‘Have you got the pictures I’ve been sending?’ I can’t help but ask. I don’t know why I’ve bothered asking. The blue double tick at the bottom of the messages tells me he has seen the pictures of the girls. Not that’s he’s ever replied or said thank you.
‘Yes,’ he says, with his back turned to me. ‘Thank you.’
Now a thank you. I must be dreaming.
‘There’s something else I want to talk to you about,’ I quickly add before he has the chance to walk away.
He begrudgingly turns around, one eyebrow raised. It pisses me off, as if raising both eyebrows is too much effort for him. Like I’m not worth both of them.
‘Yes?’ he presses, obviously annoyed by my deliberate silence.
‘You...told Jessica that Santa isn’t real?’ I phrase it like a question, when I already know the answer.
He shrugs as if he hasn’t gone around breaking years of tradition. ‘And?’
I can’t help but sneer. ‘And did you think it through before you broke that little girls’ heart?’
He glares at me, his eyes icy. ‘That little girls’ heart broke when her mother died. I told her night after night that her mum would be okay. After all that I just didn’t want to lie to her anymore.’
Wow. Well that kind of breaks my heart. I can see how his loss has made his heart hard.
‘But don’t you think that the magic of Christmas can help to heal her heart? Every kid needs to believe in Santa Claus.’
He glares back at me. ‘Why? It’s a terrible tradition. Lying to your children about a strange man breaking in through the fireplace and leaving them a present. It’s creepy.’
‘It is not creepy!’ I shout. Okay, maybe I’m a bit more into Christmas that I realised. But damn it, he’s disrespecting the big man. Definitely on the naughty list.
‘It’s an honoured tradition, giving children the belief and faith in a mythical being who’s only job is to make them happy on Christmas day. She deserves that in her life.’ After what she’s been through, she deserves the world.
‘Whatever.’ He shrugs, looking towards his phone.
‘Which is why I told her that you were wrong.’
‘I’m sorry?’ He sounds anything but sorry. He eyeballs me, daring me to explain myself.
‘I told her that you were wrong, and that Santa is real.’ I shrug unapologetically. I can be as blasé as him.
‘Well, it wasn’t your place to tell her that.’
‘It wasn’t your place to tell her either!’ I retort back. Okay, so apparently, I’m a lot angrier than I thought.
He steels his jaw, clenching it tight with his teeth. ‘I’m her father and it’s up to me how I plan on raising my girls. Please remember who’s writing your pay cheques.’
I raise my eyes at the arsehole. Who the hell writes pay cheques anymore? Get with the programme, Grandad.
‘You can’t fire me for telling your daughter Santa is real.’ I square my shoulders up at him, ready for a fight.
I think I’m going to get one too, until he sighs and drops his shoulders.
‘Well, if you’re going to play Christmas elf make sure to find out what they’ve asked for so I can get it right.’
Wow. He backed down. He must really be shattered tonight. A weird urge to give him a cuddle comes over me. To tuck him into bed, just like I did with the girls.
Then, before I can say anything back, he walks away.
What a very strange man. It’s funny to think that if I saw him on the street, I’d think what a yummy looking guy he is, without knowing what a complex weirdo he really is.
My head barely hits the pillow before I’m asleep.
Barclay
The woman infuriates me. Imagine telling Jessica that Santa does exist after all. I don’t want to join the millions of parents lying to their children. I prefer to tell mine the truth, thank you very much. My parents told me at a young age and I far preferred it; laughing at the kids talking about what Santa was going to bring them. I loved knowing they were stupid enough to believe it.
I can’t imagine telling the kids that a magical man breaks into our house in the middle of the night and is watching us all year. Jessica would probably tell me to call the police!
Still, it seems like she’s going along with her way of doing things, regardless of my opinion. I’ve let it slide this time, purely because I’m too exhausted to argue with her.
Dad is putting major pressure on me at the firm to become official partner. The truth is that I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’m already Managing Director of event planning and I’m happy where I am. If I suddenly became partner everyone would be rolling their eyes and whispering about how I only got it because my dad owns the company. And they’d be right.
Plus, I don’t see the girl’s half as much as I’d like to already, becoming partner would only add more pressure onto my plate. Not that Dad is listening to me. Keeps brushing off my refusal, telling me how lucky I am to be in such a privileged position. I know I am, but that doesn’t mean I have to turn into him.
I never saw him when I was growing up. He only ever turned up to tell me what he expected from me. What a disappointment I am. Well, I’ve had enough. He either lets it go or I’ll have to look for another company to work for. That would really piss him off.
The same thought about Ruby, I mean Miss Campbell, keeps running to the front of my brain.
Did you see the arse on her?
What the hell is wrong with me? Perving on my own children’s nanny. I don’t care how good her arse is, if she keeps going on like this she’ll be fired before Christmas.
Chapter 5
Tuesday 3rd December
Ruby
I’m woken up in the darkness by something wriggling under my duvet. I freeze. Oh my god, have they got a cat or a dog I don’t know about? Or even worse... a snake? If they’re a reptile family I’m grabbing my purse and running.
‘Hello?’ I ask into the darkness; my voice shaky with fear.
I lift the duvet, ready to come head to head with anaconda, but instead find Lottie crawling up my legs; her eyes red and puffy.
‘I had bad dream,’ she says on a sniff.
‘Oh, poor baby.’ I let her lie next to me while I rub her back in reassuring circles. She snuggles into me, her little hand holding onto my vest top, while still clinging onto her little bunny.
I let my heavy eyelids close for a second, knowing I have to make the two flights of stairs to tuck her back in.
Ruby
Next thing I know I’m woken up by someone shouting in the distance. I’m still in bed, with Lottie snuggled up beside me, as if she hasn’t moved an inch. She’s all warm and toasty. I press my cheek against hers before checking my phone to see its only six a.m. Who the hell is shouting at this hour?
Probably Sir Know-it-all shouting at someone. Maybe Marge didn’t make his organic pancakes the way he likes them. Ridiculous pompous toff.
I throw the duvet back over my head, making sure not to cover Lottie. I don’t want to suffocate her. It works to muffle the sound. Doesn’t he know that normal people don’t have to be up for at least an hour?
My door suddenly bangs open and my eyes widen as he shouts, ‘Charlotte?’
I pull the duvet from over my face and open one eye to stare at him; my eyes still crusted over with sleep. He’s in just work trousers, his top half completely bare, showing off broad muscled shoulders and a bronzed six pack. Damn, he must lift.
‘Have you seen...?’ He spots her sleeping next to me mid-sentence. ‘Charlotte? She’s HERE?’ he booms.
Jesus, anyone shouting before coffee deserves to be shot. Thank God once again I don’t own a shot gun. Saved myself another twenty five years to life.
Lottie stirs, rubbing at her eyes.
‘Shush!’ I hiss, jumping out of bed and pushing him out of my room and towards the playroom. ‘Let her sleep.’
‘What the fuck is going on?’ he roars, running his hands t
hrough his hair. Visions of me doing that exact same thing flash into my mind. Damn it. I must still be asleep. ‘I thought she’d been abducted. I was close to calling the police.’
Is this guy for real? Someone give him a crown so he can be a full blown drama queen.
‘No, she just had a nightmare.’ I yawn shamelessly in his face. I don’t get paid enough for this shit. And as for bursting into my room when I could have been sleeping naked; well, I’ll bring that up when he’s less murdery.
He balls his fists by his sides. It reminds me of a toddler that hasn’t got his way. It almost makes me want to laugh, but the murdery vibe he’s got going on stops me.
‘So, you decided to bring her into your bed and completely destroy her routine?’ he howls, like it’s the end of the world.
Here he goes again with the “routine”. I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. My chest with no bra, my nipples remind me all too pertly.
‘Jesus, what is it with you and this bloody routine? She came and found me. She had a bad dream. It’s not my fault she wanted comfort from me and not her own father.’
As soon the words leave my mouth, I regret it. Especially as his face falls.
He takes a sharp intake of breath. ‘She needs to learn to sleep in her own bed,’ he reiterates, his voice low and controlled. It’s possibly scarier than when he was yelling.
‘She’s three years old, for gods’ sakes,’ I snap back through gritted teeth. If he wants a fight before coffee so be it.
‘So what? I don’t want your hippy influence un-doing all the hard work I’ve put into her. She needs to learn to sleep in her own bed like a big girl.’
‘Hippy influence?’ I scoff. ‘Are you for real? She’s not a big girl yet, she’s a little three-year-old that wanted comfort because she was afraid. She’s not a pet project you put a lot of work into.’
The vein on his forehead bulges. ‘She’s my daughter. It’s my rules. Don’t let it happen again.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I stop him, just as he’s about to walk away. ‘But my care and interest here is to the children. Yes, I’ll stick to your rigid routine, but I refuse to put the feelings of these children second behind what you want.’
‘Excuse me?’ He towers over me. Jeepers, he can be a scary fucker when he wants to be.
I swallow down the fear creeping over me and square my shoulders.
‘I said, that I will be putting the needs of your children first and foremost. If you don’t agree with that, then you should just go ahead and fire me.’
His chest rising and falling so dramatically I wouldn’t be surprised if he started to breathe fire. I await my firing with defiant eyes. Until, just like that, he turns and walks away.
Phew. Safe. For now.
Barclay
I can’t believe that Charlotte went to her. She’s only known her for just over a week and she went to find her, all the way in the basement. She’s always come to me when she’s had a bad dream. We have a routine for when it happens. I soothe her, calm her down and then pop her back into her bed with a story. She’s soon off back to sleep back in her own bed. Just like all the books tell you to.
She’s probably sensed that Miss Campbell is a soft touch and would let her sleep with her. It’s little surprise to me that she did. When I didn’t find her in her bed my heart stopped. Bile crept up my throat. I just can’t lose another person. I wouldn’t survive it.
All these years I’ve been trying so hard to build up a safe wall around my girls. A wall that stops me falling unbelievably and deeply in love with them. I’ve only allowed myself to love them eighty five percent. That way if something were to, god forbid, happen to them, it wouldn’t gut me as much as it did with Claire. I could live through it.
I was completely useless when she passed. For six months I just slept, barely eating. Mrs Dumfy and Marge kept me and the girls alive. But one day I just knew it had to end. I was getting nowhere crying into my pillow. I needed to get up, go back to work and earn a living for my girls. Sure, I could never let myself love them as much as I did Claire, but I could at least provide a good life for them.
But seeing her bed empty this morning scared the shit out of me. It turns out, with all my trying, those girls have still managed to sneak into my heart and get the whole thing. Which means I’m in trouble.
If only I can find a nanny who does what I want.
Chapter 6
Wednesday 4th December
Ruby
Yesterday my whole day was off track, thanks to that complete arse. How a man can be so un-connected to his children I don’t know. I’ve always worked for busy parents, but they’ve always made sure that if they only spend five minutes with their kids, they were precious moments. They were one hundred percent committed to them in that moment. Not distractedly checking their phone.
So today after kids’ yoga I’ve decided to talk to Jessica about happier times with her mummy. I’ve noticed there are no photos of her around the house. Not that this place feels much of a home. We spend most of our time in the playroom, which to be fair, is about the size of an average house.
It’s definitely missing a woman’s touch and I can’t help but wonder if that’s because his wife was a minimalist or because he took down anything that reminded him of her. I suppose I’m just looking for something to explain why he’s such a cold-hearted arsehole.
So, while we’re having a tea party, I broach the subject with Jessica.
‘Jessica, do you remember your mummy?’
She smiles sadly. ‘Not really. I know it makes me sad when I think of her. I miss having a mummy.’
I rub her soothingly on the back, my throat prickling with emotion. ‘I bet you do, baby.’
You forget how grateful you are to have had a mum raise you until you hear how others have to cope without one. Mine might have only made it to my eighteenth, but for those eighteen years I was blessed with the best mum ever.
‘But I do remember that she loved Christmas.’ Her little face lights up at the memory. ‘We used to dance around to Christmas songs and decorate the house. Apart from that, I don’t remember much.’
I must google whether children can remember such early memories at this age.
‘And Daddy doesn’t decorate for Christmas anymore?’ I ask, glancing around at the bland house. We always did it as soon as it hit 1st December, but then I did drive my parents mad. It’s my favourite time of the year, even now as a thirty-year-old.
She shrugs. ‘Not since Mummy died. It’s okay. Some of my friends are Ewish so they don’t decorate either.’
‘Do you mean Jewish, honey?’ I bite my lip so as not to laugh.
She shrugs again. ‘I don’t know. They celebrate something called Anneka.’
I stifle another laugh. ‘I think you mean Hanukkah.’
She laughs and covers her mouth with her hand. ‘Oops.’
I look to Lottie, concentrating hard on spoon feeding her bunny imaginary food. She insisted on having a messy bun today so she could be just like me. How adorable.
I can’t have them living in this sterile house, with no decorations at Christmas. It’s unimaginably cruel. Barbaric even. Even prisons decorate for Christmas.
‘Girls, would you like to decorate this year?’
Lottie starts clapping her hands together. ‘Yes! Decorate!’
‘I think Daddy would love that,’ Jessica says with an excited smile.
I smile back at them, wanting nothing more than to scoop them both in my arms and kiss them all over their face. To tell them that I’ll always be there for them to get their needs met.
‘Then, that’s exactly what we’ll do.’
We head up to their storage room on the fourth floor, next to Mr Rothchester’s bedroom, and start rifling through boxes until we find the ones marked Christmas. They’re dusty and it’s clear they haven’t been used in years. It’s bad enough these poor girls have been deprived a mother, let alone missed out on Christmas the last three years
.
We take them downstairs, with the help of Marge who warns me that Mr Rothchester won’t like this idea. I tell her to chill out. Surely anything done by his children can’t be seen as something to be angry about? We’re celebrating a holiday, not worshipping the devil.
Just in case he doesn’t see the fun side, we decide to decorate minimally in the main house and to really go to town in the playroom. He can’t be too cross with that, right?
Three hours later and we’re almost done. We’ve gone a bit more over the top in the main house than I’d originally planned, but the decorations they had were just amazing. Their mum obviously adored Christmas.
We’ve put a wreath on the front door and lined the staircases with fairy lights. The playroom is where we let ourselves go mad, with fairy lights adorning every wall, a large plastic Christmas tree in the corner with multi coloured lights. We’re just putting baubles on the tree when I hear footsteps thunder down the stairs.
‘Please don’t leave,’ Jessica says, clinging to my arm.
I frown back at her. ‘Jessica, why would I leave?’
Her lip trembles. ‘Because they all do. Daddy scares them.’
Poor child. Doesn’t he realise what he’s doing to his own children? If he carries on Iike this, they’re going to be in therapy by the time they’re teenagers.
I crouch down until I’m at her eye line. ‘Well, your daddy doesn’t scare me.’ I wink reassuringly. She smiles back, her eyes still unsure.
The door to the playroom bursts open and in walks Mr Rothchester, his nostrils flaring, his face red. I smile as confidently as I can. Remember, Ruby, all you’ve done is decorate his house, you haven’t let squatters move in.
Once Upon a Wish-Mas Page 3