The Nanny (23 page)

“Oh.”

“I've got an idea!” cried Toby suddenly. “Why don't you two go out with each other?”

There was a crippling silence.

“Nice try, Mr. Matchmaker,” said Josh. “Josephine from
Little Women
has an extremely good-looking boyfriend at home.”

“Jo,” she smiled.

“As good-looking as you?” Toby asked his brother.

“I don't know,” answered Josh merrily, turning to Jo. “I've never asked her.”

They looked at each other, Jo at a loss for words.

Just then her phone rang.

“Saved by the bell,” murmured Josh into his beer.

Jo looked at the number on the screen.

“Oh dear,” she sighed. “It's home. Mum wants to tell me that Dad hasn't eaten enough vegetables.”

They watched her answer her phone.

“Hello?”

“Can I speak to Josephine Green?” came a male voice.

“Dad!” cried Jo. “It's me. What's up?”

“It's Mum.”

“What's Mum?”

“She's had a stroke. Can you come home?”

Jo was awake before six. She stared at Mickey and wondered why on earth she should be witnessing his arms in those positions. For one thing he looked like he was performing something unspeakable, and for another, she should be too fast asleep to notice. Then she realized she was still fully dressed. Then she remembered her father's call. And then she heard someone beside her on her bed. She stared at Josh, lying next to her, stirring. He opened his eyes, and they looked in befuddled shock at each other.

“Alright?” he croaked.

“Mm,” she said, and jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. There she tried to rehearse the speech to Vanessa that Josh had helped her with last night, but it was hard to concentrate on the matter in hand.

Josh had been amazing. When she'd started crying, he'd soothed her, calmed her, put his arm round her. Toby had gone off to sleep, and Josh had poured her a stiff brandy and then sat with her, while she'd wept and blamed herself. She cringed in her shower at the memory. And then he'd sat on her bed as she talked, reassuring her until she'd fallen asleep.

When she came back into her room, Josh was lying awake and fully clothed on top of the bedclothes. He looked rough. It suited him.

“The shower's free,” she whispered. “Do you want a coffee?”

“I'll do it,” he said. “You tell Vanessa.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Josh.”

 

Vanessa was already in the bathroom—she never used the en suite shower in the mornings, it ruined her hair—and Jo tapped on the door. Vanessa opened it a crack. She was brushing her teeth, about to spend her Sunday in the office, making last-minute preparations for tomorrow's pitch.

“Oh he-o,” she said. “Any-hin wron?”

“My mother's had a stroke. I've got to go home.”

Vanessa stopped brushing her teeth. Toothpaste began to dribble down her chin.

“Ho'd on,” she said, and went to rinse out her mouth.

Jo leaned against the bathroom door.

“Right,” said Vanessa. “Your mum's not well—”

Jo shook her head and started to cry. Vanessa put her arms round her.

“Come on,” she murmured. “She'll be fine.”

“I have to look after my dad,” squeaked Jo.

“Of course you do.”

“He's only got two arteries functioning in his heart.”

“Oh dear.”

Jo sniffed.

“I'll come back as soon as I can.”

“Don't even think about that. We'll get a temporary nanny. It's not a problem,” said Vanessa, already planning which phone calls she would have to make and which she could delegate to Dick.

“When are you planning on going?”

“Tomorrow—”

“Shit!”

Jo nodded. “My dad needs me,” she squeaked.

“Of course he does,” said Vanessa, hurrying to her bedroom to dress. She turned to Jo at the door. “Good luck.” She shut the bedroom door behind her.

At the sound of the bedroom door slamming, Dick jumped awake.

“Wake up!” Vanessa told him. “Jo's leaving.”

“What? What did you do this time?

“I didn't do anything. Her mother's ill, so she's going home because her father's a man.”

“Eh?”

“She has to help him live or something.
Wake up
.” Vanessa had one foot in her tights and was hopping around the room.

Dick rubbed his eyes. “How come Jo's mother's the one who's had the stroke, Jo's the one who's leaving, and yet it's her father who's the bad one?”

“For God's sake, Dick,” snapped Vanessa, falling on to the bed. “I haven't got time to argue.

“How useful.”

“Of all days for this to happen. I can't do a thing about it today and tomorrow's the VC pitch.”

“Oh dear,” said Dick, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “God forbid a family crisis should get in the way of your career climb.”

Vanessa hitched her tights up over her crotch and grabbed a blouse from the wardrobe.

“Sod off, Dick. If we get this, I'll get a bonus that will keep us in food for the next year. Can't you shut the shop up next week?” She zipped up her skirt. “Or will your customer mind?”

“How would that help?”

“You could look after the children?”

“No I couldn't!” shot Dick. “I wouldn't know where to start.”

“Well you can't make a worse job of it than you've made of the shop,” she said, brushing her hair in the mirror.

“Thank you. Your wifely support is most appreciated.”

Vanessa turned to face him.

“For God's sake, Dick!” she cried. “Don't just stand there! Get dressed! You've got phone calls to make.”

 

Downstairs, Josh brought Jo her coffee while she stared at her rucksack.

Josh surveyed her empty room. “How long are you going for?”

“As long as they need me. Maybe for good.”

Josh sat down on her bed and watched.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked. “Do you need a lift up there?”

Jo turned to face him. “No thanks.”

“I don't mind,” said Josh, holding her clock. “I could take tomorrow morning off work. I hate work.”

“No, thanks. My dad's meeting me at the station and taking me straight to the hospital.”

“How long's your mum going to be there?”

“Hopefully she's coming home at the weekend. It was only a mild stroke.” Jo steadied her breath. “She'll have a carer in twice a day, but most of it will be down to my dad.”

“And you.”

Jo opened her rucksack and looked at it. “Yep.”

“Here.” Josh stood up and took the rucksack out of her hands. “You just sit down and tell me what to pack.”

Jo landed heavily on the bed. “Everything,” she said.

There was silence.

“Right,” said Josh. “Everything.”

 

“
Pants
, Zak!” screamed Vanessa early Monday morning.

“I don't want to wear them!”

“Well you can't go to school without them.”

“
Good!
” Sometimes his parents were so stupid.

“Zak, sweetie,” coaxed Vanessa. “Mummy's own Superman. Super-mummy has a very important meeting to get to. Do you want her to have a nervous breakdown?”

Zak shrugged.

“Thank you, darling. So nice to know you're on my side.”

“Why can't you stay with us?”

“I will,” said Vanessa. “From tomorrow. I'll be with you all day.”

Dick had phoned all three nanny agencies they knew. Unsurprisingly, none of them had a spare nanny who needed an indefinite temporary post starting Monday morning. They'd just have to pray for Jo's mother to make a speedy and full recovery. Until then Vanessa would take time off work.

“But just for today,” she explained again to Zak, “you're going to have lots of fun with Jo's friend Pippa and Tallulah's friend Georgiana.”

“I want Jo. Georgiana's a prissy cow.”

“I know,” agreed Vanessa, too stressed (and deep down, too impressed) to argue. “But Pippa isn't, and if you wear your pants like a good boy, she'll show you her tattoo.”

After lengthy, complex negotiations, Zak wore his navy blue pants (instead of the stupid bright blue pants) with the red skull and crossbones on (instead of the stupid red anchors), and Vanessa was able to leave his room before bedtime.

Ten minutes later Tallulah was crying.

“Look!” shouted Vanessa. “
This
one's pink!”

Tallulah howled so loudly that Vanessa feared she might perforate something. She rushed to the wardrobe and pulled out an even pinker top.

“Ooh, look,” she encouraged. “This one's even
more
pink. Mmmm.”

Tallulah froze. Vanessa froze. For an instant Vanessa didn't know which way this was going to go. And then the instant was over and Tallulah bayed to the child moon with grief and horror.

Cassandra wandered in carrying Tallulah's Barbie top.

“Are you looking for this?” she asked over the noise. “She left it in my room last night.”

Tallulah rushed to her Barbie top like a mother to her infant, and then, with it safely in her hands, started the slow descent to posttraumatic shock.

“Thanks, Cassie,” said Vanessa. “You clever girl.”

“S'okay,” Cassie said.

 

By ten to nine that morning, Jo was standing at Paddington Station, staring up at the train timetables, holding a large black coffee, and wearing a rucksack. In the end, Josh had only packed the essentials, and she was now very grateful. She kept having the oddest feeling that she'd left something behind at the Fitzgeralds'. Was it her Mickey Mouse clock? No, she decided firmly, as the timetable flicker-flacked the arrival of her train. She felt she had finally outgrown him. Staring at her feet, she yanked her rucksack up her back and headed for her platform. Perhaps it was time for a mature person's clock, a clock to show her fully rounded personality. Lisa Simpson, maybe?

She found herself a seat, stored her rucksack, and settled down. She fixed her personal stereo and adjusted the earphones, checking the tape that she'd left in it. She hadn't listened to Travis for ages—not since before she'd left home. She remembered playing this album on her birthday, the evening she'd met Shaun and the gang in the pub.

As the train glided out of the station and the familiar minor chords struck up in her ears, tears sprang up out of nowhere, and Jo lost control big-time.

 

As Jo's train sped smoothly north, Vanessa's team sped smoothly through their pitch. She watched Anthony and Tom sing the jingle, play the parts of Alice and the White Rabbit, and produce the most impressive storyboard she'd ever seen. Tom made a surprisingly effective Alice.

They left on such a high that in the cab on the way back to the office, even Tom was positive.

“If we don't get it, I'll shag my own mother,” he said, beaming.

It was a tense afternoon.

At five o'clock, Vanessa stood with her junior Tricia, Max, Tom, and Anthony by the fax machine, urging it to spring into action.

“Push baby, push,” coaxed Max, but the fax refused to be coaxed.

Piqued, he went to get a Scotch. Then suddenly, a trill tone, a click, a whir, and as if by magic, paper started jerking toward them.

“Here it comes!” he bellowed, racing back to prime position. He tore it off and read it breathlessly.

“We've got it!” he yelled, turning puce. “We fucking got it!”

Everyone was hugging everyone, and champagne was already out. They'd done it! Vanessa didn't even mind when Max kept calling Tom and Anthony “fucking geniuses” and completely forgetting to congratulate her at all. She decided to do something about it. “Congratulations!” she told Tricia loudly. “I couldn't have done it without you.” Tricia looked at her as if she'd just spoken in Swahili.

“Right,” said Anthony suddenly, putting down his champagne. “Must take a leak.”

And with a quick glance at Vanessa, he was gone.

Vanessa stood still for a while, surrounded by the revelers, determined to enjoy her moment. And then she made a decision.

“Ooh,” she said putting down her champagne, next to Anthony's. “Me too. Must be all the excitement.”

 

Surprisingly, no one wanted to share Jo's seat all journey—Monday morning must have been a good time to travel out of London—so she had no excuse to stop crying. The only time she stopped was when the train whooshed into a tunnel and she found herself staring out at an all-encompassing blackness, interrupted only by her sorry reflection. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the tunnel enveloping her, protecting her, as if she—inside the train—had given it meaning. For a moment all was well with the world. Then as suddenly as the train had entered the tunnel, it shot out of it again, into the white, cold daylight, and Jo felt her tears return.

 

Vanessa, back squashed against the Silly Nibble cupboard door, front squashed up against Anthony, took a deep breath, rested her head on his shoulder, and slowly sucked chocolate out of her molars. When he moved away, she started to pull her blouse back on.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“That's okay—”

“I shouldn't—I don't—”

“Shhh.”

“Do you think they noticed?” she whispered, as her body slowly slipped back into focus.

“Dunno,” said Anthony. “So how long are you going to be gone?” he asked, retying his tie.

“Fortnight at the most.” She buttoned up her blouse. “The nanny's mother's ill.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, straightening his tie.

“You can joke,” tutted Vanessa, tucking her blouse into her skirt. “It's not your life it impinges on.”

“I wasn't joking,” said Anthony, smoothing down his hair. “And yes it is.”

 

Some believe that in every office, someone somewhere is in a stationery cupboard with someone else, sharing an illicit moment of not looking for stationery together. In fact, only a month earlier, Josh had been known to frequent a certain stationery cupboard with a certain person where together they had forgotten all about stationery. And now that certain person was approaching. As Sally reached his desk and perched on the edge of it, he tried to work up enough momentum to smile.

“What's wrong, lover boy? Someone died in your family?” she murmured.

He upped the effort and tried to laugh. “I'm just a bit down at the moment,” he replied.

“Oh dear,” she soothed. “Perhaps I can try and get you”—she leaned forward—“up again.”

He stared at her, trying to remember her good points. “Nah, you're alright, thanks.”

“I know I'm alright,” she shot. “I'm fine. It's not me I'm worried about.”