Secret Nanny Club (8 page)

had
been stood up! Oh my God, she’d got a better offer. She found a nicer family. We had been rejected before we’d been given a chance to even sell ourselves as a lovely little

family
. I can’t even begin to describe how deflated I felt. It brought me back to my childhood years when my best friend decided she wanted to be friends with somebody else, and then my teenage years when the guy I fancied at the school disco asked another girl to dance.

I fleetingly felt
a wave of despair. Had she decided to go to another family? Did she feel another family would be more fun than myself and my son? Maybe the other family had

offered
foreign holidays and a huge bedroom with an ensuite and a flat-screen TV? I looked at John on his play mat gurgling away to himself. He was so cute. How could somebody not want to mind him? I boiled the kettle again. I had to stay positive. I would find a great girl eventually. All hope wasn’t lost and another four girls were due to come. I couldn’t beat

myself
up over one little no-show. I made a strong coffee, changed John’s nappy for the third time that morning, washed his face, re-applied my make-up, dusted the sideboard, rearranged a few framed photos and waited. And waited. It was now ten past midday and no sign of anyone. I began to feel deflated. What was going on? The sound of the front-door buzzer startled the life out of me. I put John down on his play mat and anxiously checked my appearance in the mirror to make sure no bits of John’s mashed banana was left in my hair. I took a deep breath and patted down my skirt. I didn’t want to come across as too anxious, did I? I opened the door with some trepidation.

“Hello, I’m
Karena.” A small, slight girl with jet-black frizzy hair, carrying a folder, gave me a tight smile. She was dressed in a green parka jacket, jeans and sneakers.

“Hi,” I held out my hand and gave the girl my best
firm handshake. “Did you find us okay?”

“Yes.”

“Well, do come on in. I do hope it’s not going to rain. The clouds are a bit gloomy, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“They predicted sun but those weather forecasters always get it wrong, don’t they? No need to get out the sunshine lotion yet, haha.”I knew I was babbling and I should just shut up. “So, have a seat,” I said, showing her into the small sitting room which was so clean you could have eaten off the floor. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“Or tea? I have all kinds of herbal teas. Or perhaps you’d just like plain old Barry’s tea with milk?”

I was greeted by a blank face.
I sat down in the chair opposite her and crossed my

legs
. “So, do you love kids?”

“Yes.” Her facial expression belied any sense of
emotion. She had barely glanced at John since she’d entered the room.

“And do you have any experience with small babies?”

“No.”

I was struggling now. I really was baffled. Why was
she here? Seriously, what was she doing in my sitting room, staring at me like I was some kind of alien and making me feel uncomfortable in my own home? It didn’t take a genius to work out that this wasn’t the start

of
a beautiful, healthy relationship. I wanted to show her the door immediately but found myself glued to the chair.

“So,” I tried again with a smile, hoping to get some
reaction, “are you enjoying Ireland?”

“It’s okay.”

“How long have you been here in Ireland?”

“Just one week.”

I relaxed a tiny bit. A-ha! If she was only here a week she probably had very little English. It wasn’t fair for me to be so judgemental. It must be scary to come halfway across the world to another country, looking for a job with a strange family. And besides, maybe she was shy as well.

“That’s not very long,” I said gently. “It takes a while
to get used to new cultures and traditions. So, have you any questions for me?”

“Yes.”

I waited patiently, expecting her to ask me about what exactly I would need her to do or about her time off. Instead she looked me straight in the eye and said, “How much you pay?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I keep forgetting I’m no longer pregnant. Yes, I know,
how sad does that sound? But seriously, when I’m out for lunch and asked by the waiter if I fancy dessert, I still say I’d like to try everything on the menu. Then I suddenly check myself and order just two or three things instead. I’m getting there. A lot done, more to do, as they say. I really am trying but it’s just so hard to come to terms with the fact that I’m not eating for two anymore. I miss eating six doughnuts at a sitting or sinfully smothering my croissants in butter. I hanker after the days I could easily polish off a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, or a sack of coal. Ah, no, I’m joking.

I always drew the line at coal, although I have heard that
some pregnant women love it!

My point about all of this is, a couple of years ago
when I wasn’t pregnant and was a size eight, I attended the magazine’s annual summer party at the Grafton Lounge. I wore a chiffon pink-and-lime-green dress, which sounds hideous, but actually it was lovely. But fast

forward
and the summer party is next week. I’ve told them I can’t attend. I didn’t tell them the reason was because I can’t afford a baby-sitter and that nothing fits me now anyway. I’m probably more like a size fourteen this year which means that absolutely nothing fits. Oh God, why can’t I lose weight? If anyone has a miracle solution, suggestions on a postcard please. And don’t say I should try sit-ups or anything because life’s too short for that. Even Mum wiped me off the tennis court last week and after just one set I nearly collapsed with exhaustion. Blast you, Posh Spice, for making it look easy! You too, Julia Roberts! I hadn’t thought I was too bad really until I recently spotted a photo of mum-of-three, Julia Roberts,

running
on a beach in her bikini in one of the papers. It really put the pressure on. I mean, if she can do it, we should all be able to do it, right? Dammit!

I interviewed all day without any luck. After
Karena left, another girl arrived with her boyfriend. I didn’t think this was a good sign. She didn’t speak any English and her boyfriend was going to be her translator. I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t accommodate a couple. The flat was tiny. I explained this to the boyfriend who then turned to his girlfriend to explain what I just said. The two of them looked so disappointed that I felt guilty for turning them away but what could I do? It would never work with a couple.

Then two girls came at once. One said her name was
Inga and the other girl was an Irish girl called Diane. I smiled at them both and thanked them for coming. I asked Inga if she wouldn’t mind waiting outside for about ten minutes while I interviewed Diane. Inga gave a great big sigh and looked at her watch. “I haven’t got all day, you know,” she said sullenly.

I have to say I was a little shocked. “Right,” I said,
trying to keep my voice even. “I do understand but you’re a little early for the interview. Please wait.”

Then I took Diane into the kitchen. “It’s nice to meet
you,” I said. Diane had long thick dark hair which she wore in a plait. She was wearing a long wine-coloured maxi dress and a wraparound cardigan. She wore sandals on her feet and she had a brown satchel hung over her shoulder. She was polite but didn’t smile.

“What hours would I be expected to work?” she asked
outright.

“Well, I work two and a half days a week so I’d like
you to work those days at the very least but ideally I’d like you to work every day with Saturday and Sunday off.”

“Right.
What do
you
do? I mean, what do you work at?”

I gulped. Just who was supposed to be interviewing
whom?

“I work as a fashion stylist for a magazine.”

“Oh, very nice.”

Funny, that’s mostly the reaction I get from everyone
when I say what I do for a living. If only they knew the reality!

“It’s okay,” I said, “but it’s really not as glamorous as
it sounds.”

“But it’s better than minding babies, right? I mean,
cleaning poop and wiping away vomit isn’t glamorous either or well-paid, but hey, we all need to earn a crust somehow!”

To say I was stunned by her answer was an absolute
understatement.

“Don’t you like child
minding?” I asked.

“Oh, I do,” said Diane. “It could be worse, I suppose,
but like, nobody grows up thinking they’d like to be a child minder when they’re older, do they? But with the tough economic times we’re in now, you’ll take whatever you can take, hey?”

I was appalled. Did she really think I’d entrust with
my son with somebody who was minding him because there was nothing else to do? My God!

“So are you looking around at other jobs?” I asked,
although in hindsight I should have wrapped up the interview immediately rather than prolong the pain.

Diane shrugged. “I guess. The right job hasn’t come up
yet so child minding will have to do until it does. Anything to pay the bills, you know? Is there much money in styling? How would I get a job as a stylist? I don’t suppose you could give me a list of contacts, could you?”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “There aren’t
many jobs in styling right now,” I said truthfully. “In a recession, styling jobs are usually thin on the ground and the pay is awful.”

“That’s a bummer. If the pay is bad I wouldn’t be
interested.” She paused for a moment as though deep in thought. And then she started up again, “Hey, not meaning to be rude or anything, but if stylists don’t make much money are you sure you can afford me?”

I heaved a huge sigh of relief when Diane finally left.

“Will I call you?” she asked at the door.

“Eh . . . I’ll call you,” I said. “And if you don’t hear
from me, then you’ll know somebody else has filled the post.”

“Fair enough,” she said as if she didn’t really give a
damn either way.

I looked around to introduce myself to the other girl,
Inga, whom I’d asked to wait outside. She was gone. Oh, well, good riddance. Jesus, what a day!

I was pissed off with myself and with the world in
general. To think that I had wasted the whole day and found absolutely nobody! I couldn’t understand it. Why did nobody suitable want to work for me? Wasn’t there supposed to be a recession on? Weren’t people glad to look after a child in return for board, keep and pocket money and lots of free time?

It wasn’t like I had five brats all running around
making lots of noise or I lived in the middle of the country, miles and miles from anywhere. I basically lived five minutes from the train station and the sea, and I had one very good little boy to look after. Unlike in some homes, I didn’t have a sleazy partner who might be coming on to the au pair when he came home from work, nor would I be forcing anybody to be doing heavy-duty chores. But nobody I had seen had fitted the bill and I needed to find somebody fast. Still, there was no point giving up hope just yet. I’d just have to renew my ad again in the morning.

The following evening I had another fifty or so eager
sounding applicants waiting for me in my inbox. It took me ages to sift through them all. Over half of the applicants were Brazilian girls. I’d heard Brazilians were lovely, kind and warm people but they also had a reputation for being party animals. I didn’t know if I needed a total rave-loving party animal minding John. If she was going out all night, how would she be able to stay awake during the day? Somebody else had told me that Filipinas were ideal because, not only were they sweet and good-tempered, but they weren’t afraid of hard work. Yvonne from my weekly book club had told me how her wonderful Filipina woman even used to darn her socks until she stopped her, as well as doing all the ironing, cleaning and child minding.

“Wow!” I retorted. “She sounds amazing.”

“I know! She flies around the house, tidying everything away, scrubs the place spotlessly clean, gets the baby up, dressed and fed – and that’s all before she brings me

breakfast
in bed every morning.”

I admit I was jealous.
Dangerously so. It even crossed my mind that I should kidnap this Wonder Woman and keep her in my house. Or failing that, maybe I could bribe her to come and work for me by offering her a higher wage than Yvonne paid her?

“She sounds too good to be true,” I sighed. “I want
to marry her. Has she any shortcomings at all?”

Yvonne frowned as though she were racking her brains.
“Not as far as I’m aware. She’s always smiling unlike the last lady we had from East Berlin who never smiled. She didn’t have much of a sense of humour. But then again I think she may have had a hard life living behind the Iron Curtain so maybe she wasn’t used to smiling. But our new Filipina girl is just wonderful. She even runs me hot bubble baths in the afternoon so I can relax for a while.”