,” I said softly.
“Huh. She’s always like that. It’s not fair.”
“No. I suppose it isn’t.”
“We can’t do anything cos of her.”
“I see.”
“Everyone laughs at me when she starts screeching. It’s not fair.”
He had now spoken more words in five minutes than I’d heard from him in five days.
“You’re right. It’s not fair.” I sighed. “But, you know, I have a sister too, and she embarrasses me in a different way. She’s so good she makes me feel like the bold one, all the time.”
He looked up at me.
“So you see,” I continued, “that’s the thing with having brothers or sisters – it’s never going to be plain sailing. And maybe, when you two get older, you’ll annoy her by being so good all the time!”
He looked up from under his heavy fringe and I thought I saw the first trace of a smile on his lips.
“So then I can get my own back?” he whispered.
“You bet!” I decided to chance putting my arm around his shoulders and giving them a little squeeze. “I tell you what though, until then I’vegot a better idea. Let
’s do a deal. I’ll keep Amber here at home with me, and you and your dad will go to soccer.”
“What do I have to do, in the deal?” He looked at me suspiciously from under his long lashes.
“You,” I winked, “just have to tell me all about the soccer when you come home. Do you think you could do that?”
He smiled. A shy smile, but a smile nonetheless. And a nod.
“Right so – you put on your gear, and I’ll see you downstairs.”
Morning off, gone.
Lucky I was in very, very good humour . . .
I went back downstairs.
“He’s going.”
“What? How?”
“I’ll talk to you later about it.” I took Amber off Mark’s knee where she sat chewing on his phone and sat down with her on my lap.
“Why? Is there something I should know?” The stern look was back in his eyes.
“I said I’d talk to you later!” I looked pointedly at Amber who had by now scrambled off my knee and was immersed in picking a Barney DVD from the stash under the TV.
“Oh.”
I gestured to him to come out into the hall where she couldn’t hear us.
“He’s embarrassed.” I said. “She’s not the quietest toddler in the world.”
“She’s only a baby!” He was defensive now.
“I know. But you know, maybe it’s never just about him. Why don’t you spend the day with him, take him for lunch or . . .” I tried to think of something a father and five-year-old son could do, but drew a blank, “I don’t know, go somewhere, just the two of you.”
“But it’s your day off!”
“I know, don’t remind me. I might change my mind,” I said gruffly, trying not to blush.
“Oh.” He looked at me. “That’s very kind of you. I know you probably have a million things you’d rather be doing.”
And then he smiled at me.
For the first time.
And for a second I really wished I wasn’t in my Garfield pyjamas.
“I hadn’t that much planned really,” I stuttered over what were possibly the first words of truth I’d ever told him.
“Well, thanks. I mean it. I appreciate it.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” I could feel my cheeks flame as he stared at me. “Have fun. Come on, Amber!” I called into the TV room.“It’s time for Holly to get dressed!”
I fanned my cheeks as I headed for the stairs, Amber in tow. It was definitely easier when we hated each other. He needn’t think he was going to start being all nice and smiley at me now.
And then I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror.
And the first thing I saw were two long black streaks of mascara leaking down my cheeks and I cursed my stupidity.
He wasn’t smiling tome, he was smiling at me.
Well, that was a relief.
Wasn’t it?
Oh forget it! I really was too hung-over to figure it out now.
Chapter 19
Yes, it was a good job I was in an amazingly good humour.
Because Amber certainly wasn’t.
She seemed to realise that Jamie had escaped without her and literally went insane. Running up and down the hall, throwing her dolls at the wall, all the time screeching at the top of her voice.
And all I could think of, through my thumping headache, was Oliver.
And when he was going to phone.
And if he was going to phone.
And if it could possibly be even the teeniest bit okay if I phoned him. Harry said he would kill me with his bare hands if I did, but I was still secretly toying with the idea.
Amber did another lap of the kitchen as I attempted to tidy it. It was definitely time for Barney.
“Come on, my little ChildofSatan, time for the big purple monster!” I called sweetly.
I seriously couldn’t be expected to put up with anymore. Besides, I wanted to bring my laptop down to the kitchen table and sit and gaze at Oliver’s profile on Facebook.
Mmmm . . . Facebook . . . Harry didn’t say anything about Facebook.
I finally got Amber into the TV room, lugged my laptop downstairs and sat down with a huge mug of coffee. I flipped open the screen.
And there he was.
Phone me, I willed his photo, phone me!
Suddenly there was the most horrendous screaming noise coming from the TV room.
I rolled my eyes. For Christ’s sake, Amber . . .
I reluctantly dragged my eyes away from the screen and wearily walked to the TV room. But, as I approached the door, I could see Amber on the couch, still sitting quietly watching TV.
So how could I still hear her screaming?
Okay, so it obviously wasn’t her . . .
Then who was it?
Could I really be so unlucky that another toddler had broken into the house especially to go off on one?
I entered the room and the puzzle was solved. The DVD drawer had spat open, leaving the TV to flick back onto some random channel where a toddler the exact same age as Amber was throwing the biggest tantrum I’d ever seen. No, wait, it was two toddlers.Aha! That explained how it was louder than Amber.
I reached for the controls just as some lady in a suit came on screen and a voiceover said with a very authoritative English accent: “It was time for Supernanny to take control.”
I’d like to see her try, I thought sarcastically.
Then I stopped, controls in mid-air.
I actually wouldn’t mind seeing her try . . .
And so I stood and Amber sat and we watched, both open-mouthed, as a rather robust-looking lady in a bizarre business suit whipped those two screaming, lunatic toddlers into shape. Not literally whipped obviously, which, while it would have been a solution I’d have wholly approved of, would hardly have been suitable for broadcast before the watershed. But still, by the end of the programme they were happy and smiling and the sun was shining and Mum had stopped crying (actually Mum had had a haircut too, but I don’t think that Supernanny took the credit for that).
The better the children got, the more disinterested Amber became and by the time Supernanny was saying her goodbyes to the Ratchet family, she had wandered off – for all I knew to play with knives in the kitchen.
I didn’t care. I was in a Supernanny-induced stupor and I wanted to know more. To my delight I discovered it was a double bill. I ran out to put the kettle back on and grab a notebook.
An hour later, Amber had gone down for her nap and the second episode of Supernanny had come to an end. A strange sense of euphoria had enveloped me. Who was this Supernanny and why didn’t I know about her? Okay, well, seeing as I had only heard of the global phenomenon that was Barney six days before, I suppose it was kind of predictable that I’d never heard of Supernanny. But come on, the woman was clearly a genius. For the first time it occurred to me that Amber’s behaviour, while obviously not unusual, definitely wasn’t “acceptable” – Supernanny’s words, not mine . . .
I thought of Jamie’s little face that morning as he sat on his bed, willing to give up his football because of the embarrassment of his sister’s tantrums.
Imagine if there was something I could do.
I’d be here for at least another week if Oliver phoned.
When Oliver phoned.
If I phoned Oliver.
And Harry didn’t find out and kill me.
It would be just another project.
And I loved projects.
I definitely needed to know about this woman. I remembered my laptop, sitting open on Oliver’s profile page. And I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before.
I flew out to the kitchen and started to type into Google.
Who is Supernanny????
A mere twenty minutes later my head was starting to spin.
There wasn’t just a Supernanny that I hadn’t heard of, there was a Toddler Tamer, a Toddler Guru and somebody called a Toddler Whisperer. I didn’t investigate the Toddler Whisperer any further
as I figured Amber was probably way past anything that whispering could accomplish.
The thing was, they all seemed to be saying the same thing. That the average toddler’s problems all stemmed from lack of routine, lack of discipline, poor diet and bad sleeping habits.
And we had all of those.
Throw in a deceased mum and a workaholic dad and I reckoned there could be several TV companies jostling in a bidding war for the Fielding family.
My head was spinning. It had never occurred to me that this thing could be a science. Something that could be solved by charts, lists, plans and other stuff I could do!
And the solution seemed to be pretty simple. All these ‘experts’ had basically the same edict. Routine + discipline = happier child. Happier child = happier parents/fraudster nanny.
This was amazing stuff. For the first time in weeks I felt the stirrings of work-related excitement. Okay, so it wasn’t Assets & Liabilities, but there was still a formula, a formula that these people promised would work.
I got totally immersed in the whole thing. Then my mobile beeped and, still with one eye on an episode of Nanny 911 (Supernanny’s American cousin), I opened a text.
I’m serious. Meet me. O
I looked at it. Then put down my phone.
And reached for a second notebook.
Wooohooo!
I was definitely here for another week.
Chapter 20
By four o’clock there was still no sign of Mark and Jamie. Not that I was worried. Why would I be? I’d only sent a recently bereaved borderline psychotic man with his recently bereaved borderline psychotic son off together for the day, which was undoubtedly the longest they’d spent together in five years.
No. I wasn’t worried.
By five, I still wasn’t worried. So why did I keep going to the front window to subtly check for the giant Land Cruiser to come rumbling down the estate. If it definitely wasn’t worry, then what was it? Ha! Well, it might have been the same reason why, as soon as I’d surfaced from my Supernanny-inducedstupor, I’d put Amber to bed and literally raced to the shower.
I was not happy to have been caught off guard with the pj/hoodie/hangover ensemble that morning, and needed to eradicate it fast from everyone’s memory.
So I straightened my hair. My poor hair, screaming to be highlighted, but there was only so much I could achieve in the tiny bathroom of a rural semi-d.
Between You and Me Page 13