Part 12 (1/2)

They were giggling when the men came back into the room. Suddenly Thea felt cold. She looked at her watch. 'Listen, I've got an early start. I'd better get going.'

'Maybe you could give Stan a lift,' Dunc said hopefully.

'I was going to get the Tube,' Thea lied. She'd had every intention of leaping in a black cab. Taxis were her great indulgence, you could put them all against expenses, though rumour had it that Foxy Roxy was planning to put a halt to this practice. Well, all the more reason to enjoy it while it lasted.

'I could walk you there,' Stan said eagerly.

Thea looked at her watch again. 'Gosh, actually, it's later than I thought. Maybe I will get a cab.' She looked unwillingly at Stan. 'Where do you live?'

'Acton.'

'You're nowhere near me. I'm in Stockwell. I could drop you at the Tube if you like.' She made her offer sound like a doctor asking the patient to choose between amputating a leg or an arm. Stan got the hint.

'No, don't worry, I'll walk. Fresh air would do me good.'

Rachel stood up and hugged her friend. 'It's been great to see you. We'll do it again soon.' She lowered her voice. 'Just the two of us next time.'

Thea felt a lump in her throat. For a second, she'd been worried she'd lost Rachel. But maybe there was still a c.h.i.n.k of hope. All the same, as her taxi accelerated down a virtually deserted, Sunday night Upper Street, Thea felt a bleakness inside, a realization that in her absence her London life had changed unalterably. She'd better find a hot foreign story quickly to take her away for a bit. The joy of life on the road was that you lived in a bubble where you didn't have to worry about the mundanities of everyday life. Tomorrow she'd start scouring the foreign sections for something that could take her away from this new, earthbound existence.

16.

Having decided at least to give Brigita, Farrah's nanny, a try, Poppy was surprised how easy it was to organize. After her call, Brigita came over the very next morning with a big smile and a cuddly elephant for Clara.

'Now then!' she cried from the doorstep. 'Good morning, Mummy. Pleased ta meet you.' She had a very peculiar accent, half Slavic, half Yorks.h.i.+re. She bent down and chucked Clara's cheek. 'And you too, my beautiful princess.'

'G'waaay!' shrieked Clara, burying her face in Poppy's crotch.

Poppy smiled. She'd been hoping for a matronly type in a brown uniform and cap. But Brigita seemed a good second best. She was in her late twenties with cropped brown hair tidily framing a round face. She wore a long patchwork skirt, a baggy brown jumper, st.u.r.dy lace-ups and blue woolly tights. She looked like the kind of nanny whose days would be spent making toys out of old egg cartons and romping round the playground, while at night she would be tucked up in her bed at ten with a mug of cocoa and a copy of the Bible.

'Where are you from?' Poppy asked, leading her into the house.

'From Latvia!' Brigita cried, as if she'd said from Jupiter. 'But my boyfriend he is Englishman. From 'artlepool. I come here to study astronomy but I need to earn money and I discover a real love for children, so I get a job with Farrah and I am... oh... I am as 'appy as a pig in muck with her. But now she don't need me any more, because the boys are both at school so she say to me, ”Go and work for Poppy and Luke. They are good 'uns. They will treat you right.”' She looked Poppy up and down. 'Farrah say you are model, but this is no true, I think?'

'I used to be. Before Clara.'

'Well, the bairns they make the women fat. This is the life.'

'Er...' Nonplussed, Poppy gestured at the sofa. 'Sit down. Would you like a gla.s.s of water?'

'No, Mummy! Don't be like this. I get you you a gla.s.s of water. Tell me, where is the kitchen?' a gla.s.s of water. Tell me, where is the kitchen?'

'No, it's OK.'

'No, really! I find it.' Before Poppy could stop her, Brigita had disappeared into the kitchen. It was a while before she returned.

'Here you go, Mummy. I'm sorry, kitchen is dirty so I need to clean up first. And I can find no ice. Would you like? I can go and search in freezer again.'

'I'm fine,' Poppy said faintly.

She tried to conduct a bit of an interview, though that was a total misnomer since, unless Brigita had confessed to a penchant for freebasing, the job was hers. But in any case, Brigita surpa.s.sed herself by pulling a print-out from her bag with a list of toddler activities in the area and asking which ones Clara attended.

'None of them,' Poppy said, embarra.s.sed. She'd tried, of course, but she found it so difficult sitting alone on a hard chair, watching Clara fighting with other children for a battered doll's buggy, while all the other mothers sat in tight, cliquey circles she hadn't a clue how to infiltrate.

'Oh right. So what do you do all day together?' She chucked Clara under the chin. 'Pretty girl. You don't look nothing like your mummy.'

Potter about. 'You know,' Poppy shrugged, 'go to the playground. Read stories.'

'Of course, Mummy. But it's time Clara was mixing a bit with other children, I think.'

Then she asked a lot of questions about allergies and what Clara liked to eat and potty training, and then Clara did a poo right on cue, so Brigita rolled up her sleeves and changed her nappy without visibly holding her breath, then blew a big raspberry on her tummy to make her giggle. Poppy said the job was hers, four days a week, if she wanted it and Brigita said she did, very much indeed. Could she start a week on Monday? Poppy asked.

'I can start tomorrow if you like!'

'Oh no, no, no,' Poppy said. The thought of being catapulted so abruptly from her old life into her new one was more than she could take. She needed a week to prepare herself and Clara mentally for the new regime.

'As you wish.' Brigita shrugged. 'I'll come at eight, Mummy.'

'Eight? That's a bit early, isn't it?'

'I start for Farrah at eight.' Brigita looked taken aback.

'Maybe nine?' Poppy bargained.

'Well, if you are really sure. I mean, Farrah she is fair throng.'

'Sorry?'

'Very busy,' Brigita said a little impatiently. 'She always goes to gym every morning for one hour before work.' She looked Poppy up and down again and shrugged. 'But every woman has the different priorities, I guess.'

Poppy had meant to say they'd have a trial period of a month, she meant to discuss pay and holidays and the things Luke had told her to ask, but in the flurry of it all, she totally forgot. Never mind. They'd talk about it later.

And so, a week on Monday, the doorbell rang at nine sharp. Brigita bustled in and before Poppy knew it, Clara was sitting in her high chair eating a large bowl of porridge.

'That's amazing,' said Luke, entering the room in his suit. 'Clara usually chucks the healthy stuff on the floor.'

'I make a smiley face out of these blueberries,' Brigita said with false modesty. 'That makes her hungry.'

'She's great,' Luke mouthed at Poppy, as he switched the kettle on. Poppy nodded, dumbstruck with jealousy and nerves.

Brigita lowered her voice. 'Now, don't take this the wrong way, Mummy, but I think is best if you stay out me way today. If you're around Clara, she will get confused and be a little monkey. The more time we are alone together the quicker she will get to know and love Brigita.'

'OK,' Poppy agreed meekly.

Not quite knowing what to do with herself she had a shower and dressed. Poppy couldn't deny it: it was a joy to perform these two seemingly simple tasks without Clara exploiting her mother's brief unavailability by either throwing soap and toothpaste in the loo or deciding to climb in with her fully dressed. But Poppy was too anxious to enjoy her new freedom. She dried and dressed as hastily as she could then dashed downstairs to find Brigita b.u.t.toning Clara's coat without any of the screaming (Clara) or yelling (Poppy) that usually accompanied this deceptively simple-looking manoeuvre.

'We're going to the playgroup at the church,' Brigita said. 'Come on, Clara, let's go!'