by Alice Ross
Thankfully Annie didn’t seem to notice as, all at once, she released her hold and bent down to the car.
‘Get out of there now, Pip!’
Amelia whipped round to find a scruffy white Jack Russell with a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on its head sitting smugly on the cream leather driver’s seat.
‘I’m so sorry,’ apologised Annie, swiping up the dog and slamming shut the car door. ‘This is Pip. He doesn’t like to miss anything. Anyway, come on in and have something to eat. We’ll bring your stuff in later.’
Amelia gave a weak smile of consent, not daring to speak in case it brought forth the threatening tears. Instead, she followed her sister into the house and found herself in a huge, perfectly square entrance hall, dominated by an enormous Christmas tree dripping with all manner of decorations. Original green patterned tiles covered the floor, while the dazzling white walls were dotted with black-and-white family photographs.
‘Everyone’s in the kitchen,’ said Annie, marching off down a corridor leading off from the hall. ‘The children can’t wait to see you.’
Observing the children’s smiling faces in the pictures, Amelia doubted that very much. She never knew what to do or say around children. Their unpredictability set her on edge.
‘Look who’s here,’ Annie announced, when they eventually reached the vast kitchen. An obvious recent addition to the house, its back wall consisted entirely of folding doors leading onto the garden. Opposite, against the natural stone of the wall, rested a collection of sleek aubergine units, bookshelves, a refrigerated wine rack, and, bang in the centre, a fuchsia-pink Aga. The place was modern, stylish and homely and smelled exactly like Annie: of bread and roses, with the addition of spicy parsnip soup.
Running down the centre of the room was a long plank table littered with crayons, paints, paper, glitter and jigsaw pieces. At one end sat Jake, Annie’s husband, with his laptop. He jumped to his feet and strode over to Amelia the moment she entered.
‘Hi,’ he gushed, enveloping her in another hug. ‘How are you? So sorry to hear about the job. It must’ve been a huge shock.’
‘You could say that,’ mumbled Amelia, the urge to howl increasing by the second.
‘Still, on the plus side, it gives you a chance to spend some time with us,’ he continued. ‘The kids have been dying to see you. Are you going to say hello to Aunty Amelia, guys?’
Kneeling on the bench at the table, seven-year-old Sophie, the double of her mother, her mass of golden hair squashed into two fat pigtails and a Rapunzel-like hat on her head, gazed at Amelia with huge green eyes.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Amelia managed a watery smile back.
‘And what about you, Thomas,’ chivvied Jake. ‘You remember Aunty Amelia, don’t you?’
Kneeling alongside his sister, two-year-old Thomas, in a Spiderman outfit topped off with a policeman’s helmet, ran an appraising gaze over his aunt. ‘No,’ he replied flatly.
Jake snorted with laughter. ‘Sorry, Amelia. You’ve caught him on a bad day. We ran out of yogurt popsicles earlier which, I’m sure you can appreciate, is almost a national disaster.’
Despite having no idea what a yogurt popsicle was, and being devoid of the energy to ask, Amelia opted for another weak smile.
‘Anyway, never mind our wayward offspring,’ cut in Annie, setting the antler-bearing dog down on the floor, and marching over to a pan on the Aga. ‘You must be starving. Parsnip soup okay for you?’
‘Accompanied by my homemade bread,’ chipped in Jake. ‘Thomas and I made it especially for Aunty Amelia, didn’t we, mate?’
Without bothering to raise his head from his elf jigsaw, Thomas nodded gravely.
‘I sometimes help mummy make cakes,’ announced Sophie, without looking up from her colouring-in book.
Amelia gulped. What should she say to that? She’d never made a cake in her life. ‘Well, that’s, um, nice,’ she heard herself murmuring, as she slipped onto the bench opposite her niece.
Sophie cast her an unimpressed glance, before returning to her colouring book.
Thankfully, the moment was broken by Annie.
‘I thought you’d just want to chill this afternoon,’ she said, pushing a spoon and a bowl of steaming-hot soup in front of Amelia. ‘You must be exhausted after the drive. But I’ve arranged a babysitter for tonight. I thought us three grown-ups could go to the pub for a meal. If that’s okay with you.’
Amelia’s already low spirits took a further dip southwards. The last thing she needed was to sit in a noisy pub, surrounded by people, making polite conversation. But to say so would be rude and unsociable. And she didn’t know her sister well enough to be either of those.
‘Lovely,’ she consequently uttered. She hoped the addition of, ‘But I don’t want to be any trouble,’ might permit her a reprieve.
It didn’t.
‘Oh, believe me,’ chuckled Jake, resuming his seat at the table, ‘we don’t find it any trouble going to the pub. Annie practically lives there.’
Annie placed her hands on her slender hips. ‘Er, excuse me, Mr O’Donnell. I’ve been all of half a dozen times this year. Although, now that we have our super-reliable, gorgeous babysitter, I might well increase my visits.’
‘Our babysitter is called Ella and she lets me stay up until nine o’clock, but I’m not allowed to tell anyone,’ Sophie piped up, gazing solemnly at Amelia.
‘Not a soul? Ever?’ pressed Jake.
Sophie shook her head, causing her pigtails to swing from side to side. ‘Nobody. Ever.’
Chapter Two
‘You look nice, dear.’
Ella Hargreaves bit back a satisfied smile as she wandered into the kitchen of Stanway House, where her mum sat at the table with a mug of tea and a copy of the local newspaper. ‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘But it’s only an old pair of jeans and a tatty T-shirt.’
From behind her reading glasses, Mona Hargreaves arched a dubious brow. ‘There’s nothing old or tatty from where I’m sitting. And I hope you’re putting a cardigan on. You’ll catch your death in that top.’
Ella gave a dismissive toss of her long chestnut locks. ‘I’m babysitting, Mum. Which means I’ll be indoors all evening.’
Mona narrowed her eyes. ‘Just watch what you’re doing, that’s all.’
Ella planted a kiss on the older woman’s plump cheek. ‘You worry too much,’ she said, before uttering something about being back about eleven, and making a hasty retreat. Honestly, as much as she loved her mum, it did unsettle her sometimes just how perspicacious the woman could be: like she had x-ray vision that drilled right through to Ella’s mind. Because, as glib as Ella’s reply had been to the “looking nice” comment, she’d actually invested a great deal of effort preparing for this evening.
In addition to the hour banishing every one of her natural, much-hated curls with straighteners, she’d spent an age applying her make-up, including the new glittery green eyeliner and peachy lip gloss she’d bought earlier in the week. By far her most successful purchase during her shopping trip to Harrogate, though, had been the pink push-up bra, which gave her cleavage a boost she previously would only have thought possible with a surgeon’s knife and some silicone implants. Showcasing her newly boosted assets in a low-cut lilac T-shirt, and her long slender legs in faded jeans with the requisite rip at the knee, Ella looped a woollen scarf around her neck and tugged on her khaki parka in the hall, before making her way to The Cedars, excitement swirling about her stomach.
Having left school after her A-levels in the summer, Ella had decided to “take a year out”.
‘Only a year, mind,’ her mum insisted. ‘If you haven’t sorted yourself out by next August, you can enrol in a business studies course. There are always lots of jobs in offices.’
Plenty of jobs in offices there might be, but Ella didn’t want any of them. The thought of pushing bits of paper around for the rest of her life made her nauseous. But she honestly had no idea what she wa
nted to do. Unlike her siblings. Harry was out in Papua New harr doing something with anteaters for his PhD; Honor and Mark were both studying medicine; Robert was ploughing his way through to becoming a barrister; and Olly had just started his architect’s course. Add to this the fact that her father was a physics professor at Leeds University and her mother a biomedical scientist, and Ella could not have felt like a bigger underachiever if she’d had the words tattooed in neon across her forehead.
While her siblings sailed through life attracting top grades with a magnetic-like force, thriving on the pressure of tests and exams, Ella had been a jittering bag of nerves at every one of her A-level sittings, scraping a measly B and two C’s – embarrassingly not enough for her to be offered a place on the journalism course she’d been considering. The look of disappointment on her parents’ faces when she’d informed them of said results would stay with her for a very long time.
And so Ella had more or less resigned herself to being a failure. And, by taking a year out, knew she was merely postponing the inevitable. At some point she’d have to bite the bullet and enter the world of proper work – earn enough money to support herself. But doing what? So tired was she of contemplating that question that she’d neatly bundled it up and lodged it in an “only to be visited when absolutely necessary” crevice of her mind. As naff as it sounded, she’d convinced herself that this year was all about “finding herself”. Or, at the very least, stumbling across something she derived a soupçon of satisfaction from.
‘You can’t sit around doing nothing for a year, though,’ her mum proclaimed, the moment Ella’s exams had finished. ‘You’ll have to find a job.’
So she had. She’d headed straight up to Buttersley Manor to enquire about work, and the following day began waitressing in Annie O’Donnell’s tearoom. Ella loved working there. The entire manor house, owned by Annie’s best friend, Portia, had recently been rescued from its dilapidated state, and beautifully refurbished and restored. It now offered a range of immensely popular courses throughout the year, including photography, cookery, dancing, and writing. Those visitors, combined with locals and day-trippers, all swarming to the Stables Tearoom for freshly squeezed orange juice, frothy hot chocolate, and Annie’s mouth-watering cakes, conspired to make the place a hive of activity every day of the week.
Ella enjoyed the buzz, the banter, the generous tips and last, but certainly not least, the fascinating mix of individuals. People came from all over the country to attend the courses – interesting people who seemed to know stuff about everything: politics, books, music. People who’d travelled widely and had fascinating tales to relate.
Not that Ella ever joined in any of these conversations. For one thing, she was never invited to, only mustering snippets as she set down lattes or scones, or cleared a nearby table. But mainly because she couldn’t join in. Her knowledge of politics stretched only as far as the name of the prime minister; the only serious books she’d ever read were those forced on her by her teachers; and she didn’t think any of the manor’s well-heeled visitors would be remotely interested in the latest One Direction album. As for being widely travelled, the furthest she’d ever ventured was to London on a school trip. Yet another disadvantage of coming from a large family, she concluded. With six kids for her parents to lug around, not to mention the expense, holidays to Disneyland or Spain had been experienced vicariously through mates at school.
Nonetheless, Ella enjoyed collecting these oddments of conversation – these insights into other people’s lives. Not, she was aware, that this little sideline would sit well on any proper job application form. But as she didn’t have any proper job application forms to complete at the moment, she wouldn’t waste time worrying about her future tonight. Indeed, she couldn’t have worried about it even if she’d wanted to. Because she was far, far too excited. And even now – five months on – still ever so slightly chuffed with herself for exploiting this opportunity when it first arose …
One day, when she’d been working at the tearoom for a few weeks, Ella had been taking a bag of rubbish to the bins outside when she’d overheard Annie on her mobile.
‘Oh no. What a pain … No. Honestly. It’s fine. Don’t you worry … Let me know when you get back … Okay. Bye.’
‘Shit!’ she exclaimed, just as Ella appeared round the corner. ‘Oops. Sorry, Ella. That wasn’t aimed at you. I’ve just had a call from Miranda, my partner in the party-planning side of the business. She’s been to Portugal for the week and was due to fly back this afternoon in time to supervise a big birthday party. But now her flight’s delayed, which means I’ll have to do it. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but Jake’s in Glasgow at a book-signing and I don’t have anybody to look after the kids.’
Ella’s stomach leapt. ‘I can look after them if you like,’ she gushed, hoping she didn’t sound overly keen.
Annie’s emerald-green eyes grew wide. ‘Oh. I didn’t mean … That is, you don’t have to—’
‘It’s no problem. Honestly,’ blustered Ella, battling the urge to jump up and down. ‘I’m not doing anything else tonight and it’ll be fun. Your kids are lovely.’
Annie’s pretty features twisted into a dubious expression. ‘Hmm. Hold on to that thought for as long as it lasts. Are you really sure you don’t mind?’
Mind? Does a pig mind muck? Ella almost replied. ‘Of course not,’ she said instead. ‘I’m looking forward to it already.’
‘Seven o’clock okay?’
‘Perfect,’ said Ella. In oh so many ways.
That had been her first time babysitting for Annie. And her services had been called upon many times since. But tonight was one of those special nights.
By the time Ella reached The Cedars, her heart was pounding so much she was convinced the effect must be evident in her push-up bra.
She rang the brass doorbell. Annie answered it.
‘Wow,’ she exclaimed, the moment Ella stepped inside and shrugged off her parka. ‘You look stunning. You meeting up with your mates later?’
‘Er, yes,’ lied Ella.
‘Come on in,’ breezed Annie, whisking around and marching across the tiled hall. ‘Thomas has been in the foulest mood all day and fell asleep half an hour ago, so you’ll be pleased to know you have one less to deal with. I’ve told Sophie she can stay up until half past eight. And there’s plenty for you to eat. There’s chocolate cake in the fridge, and cheese—’
‘And don’t forget my homemade bread,’ came a deep male voice from behind.
Ella whipped round to find Jake striding down the corridor behind her, looking even sexier than usual in black jeans and a slim-fitting grey jumper, which showed off his toned torso to perfection.
Ella’s heart skipped a beat, her shaking legs almost caved, and her throat went dry. ‘Hi, Jake,’ she managed to croak.
*
‘I’ve ordered a brochure for St Hild’s Girls School,’ Bea announced over their Chinese takeaway.
Maddy had been fractious all day, mercifully wearing herself out by six o’clock. With her soundly asleep, Stan had suggested the takeaway as a treat for him and Bea. And, for what seemed like the first time in eons, Bea had actually deemed his suggestion a good one, even going so far as to open a bottle of his favourite Riesling to accompany the food.
A tiny part of Stan dared to hope they might enjoy a relaxing baby-free evening, along the lines of how they used to spend Sunday evenings in Life Before Maddy, or LBM, as he secretly termed it. He should’ve known better.
‘Schools,’ he spluttered, almost choking on his wine. ‘But she’s only nine months old.’
‘Precisely,’ confirmed Bea, stabbing an anaemic-looking prawn with her fork. ‘Some people reserve a place before their child’s even born. If we’re not quick, her year will be full.’
Stan ripped a sheet of kitchen tissue from the roll on the table and dabbed at his mouth. One of his colleagues whose daughter went to St Hild’s was constantly pleading poverty due to the astronomical
fees. And his wife was a GP! How on earth Bea thought they could afford such an extravagance when she’d packed her job in, he was more than intrigued to know.
‘How much are the fees?’ he asked innocently, opting for the tread-lightly approach rather than the confrontational. The latter would undoubtedly lead to yet another row, which, after spending all day assembling Maddy’s new wardrobe, he didn’t have the energy for. Nor did he want to waste the thirty quid he’d spent on the takeaway, which would inevitably end up in the bin if Bea kicked off again.
He watched as her slender arm stretched across the pine table and plucked a prawn cracker from the packet, her emerald engagement ring glinting in the overhanging kitchen light.
‘Well, it’s not the cheapest,’ she conceded. ‘But it’s a fantastic school. Think what a great start it would be for her, Stan. You only have to look at all the successful people who’ve been there to see how having the name behind you helps you get on. And imagine all the influential contacts she could make.’
Stan scooped up a forkful of Chow Mein, carefully considering his reply. He didn’t believe in all that public school crap – the nepotism, the elitism. He’d gone to the local comp and worked his butt off to get where he was. There was no substitute for hard graft in his book.
‘I’ve heard great things about Buttersley Primary,’ he ventured. ‘A couple of guys from work send their kids there, and they’re always saying what a great little school it is.’
Bea’s gaze dropped back to her plate. Stan could almost see her brain working out how best to respond. God, it was like a game of chess: each player attempting to second-guess their opponent’s reaction, before daring to make a move. It wasn’t that long ago they used to be so relaxed in one another’s company, tell each other about their day, bitch about work colleagues, giggle at the pathetic office politics surrounding them. Now they were like two adversaries – strangers with completely opposite goals.