The Perfect Nanny

‘I worked there too,’ I heard myself say to Kim. ‘At the TV station, I mean. I was a researcher on Back in the Day, the history series?’ I hated myself for wanting to impress her. ‘It won an award for best factual programme two years ago.’

Kim’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’ I wasn’t sure whether I felt flattered or offended by her obvious surprise. ‘Not really my thing,’ she said with a wince. ‘I prefer house makeover shows, or nature documentaries.’

I felt myself deflate and simply nodded.

After another interminable half hour, listening to Kim talk about her holiday home, followed by a boisterous sing-song that made Finn cry, I noticed Olivia manoeuvring Evie into a pushchair by the door, something pink and fluffy thrown over the shoulder of her thin coat.

As she pushed her feet into a pair of sneakers, I pressed Finn to my shoulder and grabbed our things, nodding vaguely when Kim suggested a playdate for Finn and Dougie, as I joined Olivia at the door.

‘Are you doing anything, now?’ I said, when all I’d intended was to get away.

Olivia looked startled. Close up, she seemed younger. There was something vulnerable in her face before a shutter came down. ‘Now?’ she echoed, straightening, one hand in the small of her back as though it ached.

‘I wondered whether you’d like to have lunch with us?’ I hadn’t tidied the house, but somehow knew Olivia wouldn’t mind. ‘If you’re not busy,’ I added, my cheeks exploding with heat. I was badly out of practice at making friends.

Olivia’s face was blank but I sensed her mind was working. In the pushchair, Evie wriggled and Olivia handed her a curly-eared teddy bear. Finn twisted in my arms and looked at Evie. She caught his eye and grew still, hugging her bear.

‘She loves her teddy,’ I said, to break the awkward silence. ‘Finn has a cat he loves at the moment, though it doesn’t—’

‘About lunch,’ Olivia cut in. Her eyes met mine so I felt pinned down. ‘Maybe another time.’

Chapter 3

Liv

Sophy certainly didn’t fit in with the rest of the mums, and seemed to see me as some kind of ally, a possible friend. I wanted to laugh. She’d picked the wrong person. We could never be friends. But I was so glad she’d approached me – she’d saved me no end of work.

‘In fact,’ I said, throwing her my best smile. ‘How about Friday? Say one o’clock at The Busy Bean.’ It was a café on the High Street.

‘I’d like that,’ she said, far too grateful – but there was something else. Fear? Doubt? Anxiety? ‘Or maybe you could come to mine for lunch?’

She didn’t like going out. Kim had said she wasn’t coping. This was even more perfect.

‘I live at number seven.’ She nodded down the road.

I know. ‘Sounds great,’ I said – a chance to get inside your house.

‘Lovely,’ she called, as I headed away.

As the other mums started to come out of Petra’s gate, clustering together, gossiping, I melted into a crop of trees nearby and watched Sophy make her way down The Avenue. Eventually, I moved out and followed.

She didn’t see me behind her, seemed keen to get home. Taking quick strides; her boots clipping the pavement. I’d always found The Avenue claustrophobic, with its trees uniform in size and shape, equally spaced, its houses tall and oppressive, most half-hidden from view behind walls and immaculate hedges.

By the time I reached Sophy’s house, she was slamming the heavy oak door. My eyes skittered across the bay-fronted window, the ivy climbing the walls. You don’t deserve this, Sophy Edwards. I will take it all from you, like you took my brother from me.

By the time I reached Lavender Drive with its six double-fronted detached houses, Evie was sleeping.

Gary’s white BMW saloon was parked on the drive next to my Mini, but there was no sign of Clare’s Audi TT. I hated it when Gary was home alone. He may have been Evie’s father, but he was a total creep. Only last week he brushed his hand against my thigh. It was no accident. He even called me a tease, when I shoved him away. Said I’d led him on in the park. It was true that I may have flirted a tiny bit to get the position, but I was broke, and needed a job as much as I needed to get close to Sophy.

I pushed the buggy around the curve in the pavement and onto the path. Gary was standing in the window, as though waiting for me. He raised his hand in a wave, but I ignored him and picked up speed, heading towards the front door.

Once inside, I took off my jacket and trainers, and bent to wrestle a waking Evie from the pushchair.

‘How’s my little angel?’ Gary said, coming up behind me. He was shorter than me, with cropped white-blond hair, and a round, pale face; piercing blue eyes his only attractive feature. ‘Here, let me take her.’ He held out his arms.

‘Go to your daddy, sweetie,’ I said, handing her to him.

‘This thing is hardly suitable,’ he said, shuffling her from the coat I’d put on her that morning. ‘Her pink duffel would have been better.’

‘I hadn’t realised it would turn chilly. It looked bright first thing.’ I went to move past him, and he leant forward and touched my cheek. I startled.

‘It’s OK, Liv. I don’t bite.’ I hated that he called me Liv, when I’d introduced myself as Olivia. It was as though he could see right through me. Knew who I really was. He adjusted Evie in his arms. I couldn’t believe he would make a pass in front of his daughter. ‘Your cheeks look pink, that’s all.’

I felt a familiar surge of panic as I wondered what was going through his mind. ‘I hadn’t realised you were working from home today.’

He smiled. ‘Any chance I can get these days.’ He’d started a social media company ten years ago, which was bought out by one of the giants five years later for a stupid amount of money. Now he owned IT companies in London and Italy, and spent much of his time travelling between both, unless he was working from home. I hated that he was there.

I moved past him and into the kitchen. And trying to keep things civil, said, ‘Coffee?’

‘Sounds good.’ He followed me and slipped his daughter into her highchair. We both reached for the kettle, and he pressed his body against mine.

‘Where’s Clare?’ I said, wiggling free.

‘Shopping.’ He moved closer. ‘She’s always shopping. You know that, Liv.’

‘You have to stop this, Gary. I will tell her.’ I hated the tremble in my voice.

He laughed. ‘You need the money, Liv. Even I can see that.’ He eyed me up and down, focused on the hole in my sock. ‘And you’re a crap nanny – you’d never get a job anywhere else.’

Anger bubbled. I was a good nanny. Evie loved me.

Gary stared, as though waiting for me to respond. His breath reeked of coffee and cigarettes. Though he never smoked in the house – Clare wouldn’t allow it.

The front door opened, and the tension in my shoulders lifted. Clare. Thank God. She bustled into the kitchen with three expensive-looking carrier bags, dropping them on the kitchen table. She hurried to Evie, planted a lipstick kiss on her cheek. ‘So how was Mums Meet Up?’ she said, aiming the question at me, as she took off her tartan coat.

‘Fine.’

‘Fine?’

‘Yes.’ I grabbed the kettle and began filling it. ‘Would you like some coffee? I was about to make some.’

‘Please. So did you see Petra?’

‘Mmm.’ I flicked on the kettle, and pulled out three mugs, and Gary took two steps back and leant against the worktop.

‘How is she?’ Clare flicked her hair behind her ears. ‘I really must catch up with her soon.’

‘She seemed OK.’ Truth was I hadn’t spoken to the woman. ‘Sophy Ed … Pemberton was there.’

‘Well that’s a turn-up.’ Clare widened her hazel eyes. ‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Yes, I’m going to meet up with her on Friday.’

‘Well good luck with that. She’s a bit of a strange one, isn’t she, Gary?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, simply turned her attention once again to Evie. ‘So did you enjoy it, my little cutie-pie?’ Evie’s chin crinkled and she burst into tears. Clare turned back to me. ‘Whatever’s the matter with her, Olivia?’

I looked around, spotted her teddy bear. ‘Here you go, sweetie,’ I said, picking it up and handing it to the child, who, at the sight of her favourite bear stopped crying.

I spooned coffee into the mugs. ‘Listen, I’ll make these, and take her up to the nursery. Read her a story. She might be tired after a busy morning.’

I filled Evie’s cup with juice. ‘Here you go, little one,’ I said, and she took the mug and guzzled back the juice, her bear snuggled against her ear. I stood between Gary and Clare, waiting for the water in the kettle to reach a crescendo, while they conducted a terse conversation over my head about their plans that evening.

Once I’d made the drinks, I tugged Evie from the highchair and made my way upstairs. I would be OK now Clare was home. Gary kept his distance when she was around.

Once in the nursery – a stunning room with three lemon-painted walls, and a mural of an enchanted forest on the far wall – I set Evie’s musical box going, changed her nappy, and lowered myself into the white rocking chair, with Evie in my arms. As I began reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar, her eyelids grew heavy. Once she’d dropped off to sleep, I placed her gently in her cot, and covered her with a blanket.

From the window, I took in the long, rambling garden, eyes falling on my nanny pad tucked away at the bottom, almost out of sight, as though Gary and Clare didn’t want a reminder that someone else cared for their daughter. The sky had clouded over, and light rain speckled the window, and my thoughts drifted to my mother. Should I tell her I was going out to lunch with Ben’s ex-girlfriend? Should I tell her I was about to get revenge for all of us?

Chapter 4

Sophy

As I settled Finn into his highchair ready for lunch, I allowed myself a glimmer of positivity. I’d got out of the house, spoken to people – listened, at least – and even extended an invitation to lunch without so much as a yawn. It was more than I’d managed in ages. I imagined telling Dom about it later, over dinner. Maybe I’d cook this evening.

I recalled the look on Olivia’s face when she accepted my invitation. An initial moment of doubt had been banished by a friendly smile that lifted her face, transforming her into someone beautiful. But as I imagined her in the house, flatness descended, as if my batteries had drained. It was often like this: a surge of optimism, before reality hit and I realised I wasn’t quite ready to change my life.

Finn smacked his pudgy fists on the tray of his highchair, his eyebrows raised as if curious about why I was standing in the middle of our high-ceilinged living room, staring unseeingly in the gilt-framed mirror above the stone fireplace where the log burner squatted. I should get the fire going but the central heating was on and the house felt warm and cosy. Our dream house, with Farrow and Ball paint on the walls and contemporary, co-ordinating furnishings. Dom’s sister Natasha was an interior designer who’d relished the opportunity to turn our four-bedroomed Victorian house into a stylish home, though it didn’t look particularly stylish with Finn’s toys scattered around and a heap of laundry in the armchair by the window. At least the laundry was clean.

I turned away from a framed picture hanging by the window – a professional family portrait taken at Dom’s parents’ home at Elizabeth’s insistence when Finn was twelve weeks old, and I was still sleep-deprived and weepy – and I looked at my wedding photo instead. My red hair had been pulled back in a chignon, revealing my narrow nose, freckled cheeks and pale green eyes. I looked solemn, as I tended to in photos, but relaxed, certain of my place in the world. Beside me, Dom was tall and handsome, a softness to his smile, a summer tan emphasising his blue eyes and long, dark lashes.

We’d been set up by a friend of his who used to work in production at Apex TV and thought I’d be a good match for Dom – the sort of person he’d described wanting to settle down with, but never seemed to meet – and after a dry spell, where I’d focused on work instead of men, Dom had seemed perfect. I’d seen him around at work, and my heart flipped when he waited for me to leave the building one day and suggested a drink. He was attractive but unassuming, unaware of the effect he was having, and I’d liked that. I also liked that, despite his family background, he wasn’t too interested in material things, happy living in the same exposed-brick-and-beam warehouse apartment he’d rented for years, overlooking the Tower of London and close to his favourite pub, The Dickens Inn, though he told me his mother disapproved and thought he should ‘upgrade’.

That was four years ago. He’d certainly upgraded now. Shame he wasn’t happier, but that was my fault. He loved his son with all his heart, but I wasn’t the same person I’d been before having Finn. Maybe I never would be.

Another bash of the highchair tray, followed by a sound that might be Mumma, brought me back to the moment. ‘What do you fancy for lunch today, sir?’ I adopted a cheery tone because my biggest fear was infecting Finn with whatever had me in its grip. Not depression exactly – not anymore – but a bone-deep exhaustion and occasional forgetfulness that I couldn’t seem to shake. ‘Maybe a nice lamb casserole?’ I felt guilty Finn’s lunch would be out of a jar, albeit organic, and resolved yet again to start cooking from scratch, like my mother-in-law had for her children when they were babies. She’d offered to help but I knew if I let her, I’d never get around to doing it myself. ‘Macaroni cheese?’

As Finn’s face split into a grin that showed his dimples, I experienced a familiar burst of love mingled with fear. What if I wasn’t good enough for him? ‘Play with Jiggles while I heat it up.’ I plucked his favourite toy off the sofa, a faded and matted blue and white cat that used to belong to Dom, and presented it to Finn.

‘Dadda,’ he chortled, grabbing the cat and clutching it under his chin.

‘Dadda will be home soon.’

I moved through the hallway on autopilot and into the country-style kitchen I’d hoped would inspire me to start baking. I took a jar from one of the glossy white cupboards and decanted it into a bowl before placing it in the microwave, eyeing the half-empty bottle of red wine on the worktop. Dom had urged me to have a glass the evening before to relax me. It had knocked me out. I couldn’t even remember climbing the stairs to bed. That happened sometimes; losing time. It was as though I’d gone somewhere in my head, coming to a while later with no recollection of what I’d been doing. I hadn’t told Dom. He was worried enough about me as it was and he had a lot on at work, the details of which eluded me – something about a merger, and an ex-employee suing for unfair dismissal. I often zoned out when he was talking, though I’d once loved sharing details of our days, working in different areas of the same company.

I opened the dishwasher. There were two glasses inside, along with our clean dinner plates, a pair of mugs and gleaming crockery. Dom must have loaded it and set it going before he left for work. Guilt curled through me, imagining him with his shirt sleeves rolled up while I slept on as though I’d completed a marathon, or a full week’s work plus overtime.

I jumped when the microwave pinged, and again when the landline started ringing in the living room. Dom had taken to calling me on it during the day, as I often forgot to switch on my mobile or charge it up. He’d worry if I didn’t answer, but I let it ring out while I checked the temperature in Finn’s Peter Rabbit bowl before hurrying through, worried that I’d left him alone, even though I could hear him babbling to himself.

‘Here we are!’ He was keen to hold his little plastic spoon and dug it into his bowl while smacking his lips together. ‘Good boy!’

I’d thought mothering would come easily, but I tiptoed around my son like he was a priceless object I was terrified of breaking.

‘Let Mummy help.’

Finn waved the spoon, splattering yellow blobs everywhere. Thank God we didn’t have carpet, the wide oak floorboards forgiving of crumbs and stains.

Why not put his highchair in the kitchen? Dom had asked, but I liked it where it was, by the patio doors, overlooking the garden where a swing left by the previous owners hung from the branches of the apple tree.

A jaunty piano tune erupted from my bag on the floor. I dipped my hand in and pulled my phone out, keeping my eyes on Finn as he scooped a fistful of food out of his bowl and mashed it around his face.

‘Hi,’ I said brightly.

‘Sophy, I called the landline, you didn’t pick up.’ Dom’s voice was full of apprehension. ‘How did it go at the baby group?’ he said, as if deciding to skate over why I hadn’t answered.

‘Fine.’ I perched on the edge of a dining chair, reaching to take the spoon from Finn, so I could feed him what was left in his bowl.

‘Did you meet anyone nice?’

The question reminded me of Mum, before Dom and I got together, desperate to pair me off so she’d feel less guilty about having a boyfriend.

‘Yes,’ I said, with sudden conviction. ‘Actually, I did. A woman called Olivia.’ A movement caught my eye through the window, to the side of the garden. There was a gap in the flint and stone wall where a gate had once been, leading to an access lane at the side of the house. For a split second, I thought I glimpsed a pale face peering round, a whisk of pink. Hadn’t Olivia been wearing something that colour?

‘Sophy, that’s great.’ The relief in Dom’s voice was hard to bear. ‘You should invite her round.’

‘I already did.’ I glanced again at the window, but there was no one there, just a flutter of gold as the apple tree shed the last of its leaves. ‘She’s coming for lunch on Friday.’

Chapter 5

Liv

I put Evie to bed around six-thirty, and made my way to my nanny pad, away from Gary’s roaming eyes and grabbing hands, and Clare’s shrill excitement about what she’d bought in town. I was relieved to turn the key in the door, and be alone with my thoughts.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, taking deep breaths.

It had a small shower room, and a lounge area with a bright yellow sofa, a coffee table, and TV. My double bed, suspended above a row of cupboards with a stepladder to reach it, made perfect use of the limited space – though sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night feeling panicked by how close the ceiling was. Feeling as though I was trapped in a coffin.

I flopped on the sofa. Not feeling myself. Seeing Sophy had messed with my head, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

I thought about how Mum had closed herself off from Dad and me when Ben died. She went from a bright fun-loving person, to a woman who barely spoke. Dad had tried to bring her out of it, but he was grieving too, and five years after Ben’s death he’d left – moved to New Zealand.

It was a year after that Mum crashed her car. She was on her way to the supermarket, when she thought she saw Ben sitting on a bench in the park, a place he’d taken to going alone in the weeks before he died. It wasn’t him of course; Ben had been gone six years by then. But she lost concentration, skidded off the road, her injuries making her permanently paralysed from the waist down.

If it wasn’t for Sophy Mum wouldn’t be in a wheelchair, Ben would be here now, Dad wouldn’t have left us, and Ryan wouldn’t be a complete mess.

I picked up my phone, deciding to FaceTime Mum. Tell her I’d seen her. I clicked on her details.

A lump rose in my throat, as it always did when I saw Mum’s face appear on the screen, and heard her say, ‘Hello, love.’ She always smiled, though I was never quite sure how genuine it was.

She’d blamed herself for so many years, saying she should have seen the signs, claiming she was a terrible mother. Spending hours analysing the way she’d brought Ben up – Had she been overprotective? Pushed him too hard with his studies? Given him too much attention? Not enough attention? Should she have listened more?

But when Freya became her carer nine years ago, her spirits lifted gradually. Somehow Freya managed to do what Dad and I never could. She got Mum interested in life again. Perhaps because she was separate from the family, allowing Mum to reflect without getting upset herself. She knew the right things to say.

Mum fumbled for her glasses, and slipped them on.

‘Loving the new haircut,’ I said. It was shorter than usual, neat, grey layers close to her head. She was seventy-three, but looked older. She’d met my dad in her mid-thirties, had Ben a few years later and me in her early forties.

‘Nice, isn’t it?’ She touched it gently. ‘Freya trimmed it earlier. Have you had a good day?’

She always asked that when I called her, most evenings. I worried about her, feared the past would creep up on her again, and take her back to the dark place that had swallowed her for so long after Ben’s death. I tried to get to see her as much as I could too. In fact I was going over at the weekend.

‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘I took Evie to a baby group this morning.’

‘Oh that’s nice,’ she said, her voice brightening at the mention of Evie. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Well that’s why I’m calling.’ Mum suddenly bobbed out of sight, and all I could see was the lounge where I’d spent a lot of happy years as a child. ‘Mum?’

She appeared again with Sparky, her Yorkshire terrier, in her arms. ‘Say hello to Livy,’ she said to the dog, who looked content in her arms.

‘Hello, Sparky,’ I said, with a quirky wave.

Mum sniffed the dog’s head. ‘He keeps rolling in bird droppings,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to ask Freya to give him a bath.’

I smiled. ‘Mum, I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘OK,’ she said, still sniffing the dog. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Are you? Because this is really important.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She stared at the screen, as if to prove she was concentrating.

‘The thing is, I’ve found Sophy Edwards.’

‘Oh, Liv. Not this again.’ Mum’s smile disappeared. ‘I thought you’d let that go. Moved on.’

‘Only because I couldn’t find her.’ I took a deep breath. Mum knew how Sophy Edwards had played on my mind for years. ‘Her life’s perfect, Mum.’ I could hear the tears in my voice, anger surging. ‘She’s married to this bloke who looks like he’s jumped out of a magazine, and they live in a massive house in St Albans.’

‘None of that means she’s happy.’

‘She’s got a little boy. A perfect little boy.’

Mum was crying suddenly.

‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

She blotted her cheek with a tissue. ‘It just brings back memories, that’s all.’ Her eyes met mine through the screen. ‘I’ve told you before, Liv. Ben wouldn’t have wanted you to be so full of hate.’

I bit down hard on my lip. It was OK for her. She’d managed to accept things now.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. But Ben would still be here if it wasn’t for Sophy.’

‘Oh, Liv, please let it go.’

‘I can’t.’ Bitterness surged through my veins, and my eyes stung with tears. I hadn’t realised just how angry I was.

She stroked the dog’s head, the screwed-up tissue in her fist. ‘We all miss him, love—’

‘But she’s the reason Dad left, the reason you’re in that wheelchair.’

‘Sweetheart, please.’

I thought back to Ben’s friend Ryan searching for Sophy just after my brother’s death, unable to track her down. How devastated Mum had been when he couldn’t find her. At that time Mum was as angry as I was, to the point she’d stopped eating, couldn’t sleep. She even started drinking for a while and stopped seeing friends.

‘Sophy never came to Ben’s funeral, Mum. She didn’t care about him enough to call us when he died. That’s why I can’t let this go.’ I gulped. This was sixteen years of pent-up rage prickling my skin.