Authors: Sophie Kinsella
‘I’m so sorry, is this your mother?’ He extends a hand. ‘How do you do. Let me assure you, we’re doing everything we can to house your daughter.’
‘But she’s
got
a house!’ says Mum shrilly. ‘She’s
bought
a house! We’re here to pick up the keys! Why else do you think we’re all here in Maida Vale?’
David Ripley looks from Mum to me in confusion.
‘I’m so sorry – is there something I haven’t been told?’
‘No,’ I say, hot with mortification. ‘My mother hasn’t quite got … the whole picture. I need to talk to her.’
‘Ah.’ David Ripley lifts his hands with a delicate gesture and backs off towards the office. ‘Well, I’ll be inside if you need me.’
‘Mum …’ I swallow hard. ‘I know I should have told you …’
‘Martin,’ murmurs Janice, and they discreetly move away to look at a travel agent’s window. Mum is just standing there, her brow contorted with incomprehension and disappointment.
Suddenly I feel like crying. My parents were so proud of me, buying my first-ever house. They told all their friends. And here I am, screwing everything up, as usual.
‘There was a delay with the house,’ I mumble, staring at the pavement. ‘And we couldn’t bear to tell you because you were so hassled with us cluttering up the place at home. So we rented somewhere – except then that house fell through too. So … we’re homeless.’ I force myself to raise my head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘We’ve driven all this way … and you haven’t got a house?’
‘Yes. I mean, we will get one, but—’
‘You mean … you deliberately misled us? You let Dad make his little speech? You let us give you the painting? And it was all
lies?’
‘It wasn’t
lies
exactly …’
‘Well, what else was it?’ Mum suddenly explodes and I flinch. ‘Here we all are, traipsing around Maida Vale; Janice and Martin have made all this effort; we’ve all bought house-warming presents—’
‘I told you not to come!’ I say defensively, but Mum doesn’t seem to hear.
‘Everything you do, Becky, is a fiasco! Everything is a fantasy! What’s your father going to say? Do you know how disappointed he’ll be?’
‘We will get a house!’ I say desperately. ‘We will, I promise! And you can have the painting back until then.’
‘This is
just
like George Michael—’
‘It is
not
!’ I cut her off, stung. ‘It is
not
George Michael all over again.’ I furiously brush away a sudden tear. ‘It’s just … a little hitch.’
‘It’s always just a little hitch, love! Always!’ Mum sounds beside herself. ‘The party will be just the same—’
‘No it
won’t
!’ I almost roar. ‘And I never
asked
you to drive all this way, did I? Or buy me presents. And if you don’t want to come to Luke’s party, Mum, then you needn’t! In fact, please don’t!’
Tears are streaming down my face by now, and I can see Janice and Martin studiously staring in at the special offers to Morocco as though they’re gripped by them.
‘No!’ Minnie’s gazing up at me in distress. ‘No cry!’
‘OK.’ Luke’s voice suddenly rings out, and I look up to see him striding towards us. ‘I’ve sorted it. They’re putting us up—’ He breaks off and looks from face to face. ‘What’s up? What’s happened?’
Mum says nothing, her mouth just tightens.
‘Nothing,’ I mutter miserably. ‘We were just … talking.’
‘Right,’ says Luke, clearly flummoxed. ‘Well, I’ve negotiated a two-bedroom serviced apartment at The West Place until they find us alternative accommodation.’
‘The West Place!’ Janice turns round from the travel agent’s window. ‘We saw that on TV! Remember, Martin, that lovely new hotel with the rooftop spa? With all the mosaics?’
‘Yes, well, I wasn’t taking any shit.’ Luke flashes her a brief smile. ‘We can move in today, the stuff will go into storage …’ He trails off, clearly aware of the tension in the air. ‘So … is that OK by you? Becky?’
‘Mum should take it.’ The words come out of my mouth even before I’ve properly thought them through. ‘Mum and Dad should have it.’
‘O-kaay,’ says Luke hesitantly. ‘Well, that’s certainly one way to do it …’
‘We’ve put Mum and Dad out for all this time, and now we’ve let them down. We should let them enjoy the luxury apartment. And then … regroup.’
I’m staring into the middle distance; I can’t bring myself to look at Mum. Luke’s head is swivelling between us as though for clues; I can see Janice mouthing something urgently at him.
‘Jane?’ Luke says finally. ‘Would that suit you? To stay in The West Place for a little while?’
‘It would suit very well,’ says Mum in clipped, unnatural tones. ‘Thank you, Luke. I’ll just call Graham and tell him.’
Mum obviously can’t look at me either. Well, good thing we won’t be living together any more.
‘I’ll take Minnie to look at the shops,’ I say, taking Minnie’s hand. ‘Let me know when it’s time to go home.’
We eventually make it home by four o’clock. Mum and Dad went back first, and packed some things, and Luke settled them into the serviced apartment, which apparently is amazingly swanky. Not that I want to hear about it.
I’ve made Minnie her tea and put on
Peppa Pig
and am sitting by the fire, staring morosely into the flames, when Luke arrives back. He heads into the room and just watches me for a moment.
‘Becky, come on. What’s up between you and your mum?’
‘Sssh!’ says Minnie crossly and points at the TV. ‘Peppa!’
‘Nothing.’ I turn away.
‘Something’s going on,’ Luke persists, crouching down beside my chair. ‘I’ve never known you and your mum like this before.’
I look at him silently as answers crowd into my mind.
She thinks I can’t throw you a party. She thinks it’ll all be a failure. And deep down, I’m petrified she might be right
.
‘Just mother-daughter stuff,’ I say eventually.
‘Huh.’ He raises a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve got some time alone. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’
He draws up a chair and I watch a little apprehensively.
‘You were right, Becky,’ he says frankly. ‘I was keeping something from you. And I’m sorry. But I wanted to be sure before I said anything.’
Instantly my mood lifts. He’s going to tell me about Sage Seymour! Yes! Maybe we’re all going to meet up tonight! Maybe he wants to take us out for dinner at the Ivy or somewhere! I know she’s filming at Pinewood Studios at the moment, because I Googled her. (Simply because I take an interest in my husband’s career like any supportive wife would.)
Oh, this will
totally
make up for a shitty day. And I can wear that Nanette Lepore dress I’ve never worn, with my pink Vivienne Westwood shoes.
‘Don’t worry, Luke.’ I beam at him. ‘I know you have to be discreet.’
Maybe she’ll ask me to be her personal shopper! Maybe Luke has recommended me! I could dress her for the Golden Globes. I could
go
to the Golden Globes. I mean, she’ll need someone to make sure her hem’s straight—
‘I’ve recently been in touch with a contact I have. A guy who represents … celebrities,’ Luke says slowly.
‘Really?’ I try to sound off-hand. ‘What sort of celebrities?’
‘Have you by any chance heard of someone called …’
Have I
heard
of her? Is he nuts? She’s got an Oscar, for God’s sake! She’s one of the most famous women in the world!
‘Of course I have!’ I blurt out excitedly, just as he says ‘… a woman called Nanny Sue?’
For an instant we stare at each other in confusion.
‘Nanny
Sue?’
I echo at last.
‘She’s a childcare expert, apparently.’ Luke shrugs. ‘Has a show on TV? I hadn’t heard of her myself.’
I’m so frustrated I feel like slapping him. Number one,
obviously
I’ve heard of Nanny Sue, and he only hasn’t because he doesn’t watch enough TV. Number two, why are we talking about her and not Sage Seymour?
‘Yes, I have,’ I say grudgingly. ‘I’ve got her book. What about her?’
‘Apparently she’s planning to start a new private enterprise. A kind of …’ He hesitates, not meeting my eye. ‘A children’s behaviour-management camp.’
He can’t be serious.
‘You want to send Minnie to a
boot camp
?’ The words almost stick in my throat. ‘But … but … that’s ridiculous! She’s only two! They wouldn’t even take her!’
‘Apparently in exceptional cases they will accept children as young as that.’
My mind is swirling in shock. There I was, sitting there happily, thinking he was about to tell me we’re having cocktails with a movie star tonight. And instead he’s saying he wants to send our daughter away.
‘Is it …’ I swallow hard.
‘Residential?’
I feel hollow at the thought. He wants to send her to a boarding school for naughty children. I have a sudden image of Minnie in a braided blazer, her head bowed, sitting in the corner holding a sign saying ‘I must not order sixteen coats off the internet.’
‘Of course not!’ Luke seems shocked. ‘It’ll simply be a programme for children with particular behavioural issues. And it’s only an idea.’ He rubs the back of his neck, still not looking at me. ‘I’ve already spoken to this Nanny Sue. I explained the situation and she seemed very understanding. She’ll come and assess Minnie for us if we like, and make a recommendation. So I made an appointment.’
‘You what?’ I can’t believe this. ‘You’ve already
spoken
to her?’
‘I was just finding out what the options were.’ At last Luke meets my gaze. ‘Becky, I don’t like the idea any more than you do. But we have to do
something.’
No we don’t!
I want to yell.
And we especially don’t have to invite strangers into our home to tell us what to do!
But I can tell he’s set on this. It’s just like that time on honeymoon when he decided we should take the train to Lahore, not fly. He’s not going to budge.
Well, fine. He can hire all the childcare gurus he likes. No one’s taking Minnie away from me. Let Nanny Sue come and do her worst. I’ll see her off. Just watch me.
D
R
J
AMES
L
INFOOT
36 H
ARLEY
S
TREET
L
ONDON
W 1
Rebecca Brandon
The Pines
43 Elton Street
Oxshott
Surrey
3 March 2006
Dear Rebecca
Thank you for your letter of 1 March.
I have never heard of ‘sleep-shopping’. I therefore cannot give you the Latin name for it, nor write to your husband and tell him he must ‘respect your medical condition’.
I suggest you visit your local GP if symptoms persist.
Kind regards
James Linfoot
FIFTEEN
So now I’m not talking to Mum and I’m barely talking to Luke, either.
It’s over a week later. Nanny Sue’s coming today, and I’m totally prepared. I feel like a gladiator, ready to go into the arena with all my swingy metal spikes and bludgeons. But I’m still livid with Luke. In fact, the more time goes on, the angrier I feel. How could he have arranged all this without consulting me? We’re at breakfast and we’ve hardly spoken two words to each other. Certainly neither of us has mentioned Nanny Sue.
‘Do you want some more milk, Minnie?’ I say in chilly tones, and reach past Luke for the jug.
Luke sighs. ‘Becky, we can’t go on like this. We have to talk.’
‘Fine. Let’s talk.’ I shrug. ‘What about? The weather?’
‘Well … how’s your work?’
‘It’s OK.’ I stir my coffee noisily.
‘Excellent!’ Luke sounds so hearty I want to cringe. ‘Things are good for us, too. Looks like we’ll be finalizing a meeting with Christian Scott-Hughes any day now. The client’s been wanting to line something up with him for more than a year, so they’re thrilled.’
Whoopee-doo. Like I’m interested in some boring old meeting with Christian Scott-Hughes.
‘Great,’ I say politely.
‘Unfortunately I’m going to have to bollock my personal assistant today. Not so good.’ He sighs. ‘Didn’t see that one coming.’
What? He’s doing
what?
I raise my head, unable to keep up my distant demeanour any more. He’s going to bollock
Bonnie?
How can he bollock Bonnie? She’s perfect! She’s lovely!
‘But … I thought you loved her,’ I say, trying to sound only mildly interested. ‘I thought she was the best assistant you’ve ever had.’
‘I thought so, too. But recently, she’s become …’ Luke hesitates. ‘I can only describe it as “inappropriate”.’
I can’t imagine Bonnie being inappropriate for one moment.
‘What do you mean? What’s she done?’
‘It’s odd.’ Luke passes a hand over his brow, looking perplexed. ‘Most of the time she behaves with impeccable discretion and tact. And then all of a sudden she’ll lurch into territory that frankly is none of her business. Like commenting on my
shower gel
, of all things.’ Luke frowns. ‘I really think that’s unprofessional behaviour, don’t you?’
I feel the colour creep into my cheeks. ‘Er … I suppose …’
‘There have been other comments, too, even more intrusive and personal. Quite frankly, I haven’t hired her to give me opinions about my family or house. Or choice of ties.’
Shit.
Shit
. This is all my fault. Except I can’t exactly say that, can I?
‘Well, I think you should give her another chance,’ I say hastily. ‘You don’t want to upset her, do you? She was probably just making conversation. I’m sure she’ll never be intrusive again. In fact, I’m positive.’
Because I’ll instantly ring her up and tell her to lay off the suggestions.
Luke gives me a strange look. ‘Why does it matter to you? You hardly know her.’
‘I just feel very strongly that people should be given a chance. And I think you should give this assistant another chance. What’s her name again – Bobbie?’ I add innocently.
‘Bonnie,’ Luke corrects me.
‘Bonnie.’
I nod. ‘Of course. I’ve only really met her once,’ I add for good measure. ‘Ages ago.’
I shoot a surreptitious glance at Luke but he doesn’t seem suspicious. Thank God.
‘I must go.’ He gets up, wiping his mouth. ‘So … I hope it goes well today.’ He kisses Minnie. ‘Good luck, poppet.’
‘She’s not running the Olympics,’ I retort curtly. ‘She doesn’t need luck.’
‘Well, anyway, let me know how it goes.’ He hesitates awkwardly. ‘Becky, I know how you feel about … today. But I really think this could be the breakthrough we need.’
I don’t even bother answering him. There’s no way some child-catching boot-camp expert is having any ‘breakthrough’ in my family.
By ten o’clock I’m ready for her. The house is prepared and I’m prepared and even Minnie is all dressed up in her most innocent-looking Marie-Chantal pinafore.
I’ve done my research. First of all, I looked up Nanny Sue’s website and read every page. (Unfortunately there’s nothing about the boot camp on there yet, just a message saying, ‘My new series of behaviour-management programmes for children and adults will be launched soon – check for details.’ Huh. I’m not surprised she’s being cagey.)
Then I bought all her DVDs and watched them back-to-back. And it’s always the same pattern. What happens is, there’s a family with kids haring about and parents arguing and usually an old abandoned fridge in the garden or dangerous electrical sockets or something. Then Nanny Sue comes in and watches carefully on the side and says, ‘I want to see who the Ellises really
are,’
which means, ‘You’re doing loads of stuff wrong, but I’m not going to tell you what yet.’
The parents always end up having a screaming match and then sobbing on Nanny Sue’s shoulder and telling her their life history. And every week she gets out her little box of tissues and says gravely, ‘I think there’s more to this than child behaviour, isn’t there?’ and they nod and spill all about their sex life or job troubles or family tragedy and they play sad music and you end up crying too.
I mean, it’s a total formula, and only complete suckers would end up falling for her tricks.
And now, presumably, she’s going to crank up the drama and take all the children away to boot camp, somewhere really tough like Utah or Arizona, and it’ll make even better telly when they’re reunited.
Well, not here. No way.
I look around the kitchen, just checking everything is in place. I’ve put up a massive gold-star chart on the fridge, and I’ve labelled the bottom step of the stairs the Naughty Step and there’s a stack of educational toys on the table. But with any luck my first salvo will work and she won’t even get this far.
What you
can’t
do with Nanny Sue is say, ‘My child doesn’t have any problems,’ because then she catches you out and finds some. So I’m going to be even cleverer than that.
The doorbell rings and I stiffen.
‘Come on, Min,’ I murmur. ‘Let’s go and get rid of the nasty child expert.’
I open the door – and there she is. Nanny Sue herself, with her trademark blonde bob and neat little features and pink lipstick. She looks smaller in real life and is wearing jeans, a striped shirt and a padded jacket like horse-riders wear. I thought she’d be in her blue uniform and hat, like she wears on the telly. In fact, I’m half-expecting the theme music to begin and a voice-over to say ‘Today Nanny Sue has been called to the house of the Brandons …’
‘Rebecca? I’m Nanny Sue,’ she says in her familiar West Country burr.
‘Nanny Sue! Thank God! I’m so glad to see you!’ I say dramatically. ‘We’re at our wits’ end! You have to help us, right here, right now!’
‘Really?’ Nanny Sue looks taken aback.
‘Yes! Didn’t my husband explain how desperate we are? This is our two-year-old, Minnie.’
‘Hello, Minnie. How are you?’ Nanny Sue crouches down to chat to Minnie and I wait impatiently till she rises again.
‘You won’t believe the problems we’ve had with her. It’s shameful. It’s mortifying. I can hardly admit it.’ I let my voice wobble slightly. ‘She refuses to learn how to tie up her shoe laces. I’ve tried … my husband’s tried … everyone’s tried. But she won’t!’
There’s a pause, during which I keep my anxious-mother look perfectly intact. Nanny Sue looks a little perplexed. Ha.
‘Rebecca,’ she says. ‘Minnie’s still very young. I wouldn’t expect any child of two to be able to tie her own laces.’
‘Oh!’ I instantly brighten. ‘Oh, I
see
. Well, that’s all right then! We don’t have any other problems with her. Thank you so much, Nanny Sue, please do invoice my husband, I mustn’t keep you any longer, goodbye.’
And I slam the front door before she can reply.
Result! I high-five Minnie and am about to head to the kitchen for a celebratory KitKat when the doorbell rings again.
Hasn’t she gone?
I peep through the spy-hole and there she is, waiting patiently on the doorstep.
What does she want? She’s solved our problems. She can go.
‘Rebecca?’ Her voice comes through the door. ‘Are you there?’
‘Hello!’ calls Minnie.
‘Sssh!’ I hiss. ‘Be quiet!’
‘Rebecca, your husband asked if I could assess your daughter and report my findings to both of you. I can hardly do that on a one-minute acquaintance.’
‘She doesn’t need assessing!’ I call back through the door.
Nanny Sue doesn’t react, just waits with the same patient smile. Doesn’t she
want
a day off?
I’m feeling a bit thrown, to be honest. I thought she’d just hoof off. What if she tells Luke I wouldn’t let her in? What if we end up having another big row?
Oh God. Maybe it’ll be simpler if I just let her in, let her do her so-called ‘assessing’ and get rid of her.
‘Fine.’ I throw open the door. ‘Come in. But my daughter
doesn’t
have any problems. And I know exactly what you’re going to do and what you’re going to say. And we already have a Naughty Step.’
‘Goodness.’ Nanny Sue’s eyes spark a little. ‘Well, you’re ahead of the game, aren’t you?’ She steps in and beams at Minnie, then at me. ‘Please don’t be apprehensive or worried. All I’d really like to observe is a normal day for both of you. Just act naturally and do what you would usually do. I want to see who the Brandons really
are.’
I knew it! She’s set us our first trap. On telly, either the family haven’t got a plan for the day or their child refuses to turn off the TV and they all start fighting. But I am
so
ahead of her. I prepared for this moment, just in case – in fact, I’ve even rehearsed it with Minnie.
‘Gosh, I don’t know,’ I say in musing tones. ‘What do you think, Minnie? Some home-baking?’ I click my tongue. ‘But I’ve just remembered, we’re out of organic stone-ground flour. Maybe we could make houses out of cardboard boxes, and you could paint them with non-leaded paint.’
I look meaningfully at Minnie. This is her cue. She’s supposed to say ‘Walk! Nature!’ I coached her, and everything. But instead she’s gazing longingly at the TV in the sitting room.
‘Peppa Pig,’ she begins.
‘Mine
Peppa Pig—’
‘We can’t see a real pig, darling!’ I interrupt hastily. ‘But let’s go on a nature walk and discuss the environment!’
I’m quite proud of the nature-walk idea. It counts as good parenting
and
it’s really easy. You just have to walk along and say, ‘There’s an acorn! There’s a squirrel!’ every so often. And Nanny Sue will have to admit defeat. She’ll have to give us ten out of ten and say she can’t improve on a perfect family, and Luke will be totally sussed.
When I’ve put on Minnie’s boots (tiny pink Uggs,
so
sweet), I reach in my bag and produce four dark-grey velvet ribbons, sewn in a bow and backed with Velcro. I did them last night, and they look really good.
‘We’d better take the Naughty Ribbons,’ I say ostentatiously.
‘Naughty Ribbons?’ enquires Nanny Sue politely.
‘Yes, I noticed from your TV show that you don’t use the Naughty Step while you’re out and about. So I’ve created a ‘Naughty Ribbon’. They’re very simple, but effective. You just Velcro them on to the child’s coat when they’re naughty.’
‘I see.’ Nanny Sue doesn’t venture an opinion, but that’s obviously because she’s seething with jealousy and wishes she’d thought of it first.
Honestly, I think I might become a child expert. I have far more ideas than Nanny Sue,
and
I could give fashion advice too.
I usher her out of the house and we start heading down the drive. ‘Look, Minnie, a bird!’ I point at some creature flapping out of a tree. ‘Maybe it’s endangered,’ I add solemnly. ‘We have to
protect
our wildlife.’
‘A pigeon?’ says Nanny Sue mildly. ‘Is that likely to be endangered?’
‘I’m being
green.’
I give her a reproving look. Doesn’t she know anything about the environment?
We walk along for a while and I point out a few squirrels. Now we’re approaching the parade of shops at the end of Mum’s road, and I can’t help glancing right, just to see what they have in the antique shop.
‘Shop!’ says Minnie, tugging on my hand.
‘No, we’re not going shopping, Minnie.’ I give her an indulgent smile. ‘We’re going on a nature walk, remember? Looking at
nature.’
‘Shop! Taxi!’ She sticks her hand confidently out into the road and yells even louder, ‘TAXI! TAX-EEEE!’ After a moment, the taxi at the head of the rank rumbles forward towards us.
‘Minnie! We’re
not
getting a taxi! I don’t know why she’s done that,’ I add quickly to Nanny Sue. ‘It’s not like we take taxis all the time—’
‘Minnie!’ comes a cheerful, booming voice. ‘How’s my best little customer?’
Damn. It’s Pete, who usually drives us to Kingston when we go shopping.
I mean, not that we go
that
often.
‘Pete sometimes drives us to the … the … educational soft-play centre,’ I say quickly to Nanny Sue.
‘Tax-eee!’
Minnie is getting that red-cheeked, angry-bull look. Oh God. I can’t risk a tantrum in front of Nanny Sue. Maybe we
could
take a taxi somewhere.
‘So.’ Pete leans out of his window. ‘Where is it today, my beauties?’
‘Star-bucks,’ enunciates Minnie carefully before I can speak. ‘Starbucks-shops.’
‘Your usual, then?’ Pete says cheerfully. ‘Hop in!’
I feel my face flood with colour.
‘We’re not going to Starbucks, Minnie!’ I say shrilly. ‘What a … a crazy idea! Could you take us to the educational softplay centre, please, Pete? That one in Leatherhead that we go to all the time?’
My eyes are fixed desperately on his, willing him not to say, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Muffin?’ Minnie turns hopeful eyes on me. ‘Muffin Starbucks?’
‘No, Minnie!’ I snap. ‘Now, you be a good girl or you’ll get a Naughty Ribbon.’ I take the Naughty Ribbon out of my bag and brandish it ominously at her. Instantly Minnie holds her hands out.