Mr. Smithfield

by Louise Bay

  “I love her singing voice. It’s delightful. And she has excellent rhythm. She’s been invited for a play date with one of the kids from the class. Would that be okay with you?” I asked.

  “You’ll be there with her?”

  “Of course. I’d never leave her.”

  “Then yes, if you think she would enjoy it.”

  “And if we can fit it in. She has quite the schedule. We have swimming tomorrow. Gymnastics on Thursday. Music on Friday. And all this on top of pre-school. But from what I heard from the other nannies today, all the kids are scheduled like they’re the Obamas.”

  He chuckled and I stared at him, fascinated. His smiles were rare and certainly, I’d never elicited one before. Perhaps he just needed to get to know me a little better and he’d warm up.

  “I guess it’s the same in New York,” I said. “Or any big city with lots of pushy, successful parents.” A far cry from Oregon, and my parents. They didn’t even know if I was in school, let alone keeping up with any extracurricular activities that might have been offered. Which they weren’t. There might have been a chess club active for a semester, but chess wasn’t really my game. I’m pretty sure that if I’d gotten a job at the trailer park where we lived or in the factory where my sister used to work, they would have been as proud as Idina Menzel’s parents when they watched Wicked for the first time. Or they might not have noticed at all.

  Gabriel pulled open one of the cupboard doors and retrieved a bottle opener from where it was hanging on a rack inside the door.

  “Spatulas!” I squealed, spotting the elusive flipper. “How did I not spot these here? You’ve got them hanging up like they’re in a tool shed.” Why didn’t he just put them in a drawer or something? “You Brits.”

  “I never thought a fish slice could make someone so happy,” he said, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “It’s always the little things that feed hope, Gabriel. Always the little things.”

  He scooped up the fish slice from its hook and held it out to me.

  “Are you sure I can’t fix you an omelet?” I asked, taking the implement. As my hand wrapped around the handle, our fingers brushed—and it was like a bolt of heat shot up my hand, warming my entire arm. I sucked in a breath.

  It was just an accidental scrape of his fingers, but the touch was as intense as if he’d grabbed me and kissed me.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. What was he apologizing for? He hadn’t grabbed my boob or anything. He cleared his throat. “I must get on.”

  I glanced at the locked door. Back to stuffing bats or whatever it was he did in there. “If you’re busy, I’m happy to keep Bethany’s monitor.”

  “Bethany will have you running around and playing hide-and-seek, riding her bike, and taking her to the park tomorrow. Don’t burn yourself out.”

  I flexed a bicep. “I can handle her.” I winced. “I think.”

  He pulled out a single key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. A moment later, he disappeared behind the closed door, shutting the entire world—and me—out.

  Three

  Gabriel

  A crash downstairs drew my attention to the clock on my computer. Shit. Seven thirty. I’d been on this video call for two and a half hours and it was a Sunday morning.

  “I’m going to have to go,” I said. I’d mentioned having to ring off before seven when I answered the call at just after five. But as usual, Mike Green, my biggest client, liked to push boundaries.

  “We’re just making progress,” Mike said. “I think if we keep going, we can have this deal hammered out by noon your time. You’ll get the rest of the day.”

  “I have a four-year-old, Mike. I’ll catch up with you tonight. Just don’t engage those useless environmental analysts. I’ll find someone else.”

  “Gabriel, they’re the best in the business.”

  “They were four days late with the last report. They can’t be trusted.”

  “Can you just give me a few more hours? We can get this done.”

  When I didn’t respond, he sighed and gave me a disappointed nod of the head. He’d make me pay for this. People thought that when you made partner at a law firm, you were your own boss, but that was bollocks. Clients ruled my life in a way that other people’s bosses made their lives hell. Mike was a dickhead. But he was a successful dickhead and headed up one of the few private equity houses that was still doing deals in this recession. Probably because he had nothing else to do.

  I left the meeting and headed out of my office, toward the sound of the crash. Bethany woke between seven and seven thirty every morning like clockwork, and although she normally just played in her bedroom until I came and got her, she may have wandered downstairs.

  I walked into the kitchen and instead of seeing smashed crockery and four-year-old bare feet, I found Autumn at the hob, with Bethany sitting on a bar stool.

  “Good morning,” I said, scrubbing my hands through my hair and then kissing my daughter on the head. “Can we turn that music down?” What was it with Autumn and musicals?

  “We’re making pancakes,” Bethany announced as she continued to stir the mixture in the mixing bowl in front of her. “And singing.”

  God help us all. Autumn sang like she was drowning in a pit of cats and Bethany was four, so naturally sounded like one of the said cats. The two of them together might be handy as a form of defense if we were fighting off the Taliban, but my eardrums wouldn’t survive another chorus of Let it Go.

  I glanced at Autumn, wondering if she’d heard my request to turn down the music, and she beamed at me. I’d never known a person so happy all the time. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to impress me or if she was genuinely, thoroughly enjoying herself. Constantly.

  “I picked up maple syrup and blueberries this week, so we’re giving it a try. Are you willing to be a guinea pig?” she asked. More smiles. It was seven thirty on a Sunday. What was there to be so happy about?

  “Please, Daddy,” Bethany pleaded.

  “Okay.” I had no defense against my daughter’s request. I picked up Autumn’s phone and silenced the incessant screeching, hoping to dissuade any amateur participation, and took a seat on the stool next to my daughter. I hoped Autumn’s cooking was a lot better than her vocal ability. “But I don’t expect you to have to cook Bethany breakfast. Or me for that matter. I know it’s a Sunday.”

  “I was awake. And I’m cooking us all breakfast. I hope.” She winked. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had winked at me. It might have been the gardener we had when I was a child. These days, I was far too serious for anyone to wink at me.

  Except Autumn, apparently.

  “Here we go. Are you up for first taste, Bethany?” Autumn slid the first pancake onto a wooden plate. “Not too much syrup and lots of blueberries, please.”

  “Hot!” Bethany said, staring at the piece of pancake on her fork and giving it an ineffective blow.

  Before Bethany had given her verdict, Autumn slid three pancakes onto my plate and handed me a knife and fork.

  “Yummy!” Bethany declared. “Daddy, you eat.” She jabbed her finger at my plate.

  “I’m out of objections,” I replied and took a mouthful.

  “How are they?” Autumn asked.

  I nodded, trying to match her enthusiasm. She’d accused me of being rude last night, and I didn’t have time to look for a new nanny if Autumn decided to throw in the towel. I’d been accused by more than one nanny of being hostile and unappreciative.

  “Secret family recipe,” Autumn said as if she’d just served up a Michelin-starred dish.

  “Daddy, bear soldiers today, ’member?” Bethany said.

  “She’s been talking about soldiers non-stop,” Autumn said. “I’m a little concerned you’re signing her up to some kind of teddy bear army.”

  “I’ve promised I’ll take her to the changing of the guard. She thinks the busbies they wear make them look like bears.”

  Autumn swal
lowed a mouthful of pancake. “Changing of the guard? Like Christopher Robin and Alice?” Her face was plastered in sheer delight, like someone had just given her the moon. “Does that actually happen?”

  “Of course it does,” I replied. Why would she think it wasn’t real?

  “Can I come?” she asked, pouring more pancake batter into the frying pan. “That poem—” She shook her head as if it didn’t matter. “I heard it a lot growing up. I’d love to actually see how it all works. Does the Queen come out?”

  I hadn’t expected company today. Weekends were for me and Bethany. I didn’t see my daughter much in the week, so I tried to make weekends count.

  “Yes, Autumn, come! Please, Daddy!”

  My daughter had me wrapped around her finger. And it wouldn’t hurt to be nice to Autumn so she wouldn’t leave me high and dry and without a nanny. Again. Work was manic at the moment and it was going to get worse over the next couple of months. Autumn was due to stay until the end of July, when all my clients went on holiday and I’d have time to find a new nanny. “Of course, Autumn is welcome, darling. But she might not want to come because we won’t see Her Majesty. Just a lot of busbies and tourists.”

  Autumn shrugged, her eyes sparkling like sunshine hitting water. “I can’t wait. What time do we need to leave?”

  Instead of disappearing until it was time to go, Autumn pulled out Bethany’s rucksack and started to pack.

  “Here,” she said, pulling out a laminated sheet. “I prepared a list of everything we need when we’re going out for the day.”

  “You laminated a list?” It was strange having help at the weekend. It had been a long time since Bethany’s mother had left.

  She shrugged. “Of course. That way you don’t forget anything. I have one for going to preschool, too. I find it’s best to be prepared in life. It frees you up to deal with the unexpected.”

  I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, and I was concerned if I asked her to explain, she’d just confuse me more.

  Thirty minutes later, Autumn greeted the cabbie as we piled into the cab. “Thank you for taking us to the Palace.” She did know he was getting paid, didn’t she?

  “Tip up. Tip up. Just like Paddington,” Bethany sang to herself as she pulled down the tip-up seat and clambered on. I leaned to fix the seatbelt and my hand collided with Autumn’s. A flash of energy chased up my arm and lit me up from my center, starting in my bollocks. Jesus. I thought when I handed her the spatula last night, the spark of electricity between us had been a fluke. Apparently not.

  Autumn gasped as she pulled back her arm.

  Had she felt that? It was like some kind of explosion.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, not looking at her but finishing securing Bethany in place.

  “Yes,” she said, quieter than I was used to. She’d also felt something then.

  Autumn was an attractive girl. I’d seen it the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her. I’d stopped noticing women after Penelope left, swearing myself to a life of celibacy. I wanted to focus only on the things that deserved my attention: my daughter, work, and the five men who were more my brothers than my friends. Autumn had interrupted that focus for a split second. But that’s all it had been—a momentary intrusion. She’d been unmistakably striking and beautiful and a little haunting, and something in my physiology had reacted. But that moment had passed. Hadn’t it?

  By the time we pulled up on the Mall, I’d put our collision out of mind. Autumn likely had too, with all her chattering on to the cabbie. I was surprised she hadn’t been invited to the man’s thirtieth wedding anniversary coming up next month. She’d made fast friends with him as she peppered him with questions about his celebrity passengers and near misses when it came to women almost giving birth on the back seat. Her sunny nature didn’t appear to have been put on for my benefit. Or if it had, it was extended to the cabbie as well. She seemed genuinely happy. All. The. Time.

  At least she hadn’t broken out into song.

  We stepped out of the cab onto the street, and I lifted Bethany onto my shoulders like we normally did. This time of year, the crowds wouldn’t be too bad, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Bethany was safe and also had the best view.

  “Could there be anything more iconically British then going to see the changing of the guard in a black cab?” Autumn asked, her wide smile lighting up a very dull April morning.

  “Bears!” Bethany said, pointing toward the palace.

  “Let’s go,” I replied. “We need to get a good spot.” There were just a few people here right now but within ten minutes, thousands would appear from nowhere like ants on ice cream.

  I felt the vibration of my phone in my pocket before I heard it and my gut swirled like week-old gravy. I knew it would be Mike. I wanted to dump him as a client but with the economy in the ditch, he was the only person making sure I wasn’t pushed out of the firm. I pulled the phone from my pocket, holding both of Bethany’s legs with one hand. Even with my daughter’s splayed hands across my forehead and one eye, I could make out that it was indeed Mike.

  “Work?” Autumn asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I have one particularly demanding client. Doesn’t have kids so doesn’t get wanting to be away from the office.”

  “But, man, it’s the weekend.”

  “Says the woman who’s hanging out with her boss and her charge.”

  She laughed. “I suppose. But this is fun.” She clapped her mitten-covered hands together and turned to Bethany. “I can see the bear soldiers!”

  If she was having fun, she’d stay for her full term. Bethany seemed to like Autumn, and other than her love of musicals, she wasn’t a terrible lodger. I was barely at home anyway and when I was, I spent most of the time in my workshop. For me, our arrangement was a perfect fit.

  We got to the palace gates and huddled into one of the remaining slots in front of the tall black railings surrounding the palace.

  “Honestly, I’ve been waiting to see this since I was nine years old,” Autumn said.

  “The changing of the guard?”

  “Yes. And London. And the world,” she said, tilting her head back as far as she could, as if she was trying to make out Jupiter.

  “You’ve always wanted to travel?” I asked.

  “Always. And when Hollie got to come to Europe first, I knew I wouldn’t be far behind. I can’t wait to see the Colosseum. The Eiffel Tower. I want to go and watch the . . .” She made pincer movements with her fingers. “You know, in Seville.”

  “Flamenco?” I suggested.

  “Gah,” she replied, closing her eyes and inhaling as if she was breathing in a bouquet of summer flowers. “I can’t wait. I thought I’d have to wait for paid vacation but turns out not having my job start until next September means I can spend the whole of August travelling. Things have turned out for the best.”

  “Poor gold lady. She can’t see,” Bethany said, interrupting my tumble of thoughts. She patted my head and pointed at the statue of victory on top of the Victoria memorial.

  “No, darling, she’s looking in the wrong direction,” I replied.

  “I think she’s making sure everyone is happy,” Autumn replied. “And I’m sure someone will show her photos.”

  “Yes!” Bethany said. “The Queen.”

  Sometimes I wondered what thoughts raced around Bethany’s head in between her random statements. Did she think the statue came alive when the people had gone, and Victory joined Her Majesty for tea and a giggle about the ceremony? Being a father was the most rewarding, confusing, challenging thing I’d ever done and despite Bethany’s mother leaving us, I’d do it all again exactly the same in a heartbeat. Bethany was a constant reminder that someone other than myself was at the center of everything I did. It was an important reminder—one that kept me focused and determined even in the face of nightmare clients like Mike.

  “Spin,” Bethany demanded, and dutifully, I turned around three hundred and sixty degrees on the spot
. Bethany tilted back as she always did when she was on my shoulders, and I tightened my grip on her ankles. “Again.” This time I went the other way twice. Soon I knew I’d been crouching down and springing up and rocking my shoulders left and right like I was Bethany’s own personal fairground ride. Anything to hear that giggle.

  “You two are wonderful together,” Autumn said, grinning up at us both.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find an older woman, pulling one of those baskets on wheels that elderly people transport their shopping in. “Excuse me for interrupting you, but I have to tell you that you three make a very good-looking family.”

  I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d told me I’d unknowingly come out in my boxers. I was lost for words. I glanced at Autumn, who I expected to interrupt and correct the woman, but she seemed to be studiously focused on the preparations behind the railings.

  The woman looked up at Bethany. “You are going to turn out just as pretty as your mama.”

  She thought Autumn was my wife. That she was Bethany’s mother. Couldn’t she see I was far older than Autumn? That I was the man who signed her paychecks?

  She patted me on my arm. “You have a beautiful family. Take care of them.”

  If only she knew.

  I’d spent five years with Penelope trying to create a beautiful family. I was now certain there was no such thing. Apparently, I hadn’t learned that lesson from my father. My ex-wife had to burn it on my soul.

  I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  Now I was determined to the best father I could be to Bethany. That meant I lived my life with very exacting standards. I would be a role model for her. A provider for her. And most of all, I’d be her anchor—an unbreakable tether that would give her consistency and certainty. I knew what it felt like as a child when the ground was constantly shifting beneath you and you didn’t know whether your parents would both be there when you woke up. Bethany’s mother had cut herself loose, but that just made me bind myself more tightly to my daughter.