And chose my jeans carefully. And my brand-new Ralph Lauren T-shirt.
And stuffed the shameful Garfield pyjamas into the laundry.
But still there was no sign. There was more than one reason for my impatience though. Yes, I was dying to know how the two of them had got on, but there was also another reason. That morning I had seen a chink of light in my relationship with my new employer. A chink I wanted to nurture, if for no other reason than it would make my life a whole lot easier. Now that MissionOliver was underway, it looked likely that I would stay until he was available to return with me, and wouldn’t that be easier in a house with a pleasant atmosphere?
Wouldn’t it be easier if we just, well, got along?
What my carefully applied make-up that had been checked seven times between the hours of four and five had to do with just ‘getting along’ was anyone’s guess, but one thing was for sure, if they didn’t get back soon, all my efforts would be for nothing. My squeaky-clean look was starting to fade.
I heard a key in the door.
And in burst Jamie, running down the hall before flinging himself on me.
“Holly, Holly! Guess where we were?”
“Oh, let me guess – the movies!”
“No!”
“The toyshop!”
“No!”
“The zoo!” I was starting to run out of suggestions given my total lack of knowledge of a) the surrounding area and b) children in general.
“No, silly! We were to see the horses!”
“Oh, wow! You went horse-riding!” I was impressed.
I looked at Mark as he came in the door behind Jamie, and the fake, breezy smile I’d been practising all afternoon was way outdone by one of genuine surprise. “That was a great idea!”
“What?” Mark looked at me cautiously.
“The horse-riding! He’s thrilled.” I looked from the blank face of one to the other.
“We didn’t ride the horses, silly!” Jamie laughed.
“Oh?”
“We fixed them!”
“You what?”
“Eh, I’m just going to get some stuff out of the jeep.”
“We fixed them. Oh Holly, it was great – Dad let me hold the ’jections and everything!”
Mark visibly winced, one foot almost out the front door.
“Great!” I smiled through clenched teeth. “Jamie, sweetie, why don’t you take off your coat and fly upstairs to wash your hands. Then we’ll have tea.”
As soon as Jamie was gone, Mark turned with a sheepish look on his face. “I can explain.”
“You went to work!”
“Yes – but –”
I could feel all my carefully rehearsed resolutions slip away. One afternoon. That was all the child was asking from him. Just one afternoon. There I’d been, imaging them up to all sorts of bonding activities, and all this time . . .
Then I stopped.
The child was on cloud nine.
What was the problem?
I took a deep breath and felt my shoulders relax. This was not the end of the world. Baby steps.
Exhaling, I looked up and said, “Well, it looks like he had a ball.”
“Eh, yes, he did. Actually, we both did.” Mark was cautious now, not quite sure how he’d gone from zero to hero in quite such a short space of time.
“Well, great then.”
“Eh, right.”
And so we stood there. Awkwardly.
“You were getting something from the jeep?” I reminded him.
“Oh. Yes. I was, wasn’t I?”
“Tea will be ready then.”
“Great.” He turned back towards the door.
“Oh, and Mark?”
“Yes?” He swung back again.
“Maybe don’t let him hold the injections?”
“Oh. The lids were on the syringes though.”
“Mark.”
“Oh, okay. I suppose you’re right. Scalpels only then.”
“Mark!”
But he was gone. And I could have sworn he was laughing.
The positivity continued on into teatime. And what a tea!
Earlier that afternoon, when three o’clock had passed and there’d been no sign of them, I’d occupied myself with trawling the internet for some delicious recipe for tea that would appeal to both adults and children. I was a pretty good cook. Asian stir-fry, wild mushroom risotto, pan-fried scallops with minted pea purée – whenever Monica entertained I was her personal chef. But cooking for children? Cooking for these children? I’d met my Waterloo. They didn’t like rice, they didn’t like meat, and don’t even approach them with anything resembling a vegetable. I’d had to re-educate myself completely and todayNigella’s Luscious Lasagne was the best I could come up with. I did however coupleit with chips and salad and the end result was a veritable feast. I’d even got carried away while I was at the butcher’s buying the minced beef and there was currently a plump chicken sitting in the fridge and the makings of an Irish Breakfast for the morning.
And bless Nigella and Brophy’s Butcher’s but that lasagne smelled out of this world. With its delicious aroma wafting around the kitchen, it was hard not to muster up an amicable atmosphere.
And we actually chatted – I mean, like a real family. At one stage I looked around the freshly scrubbed pine table and thought we might have been the Waltons themselves, only with fewer children and better clothing.
And at least once, if not twice, Mark nearly laughed again. He was actually quite handsome when his face wasn’t pinched with stress and bad humour. And I was glad I’d made an effort too, if only for the ego boost I got when I caught him looking at me once or twice.
Yes, I was in a very good place indeed.
The meal was almost over when Amber picked up her bowl of pasta and looked me straight in the eye. With a sinking heart I knew exactly what she was planning to do next.
“Amber – no,” I said, using the quiet but firm voice I’d been practising all afternoon.
“Ess,” she said, her chubby arm reaching higher.
“Amber, if you throw that bowl, you are going straight to the time-out area. Do you understand?”
“Ess,” she said, chubby arm suspended in mid-air.
“The what?” Mark asked.
“Good girl.” I turned to answer her dad. “The time-out area. It’s something new we’re trying. Trust me, it works.”
“Oh, sounds a bit drastic.”
“Well, not really. You can see how effective even just the threat of it is,” I said smugly, just as Amber’s half-eaten bowl of lasagne crashed down on Jamie’sshoulder.
Brat.
Conscious of Mark’s eyes boring into my back, I got up and calmly walked around to Amber’s chair.
“Now, Amber, Holly said that if you threw your bowl, you would have to go to the time-out area.”
“Holly – I don’t think she meant it –”
“Mark,” I interrupted him with the same firm voice I’d used on his daughter, “could you look after Jamie, please? You’ll find a clean T-shirt in the press under the stairs. We’ll be back in a minute.”
I went to unstrap Amber from her booster and where that afternoon she’d been almost comical in her acceptance of the punishment, she now started to scream “Daaaadaaaa!” at the top of her lungs.
“No, Amber. I told you. Now come with me.”
“Daaaaadaaaaaa!”
“Holly – please – I –” Mark jumped to his feet, but I turned on him.
“Mark! I’d like your support on this!”
“Daaaaaadaaaaaa!”
“I’m sorry, Holly, I can’t let you –”
But I pretended I couldn’t hear him. Grappling with the screeching toddler, I practically dragged her over to the cushion in the corner of the room and placed her on it firmly.
“Holly – I said –” he tried again.
But I was on my knees, holding Amber firmly by both arms, down at her level, looking her straight
in the eye.
“Now, Amber, do you know why you have to go in time out?”
“Daaaaaadaaaaaa!”
“You’re in time out because I asked you not to throw your dinner, and you did, so you have to stay here for two minutes and then you have to say sorry to Jamie. Do you hear me?”
“Daaaaaadaaaaaa!”
I got up but before I could even turn around she was off the cushion. So I grabbed her and plonked her back on it again.
“Holly!”
“No, Mark!”
“I said stop!”
“No.”
“Daaaaaadaaaaaa!”
“This is barbaric! She’s only a baby!”
“No, she’s not, Mark! She’s two and a half! She understands every single word we say. She knew exactly what she was doing. I need you to trust me on this. And could you please get me that top for Jamie!”
“Daaaaaadaaaaaa!”
She got up.
I put her back.
She got up.
I put her back.
“Holly, I can’t see how this will achieve anything!”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job!”
To be fair, thinking about that one afterwards, I did wonder where I’d found the nerve. It sounded the death knell for our family dinner but it worked in that Mark turned away, muttering, “I can’t watch this – I’vegot a call to make.”
And before I could even snap, ‘Well, isn’t that just your solution for everything!’ he was gone, the kitchen door slamming in his wake.
And instantly Amber stopped crying.
And sat on her cushion.
And I looked at my lovely Ralph Lauren top, terminally smeared with Nigella’s Luscious Lasagne, knowing without looking that my mascara was once again streaming down my sweating, puffy cheeks.
And, as I sank to the floor beside Amber, I felt two arms around my neck as Jamie hugged yet more lasagne into my no-longer-straight-but-still-in-need-of-highlighting hair. Tears of frustration and disappointment rolled down my cheeks.
And then I heard: “Saweeeeee, Jamie.”
I stopped, and looked up, certain I couldn’t have heard correctly. But sure enough, Amber, two chubby arms outstretched, was reaching out to her brother. Who looked dubious, and understandably nervous.
I wiped my tears away hastily.
“Jamie, say ‘That’s okay, Amber’,” I prompted quietly.
“Eh, that’s okay, Amber.”
And as the two children clumsily hugged, I started to smile. Victory clawed from the jaws of defeat was still very, very sweet . . .
Take that, Mark Fielding, you insufferable prick!
Chapter 21
I woke next morning at seven thirty with the sinking realisation that it was Mark’s weekend off. This meant it was my day off too but I was definitely not looking forward to being under his feet for the next twelve hours. I had some shopping I needed to do but, given my tiny victory the night before, was anxious to hang around and proceed with the new technique.
So I lay there, guiltily praying for some giant veterinary emergency to hit one of his clients. Then I heard Amber wake up but, before I could move, I also heard Mark go into her and take her downstairs. Oh, I thought, well, fine then. At least that gave me time to get up and get dressed. And, boy, did I definitely need my make-up well applied today!
As the lukewarm water dribbled down onto me, I tried to decide what way to play it with him this morning as I’d made a point of being in bed before he got home the night before. I thought of the sausages and rashers that lay expectantly in the fridge and wondered would a good fry-up put him in good humour. Not that I was planning on grovelling to him, definitely not.
I’d be professional, pleasant, and non-confrontational.
After all, that’s what Supernanny would do . . .
Then I heard the front door shut. Turning off the shower, I listened, but there was silence.
I ran out to my room and peeked from behind the blind just in time to see the Land Cruiser pull out of the driveway. That was strange, I thought.
Tiptoeing downstairs, I crept into the kitchen and sure enough there was a note for me on the counter.
I’ve taken the kids to my mother’s, so you can enjoy your day off without them.
Mark
Oh.
Well, that was that then.
I read the note again, trying to pin down its tone.
Sarcastic? Probably.
Penitent? Not so much.
Oh, God help me but that man really did my head in. The sooner I could head back to New York the better. I really wasn’t sure how much longer I could put up with this.
And then I calmed down. There was no point in getting upset. I had committed to a project and I might be a lot of things, but a quitter wasn’t one of them. I needed to look at this practically. I had been gifted a child-free day, so I should really make the most of it.
Running back upstairs, I got dressed and day off or no day off, started to whip like a dervish around the house, giving myself a target of thirty minutes to get the place straightened out before I started some serious studying.
With the dishwasher and washing machine on and the vegetables peeled for later, I finally sat down at the kitchen table, laptop and notebook at the ready.
By 10a.m. I’d compiled a list of seven books that I couldn’t do without another day, which, had I still lived in Dublin city centre, wouldn’t have been a problem. According to Google, the nearest bookshop open on a Sunday was in the neighbouring town of Newbridge. There was probably a bus at some stage but, as time was of the essence, I called a cab.
Less than thirty minutes and fifteen euro later, I was standing in front of a bigger array of childrearing books than I could ever have imagined existed. This was obviously a growing market, though to be fair as it wasn’t an aisle I’d ever frequented before, it was hard to tell if this was a recent craze or the norm. I was leaning towards the former, though, as I couldn’t really imagine my mother’s generation having had much truck with titles such as Top Tips for Fussy Eaters. She’d had her own solution to that problem: it was called Eat or Starveand its sequel I Haven’t Poisoned You Yet.
Still though, for someone like me who really hadn’t a clue, there was no possible child-related issue that someone hadn’t written a book about. Without moving more than four feet in any one direction, I could have found out how to predict my ovulation, do the deed in the most effective manner (apparently it made a differencehow it was done), map every single nanosecond of my pregnancy, choose from over four billion baby names before giving birth in any one of thirteen different ways. To finish the process off, I could then rear my child to the point of wedlock, literally feeding them a different menu every single night along the way.
I was truly stunned, but I hadn’t time to flick through them all. I was on a tight schedule. This schedule was made tighter still by the fact that I’d seen a large discount clothes shop on the way in and it had occurred to me that maybe a few new jeans and T-shirts might be an investment worth making. The memory of my ruined Ralph Lauren top was still very fresh in my head.
By four, I was back from my little shopping expedition, with three heavy shopping bags and one considerably lighter wallet. Raiding the terracotta pot for recompense for my purchases was not an option, so I decided these were balance-sheet items, investments . . .
By five, my head was in my hands. I had gone from positively brimming over with ideas and plans, to the sinking feeling that Mark Fielding was going to hate all of them.
But if he’d only let me explain. It was clear where this family was going wrong – there was no routine, no discipline, no proper eating habits, way too much TV – the books had only reinforced what I’d learned from Supernanny. And surely knowing what was causing the problemwas half the battle?
I could do it, I knew I could. It was just so frustrating.
Wearily I tidied my books from the kitchen table and moved them up to my room. Exac
tly twenty-four hours previously, I’d anticipated Mark’s return with excitement whereas now I found myself anxious, completely on edge. What a difference twenty-four hours could make.
The story of my life really.
Well, he wasn’t joking about being gone for the day. When there was still no sign of him by eightI put the vegetables into containers, wrapped the roast chicken and put it all in the fridge for the following day. Wherever he was, he’d have had to feed the children by this time so presumably he would have eaten too.
It wasn’t until eight thirty that I heard his key in the lock. I listened for the ensuing madness. But there was none. Sticking my head out into the hall, I saw him heading up the stairs with a sleeping Amber over one shoulder and Jamie trailing in his wake.
I’d been so determined to give Mark a wide berth on his return, but I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed Amber’s nightclothes from the radiator and followed him up the stairs.
She looked so tiny in his huge arms. As he gently laid her down in her cot, I had to admit there was no escaping the similarities between her and the picture of her mother on the stairs. I glanced sideways at Mark and, by the bittersweet look on his face, I knew he’d seen it too. He leaned down and stroked her cheek gently.
Embarrassed by the raw emotion on his face, I dragged my eyes away and started to slide off the sleeping child’s coat. He reached down to help me and working together with the smooth cautious movements of two army bomb-disposal experts, we managed to get her nightclothes on and then both just stood there, awkwardly.
Out of nowhere he stunned me by saying softly, “About last night –”
I gestured towards the sleeping child and ushered him out the door. Outside, I turned and said, “Look, Mark, I’m sorry, but –”
“No,” he interrupted me, “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about it, and of course you’re right.”
My mouth, already open with all the reasons why I was right, shut tightly as he continued.
“Obviously you’re the experienced one, so I’d like you to do whatever you think is best.”
I was stunned. This was not what I had been expecting. There had been no sign last night that he in anyway thought I was doing the right thing, nor this morning when he’dvirtually snatched the children out of my care before running to his mammy.
Between You and Me Page 14