Secret Nanny Club (2 page)

and
I would often cry myself to sleep because I felt so lonely and alone. Friends said they would visit and then didn’t. People often offered to baby-sit but then balked whenever I tried to make a specific date. I very quickly began to realise who my real friends were. I could have counted them on half a hand. All the party people had vanished into thin air.

I don’t know what I was expecting exactly. I mean, I
knew it would be hard work. I understood that it would be particularly challenging raising a kid all by myself. Clive had told me, “You’re on your own, now.” And he meant it. Things were very tight financially. For the first time in my life I started to make out grocery-shopping lists. I saved on formula milk as I was breastfeeding but I had to buy special ointment for my sore, cracked nipples. The cost of nappies in particular was a huge shock to me. Thank goodness I had given up smoking when I was pregnant because the money that I used to spend on cigarettes was now needed for nappies. Sometimes my baby would go through seven or eight in a single day. I

swear
, they ate money. Looking back it’s hard to know how I coped at all. I remember one friend phoning me up to see if I wanted to meet her one evening. I asked her if she wouldn’t mind terribly calling over to mine instead of going out somewhere. The truth was that I didn’t want to be seen out and about in public. I was ashamed of the fact that I was still wearing my maternity jeans with my muffin tummy hanging out over the top, and I was embarrassed

that I hadn’t simply ‘pinged’ back into shape after six
weeks like all the celebrity mums who post photos of themselves on Twitter seem to do. I actually don’t have any really decent baby photos of myself and my son because I hated the way I looked during those first few

months
. Anyway, my friend thankfully came over and I was grateful that I didn’t have to go out and could stay in my tracksuit. Besides, I wouldn’t have been able to afford a baby-sitter anyway. Do you know that before I became a mum I had absolutely no idea how much babysitters charged? I mean, ten euro an hour just to sit on the couch helping themselves to tea and biscuits and watching DVDs by the fire as little baby slept soundly in the other room? Who could afford ten euro an hour for baby-sitting? Imagine spending that even before you

paid
for the bus into town, your drinks for the evening and a taxi home again? I despaired that I would never have a night out in Dublin again for the next eighteen years!

On one occasion my mother was away and I was so
desperate to get someone to mind my baby that I phoned Clive. Call me sad and pathetic if you like but a tiny part of me still hoped that he might have slowly come around to the idea of being a dad by now. But no chance of that unfortunately. He was very cold with me on the phone and told me that if I thought I was going to start treating him like a free baby-sitter I had another think coming to me. I was so upset by his tone of voice that I burst into tears. I mean, it wasn’t like I was even going out that afternoon. I had a pain in my gum that wouldn’t go away and I just wanted him to mind our son for an hour or two while I went to the dentist. I couldn’t believe how nasty he was being. I mean, surely minding your own child couldn’t be classed as baby-sitting? I was so desperate that I asked the woman who lived in the apartment across the corridor from me. I had only met her a few times in the communal yard at the back where we sometimes sat in the rare sunshine. She was a single mum too from Slovenia and her baby was probably about six months older than mine. I told her that I would repay the favour

anytime
, and she said there was no problem at all looking after my child for a little while. Oh God, I was so grateful.

Clive did eventually come and see his son. Yes, he
came with a DIY kit that he had bought on the internet – a DNA test-kit – arriving one day unannounced with it in his hand saying he wanted to prove once and for all that my son was his. I have to say I was extremely insulted by this. It would never have even occurred to me to cheat on Clive when we were together. I had been absolutely head over heels in love with him, even though I realise now that the feeling wasn’t at all reciprocated. I was so shocked by his unspoken allegations that I was lost for words. I think I just stood at the front door of the apartment with my mouth opening and closing. He pushed past me and went to where our baby was lying in his cot and put a stick in his mouth to swab his cheek. The little mite started to bawl and I was so upset about the whole thing. I’d say Clive wasn’t there for two minutes. He didn’t even ask me how I was, just slammed the door on his way out.

Of course when the online results came back about
ten days later Clive didn’t even have the decency to apologise to me for his behaviour. Sometimes I wished so much that I’d never met the creep, but then I’d look at my darling boy and I realise I’d go through all the hurt and the pain again. My life began the day he was born.

It was weird but
now I looked back on my single life and thought it must have been kind of boring and shallow. I used to feel sorry for people with kids, thinking they had no life. Now I was sure people pitied me. How the tables had turned! Anyway, I didn’t have the mind-space to worry too much about Clive. My beautiful boy was thriving and I was a besotted single mummy. I found myself staring at him for ages when he was asleep and thinking: Is he really mine? I kept expecting some woman, like his real mummy, to come along and take him away, and that I’d go back to my old single life when I thought going out and getting a free glass of sparkling wine was fun. I wasn’t as shattered as I was in the beginning – at least I felt like a normal human being sometimes despite my apartment always being covered in baby clothes that I was trying to dry. Honest to goodness, my washing machine never stopped turning and I thought I should buy shares in washing powder at the rate I was buying it. A box of washing powder used to last me a year before becoming a mum. Now I was flying through it. It seemed that every time I changed John he immediately either soiled himself or puked. Especially when he was wearing white. But I couldn’t be cross for long because he was just so damn cute.

By the way, the reason I called my boy John was
because he was a non-celebrity, and I didn’t think it was fair to call non-celebrity babies after a fruit or a sports star. Also, I didn’t want him to spend his whole life trying to get people to pronounce or spell his name

properly
, which can be rather a tiresome and frustrating experience. My mum called me Kaylah because she thought it was very exotic and she didn’t want me to have the same name as everyone else. Her own name is Ann, you see, and there are quite a lot of Anns about the place. She thinks Ann is rather common so she called me Kaylah. Kaylah with a H to make the name even more unusual. And ever since I could talk, I’ve been pretty much driven around the bend pointing out to people that no my name is not Kylie or Karla or Katia or Kate.

Honestly, people some people can be very rude
sometimes. They seem to think they can call me anything at all as long as it begins with a K. Hmm. Maybe they’re just lazy. Or could care less. I called my son John because it’s simple. I don’t care if it’s boring. Think of the time and energy I’ll save him in the long run. Mind you, you’re not going to believe this, but straight after he was born the nurse asked me his name. “It’s John,” I said proudly, still unable to contain my joy of becoming a mummy for the first time. A real mummy with a real baby. Imagine! Yes, I remember telling her, with tears in my eyes, that my bundle of joy

was
called John. Then I recall the silly woman looking up from her clipboard and smiling back at me. “Is that John with or without a H?” she asked. Oh for God’s sake!

Anyway, to get back to my story, I guess it’s time to
explain how I met Clive and landed myself in my present state of single-mum-dom. Pre-Clive, life was one big party. Myself and my friend Sally both worked (and still do work) in town for a glossy monthly fashion magazine. I was the in-house stylist when we met, and she worked in the sales and

marketing
department, mostly selling ads and running promotions. We bonded almost immediately, became firm friends and I moved into her city-centre apartment. It was a time when everybody was enjoying the roar of the Celtic Tiger and nobody could see the recession coming. Every night of the week there was something exciting happening in town and we were in the thick of it all. We would go to fashion shows, film screenings,

cocktail
parties and after-work drinks, later staggering home from nightclubs without even having to take taxis because we lived in such a centrally located place. On the weekends we could casually walk around Grafton Street which was just a leisurely stroll away, and stop off

somewhere
for coffee. We literally had every amenity right on our doorstep, which was great for convenience if not so fantastic for our credit cards!

I went on quite a few dates back then. When I was
thinner and not pregnant and had no ties, I believe I was fairly attractive. Some of the guys I met were cute, some weren’t. Some of the men had no hair but were funny; other men had hair but no humour. I know I was fussy but I wanted to hold out for Mr Perfect. I didn’t want to just have a boyfriend for the sake of it. I wanted it all. And the night I met Clive – two summers ago – I thought I’d finally found him.

He was a writer for a national newspaper –
bright, quick-witted and attractive. I met him on a last minute press trip to sunny Croatia that my boss Creea had offered to me in a moment of rare kindness because somebody else couldn’t go. At the time I had no ties, so didn’t think twice about jumping on a plane and heading off. I don’t know whether it was the gorgeous climate or the copious amount of cocktails taken while dreamily looking out at the sun going down on the Adriatic Sea, but I fell in love with him the first night of our trip. He was tall, handsome, tanned and brooding, and he fixed his attentions on me from the start like there was no other woman in the room. I didn’t want to fall for him of course. News reporters have reputations and huge egos so I was on my guard and determined not to be just another notch on this handsome man’s bedpost. I played it cool the first evening as we sat on the hotel veranda among the group of Irish journalists and foreign tour guides. I laughed at his jokes and was delighted when he seemed to think mine were funny too. I didn’t even budge when he casually placed his arm over the back of my chair, but I was first to excuse myself to go to bed even though I could have stayed up all night. The next day in the pool he swam up right beside me and I couldn’t help but marvel at his perfect tan even though we’d only been in the country for less than twenty-four hours. He explained that his mother was Italian and that’s where he got his dark skin colouring from. He said he got his green eyes from his dad’s side of the family. He said he liked my freckles but I thought he was probably just being nice.

That afternoon after lunch where Clive sat beside me
charming me with his wit and easy banter, we went on a boat trip down a river. Clive started jokingly taking photos of me on his mobile phone and teasing me. I asked him why he needed so many photos of me and did he not think it would be better to take photos of the stunning scenery all around us?

“I can buy postcards of the scenery,” he shrugged,
“but I want these on my phone so that I never forget this press trip for the rest of my life.”

Everyone on the trip kept telling me that Clive had
the hots for me. I didn’t really need them to point out that rather obvious bit of information because he wasn’t exactly playing hard to get! On several occasions he let his hand rest on my arm as he was talking to me. The touch of his skin on mine felt sensational. The trip was amazing. Croatia is probably the most beautiful place that I have ever visited. We dined in Dubrovnik on the third night of our trip. “Those who wish to visit heaven on earth should come to Dubrovnik,” the famous Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw said of this city, and he was right. It is truly spectacular. We dined down a little side street off the main bustling square. It was very warm and I was wearing a white sundress with a light-blue cotton jumper draped loosely over my shoulders.

On my feet I wore Swarovski-encrusted flip-flops. We
started the evening with Prosecco as the sun went down on the city and the rich aromas from the restaurants filled the warm Mediterranean air. As I sipped my Prosecco the bubbles seemed to swim right up to my

brain
, making me feel light and dizzy. I cannot remember what I ate, or who said what. I just remember gazing into Clive’s green eyes, mesmerised. He looked out of this world in his black linen suit and open white shirt. His sandy wavy hair was pushed back from his face with a pair of tortoise-coloured sunglasses. People were chatting amiably, eating, drinking and smoking cigars. As it grew dark the street lights came on and candles were placed on the white tablecloths of the tables outside the restaurants. I remember thinking that tonight was the night. I would no longer hold back. When Clive made his move, I would succumb to his advances. If I could have leaned over the table there and then and kissed his lips I would have.

I think there were about eight to ten other people sitting
at our table, but I can’t remember the exact number or even who many of them were. I was intoxicated with Clive and had eyes only for him. I longed for us to leave the restaurant. But the dessert menus were being passed around and nobody was making any moves to leave. I wondered if we would be able to lose the others and go for a stroll arm in arm around this intoxicating city, just the two of us.