The Nanny Part 4

"Oh I love The Simpsons!" said Jo eagerly.

"He wrote The Odyssey," explained Vanessa.

"Do you have a criminal record?" d.i.c.k asked Jo gravely.

Vanessa put her head in her hands.

"No," said Jo with a polite grin. She attempted a joke. "Although if I did, I don't suppose I'd tell you. Especially not in the actual interview."

Vanessa turned to d.i.c.k.

"See? I told you that was a stupid question. Ask a criminal if they've got a-"

"I'm not a criminal-"

"Of course you aren't," said Vanessa, "but the point is-"

"The point is she's not a criminal," said d.i.c.k.

"The point is you're an idiot," answered his wife.

"Don't pick a fight in front of the staff, dear," he replied, with a smile so forced Jo could almost hear his teeth grind. "It might make you look uptight. We don't want them all leaving as quickly as Francesca, do we?"

Vanessa bristled.

"At least I have staff, darling," she replied.

Jo was staring at them both. She'd never before seen an argument achieved with smiles, affectionate names, no screaming, and the odd allusion to a s.e.x life. She felt like she'd stepped into an alternate universe. When her parents argued you knew where you were. As did most of the neighborhood. Her parents' messy, explosive rows were usually set off by the fact that they simply couldn't understand one another. Jo had always thought that was their fundamental problem. Yet here was a marriage where the highly developed knowledge of the potential enemy served simply to improve the aim of the deadly, heat-seeking verbal missiles.

Meanwhile, Vanessa was staring hard at her: Jo cast her eyes around the kitchen, politely letting her stare, wondering what on earth she could be thinking. Vanessa was in fact beginning a relationship with her. And as with so many relationships, it began all in the head.

Hmm, Vanessa was thinking. Pretty, but in an endearing, girlish way that the children will be able to relate to and d.i.c.k won't. Bright, but open and honest. And, unlike any of the others, has done A-levels, so not only can she speak English, she can write it, too. Doesn't talk like a docker, smell like a fishwife, or look like a troll. She has a clean driver's license. And perhaps most important, she is almost completely sane. Is she too good to be true?

Jo sat watching Vanessa and d.i.c.k in tense silence. Vanessa and d.i.c.k watched her in tense silence. Then Vanessa turned to d.i.c.k, tensely. Silently, d.i.c.k turned to his wife. For a good minute no one breathed out. If there had been plants in the kitchen, they'd have died of lack of carbon dioxide.

At last, Vanessa spoke to d.i.c.k.

"Well? Darling?"

d.i.c.k smiled.

"You're the boss," he replied. "Darling."

Jo had never heard the word "darling" used as a term of abuse before. There was so much to learn.

Finally, Vanessa turned to Jo.

"Do you have any questions?"

Jo pondered this. Yes, certain key questions did surface. Have you two considered couple counseling? Have you ever used the bread maker? Will I have to use the bread maker? Will I be able to watch the TV? Can I bring my dad to watch the TV? Can I bring the village to watch the TV?

"What are your ideas of discipline?" she asked gently.

Vanessa smiled sweetly. "If he has an affair, I'll cut his d.i.c.k off." She proceeded to giggle suddenly at her own joke.

"I think she meant with the children, dear," said d.i.c.k, crossing his legs.

Vanessa took a deep breath. "I don't like lying," she began, "more than two hours' television a day, intolerance of others, and I can't abide laziness. Chocolate only once a week-to prevent late-onset diabetes-and homework to be done immediately after school, to prevent Sunday evening tantrums."

d.i.c.k attempted a smile. "We just want them to be happy."

Vanessa turned on him. "Are you criticizing my parenting skills?"

"G.o.d no," he replied. "It's only aesthetics that keep me wearing the trousers, darling."

Vanessa's eyes shrank. "Don't you dare turn this into a gender issue, d.i.c.k," she said.

"Our parental hierarchy is based strictly on effort and results. I'm the power base because I've put in the hours, I hold ultimate responsibility-emotional and financial-and I didn't go to Klosters while they were gestating, unlike someone I know in this room."

Jo shrank in her seat. She was fairly certain she'd never been to Klosters, but the urge to apologize was almost overwhelming.

"Children are like life," Vanessa muttered under her breath. "You get back what you put in."

"Perhaps I could see the children?" asked Jo in a small voice.

Vanessa and d.i.c.k both looked at her in surprise.

"They're upstairs in the attic, playing," said Vanessa, while d.i.c.k walked out to the hallway and bellowed their names so loudly that when he returned, his face had turned the same color as the walls. Within moments, Jo became aware of the sound of a herd of buffalo trampling through her brain.

"Hark! Do I hear the sound of angels singing?" said Vanessa, as four children launched themselves into the kitchen. The room seemed to shrink.

"This is Ca.s.sandra, or Ca.s.sie," said Vanessa, as a tall, thin eight-year-old with a shock of red hair glared at Jo. She wore combat trousers, a tight little T-shirt which announced psycho-b.i.t.c.h, and glittery hair accessories. She looked like a warrior pixie. "Only my friends call me Ca.s.sie," she announced.

Standing slightly behind her, literally in her shadow, was a four-year-old, staring intensely up at Jo. To their right slouched the boys. Toby, at thirteen, was clearly a G.o.d; Zak, at six, his happy cult member.

"Yeah," Toby sneered at Ca.s.sandra. "That's why no one calls you it."

Zak giggled behind Toby, and Ca.s.sandra stuck her tongue out at them both with a movement that used up her entire body.

"Oh, well argued, darling," Vanessa congratulated her daughter. She turned to Jo. "As you can see Ca.s.sie's going to be a politician when she grows up," she said. "And Toby's going to be a pig."

"Did you see Hannibal?" Toby asked Jo. Zak grinned.

"No I didn't," said Jo.

"He eats a man's brain," said Toby. "My friend's got it on DVD, and he eats a man's brains out and cooks it while he's still alive."

"Ooh!" said Jo. And then in the ensuing pause, she said, "Ooh!" again.

"There's blood trickling down his face," added Ca.s.sandra helpfully.

"And he starts gibbering like a baby," added Zak.

"It's brilliant," concluded Toby. "I've seen it twice."

Jo turned to the four-year-old.

"And you must be...?"

"This is Tallulah," said d.i.c.k softly, as if presenting a prize jewel.

Tallulah edged back slightly, behind Ca.s.sandra. "It's okay," she told Jo extremely quietly and slowly. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"Would you like to see my Roving w.i.l.l.y?" asked Zak, stepping forward in front of Toby. "He's a robot."

Before Jo could answer, Vanessa interrupted.

"I'm sure Jo would love a guided tour, darling. But not now."

"Up you go," said their father.

To Jo's astonishment, the buffalo faded away into the distance. In the peace and quiet, Jo turned back to Vanessa and d.i.c.k. They smiled proudly at her, waiting for her comment.

"They're...they're darlings," she said, enjoying the sound of the word in her mouth.

"They're brats," said d.i.c.k with false modesty.

"Which is how we know they're all yours," said Vanessa.

d.i.c.k turned to Vanessa. "Oh, well argued, darling." He turned to Jo. "My wife's going to be a politician when she grows up," he said.

"And d.i.c.k's going to be a pig."

Jo laughed nervously.

"Do you have any other questions?" asked Vanessa.

Yes, thought Jo. What's the quickest way out of here?

"You mentioned use of the Clio?" she said.

"Yes," said Vanessa keenly. "It's yours, sole use, air-conditioning, central locking, and sun roof. Do you want the job?"

Jo blinked for a nanosecond and felt her head nodding.

"Can you start next month?" asked Vanessa.

Another nod.

d.i.c.k and Vanessa smiled at their new nanny. Jo's mouth smiled back at her new employers. They smiled wider at her. She smiled even wider in return. Would now be a bad time to back out?

"You'll be pleased to know there's a television like this in your suite," said d.i.c.k.

"Come and have a look."

"Really?" beamed Jo, winning the smiling compet.i.tion. "Perfect!"

The bunk beds in what was once Tallulah and Zak's room were perfect for secret meetings, even though Zak no longer slept there.

Monday morning school hung over them like three little dark clouds. They somehow knew that sharing their feelings would only make it one big one; Monday morning school was one of life's inevitabilities, like new nannies.

"I thought she looked alright," said Ca.s.sandra.

"So did Francesca," said Zak. "She hadn't seen Hannibal."

"So?" asked Ca.s.sandra.

Zak racked his brain for a suitable answer. He wished Toby didn't have to go back on Sundays. Toby would have known what to say to that one. Toby knew everything. Although not as much as Josh. Josh was even better than Toby. Josh looked like a man but acted like a boy. Josh was funny.

"I liked her hair," whispered Tallulah through her thumb, which had come home to her mouth after a hard day's work. "When I grow up I'm going to have black hair."

Already under her duvet, she was half-asleep, her strawberry blond hair fanned out against her Tweenies pillow.

"I wonder what her brain looks like. Zak said, grinning.

"We could take yours out and guess from there," said Ca.s.sandra.

"Oh ha-ha," said Zak. "I'm a boy, so my brain's different."

Toby would have laughed at that. Josh would have said "Touche, mate," then winked.

"Yeah. It's smaller," said Ca.s.sandra. "With a w.i.l.l.y on it."

Tallulah laughed a delicious, half-asleep, baby laugh.

"Oh ha-ha," repeated Zak, aware that repet.i.tion rendered this witty rejoinder relatively useless.

Ca.s.sandra hated Zak on Sunday evenings. By Monday morning he was his old self again, but every Sunday evening he was filled with an uncharacteristic, bullish c.o.c.kiness after spending twenty-four hours with Toby. Unfortunately, she thought, Zak doesn't have Toby's intelligence, because his brain is still growing, whereas Toby's stopped growing years ago.

Zak frowned heavily. Sisters were c.r.a.ppy. Why did he have to have two, while some people got to keep their big brothers all week long? He would ask Mummy tomorrow if he could have a baby brother.

He got off Tallulah's bed and readjusted the ankles of his a.r.s.enal pajamas. "I'm going to bed," he said, and left. "Night, Lula."

He took the stairs up to his room two at a time. Toby would have been impressed, though he'd never have said. Josh would have cheered and thrown him round the room till he felt dizzy. The physical effort of such heroic stair-climbing resulted in two small trumpet sounds echoing from his nether regions, and Zak was forced to admit to himself that they rather ruined the skill of his footwork. Perhaps it was better Toby and Josh weren't there after all, he thought, as he opened the door to his own bedroom. Sometimes it was nice to be alone.

It was still exciting to be going up to his new attic bedroom. Toby's bedroom was next door and acted as the playroom as well because although Toby was older, he was only there two nights a week. Zak felt a bit smaller when Toby wasn't in the room next door.

He carefully attached a piece of string to his door handle and to his light saber on top of the door, setting a trap for robbers, slid under his duvet, and waited for Mummy to come up and say good night. It was much better than being in the top bunk and sharing with a girl. The window in his new bedroom was in the ceiling instead of the wall. No other room in the house had that. Being a boy was the best.