Do You Want to Know a Secret? (36 page)

11.30 a.m
.

I think I might actually have the clean nappy on.

11.31 a.m
.

No, I don’t. It just fell off her, and now she’s wailing again. Maybe she’s hungry, maybe that’s what’s wrong. I thump on Emily’s locked door and ask when she had her last feed?

‘How do I know?’ is the muffled answer. ‘Now go away, what we’re doing takes privacy.’

She must be on some Bebo-type internet chat room, I fume, making about my fortieth attempt to get the nappy to actually stay on the baby, while she’s wriggling and squealing around the bed like I’m torturing her.

11.45 a.m
.

Success. Apparently the sticky bit on the nappy goes at the back, not the front. Don’t ask me who invented these things. For God’s sake, the Pampers box doesn’t
have
any kind of instruction manual with it; I mean, you’d think they’d make it simple for non-parents.

Had to strip Laura’s bed, too, and put the weed-on sheets in the wash. And trying to get Baby Julia back into a clean babygro is a bit like trying to dress a wriggling eel.

11.50 a.m
.

As I’m checking on the messages on my phone (three missed calls, all from the office), the TV-room row gets so vicious that I burst in, baby still screaming in my arms, and demand that they both go outside. Or else, I dunno, read books or something. Anything, just to shut the pair of them up. George Junior and Jake only stop bickering to laugh at me, then go back to the far more interesting business of tearing each other apart.

‘Hard work and discipline! That’s what you pair need!’ I snarl at them, trying to do my best Laura impression whenever she’s giving them one of her icy dressing-downs. But it only makes them piss themselves laughing at me even more.

‘Hard work and discipline?’ sneers Jake. ‘What is that, anyway? Some kind of theme park?’

12.00 noon

The baby is still screeching, and I’m trying to copy that thing I’ve seen Laura do, where she microwaves the
bottle
, then tests the temperature of it against her wrist before a feed. I’ve watched her do it a thousand times, and no kidding, she’s actually able to achieve it in one fluid, skilful movement. When I try it, though, the bloody thing nearly scalds my arm so badly that I drop it on the floor, letting out a string of curses, then apologizing to the baby just in case ‘f**ketty-f**k’ ends up being her first coherent phrase. She can’t quite talk yet, but does come out with the odd word or two, and knowing my luck will do a perfect impression of what she just heard me saying in front of Mrs Lennox-Up-Your-Arse-Coyningham.

Shit, shit, shit . . .

I rinse the bottle under the tap, figuring, ah sure it’ll be grand, then just as I’m about to feed the poor starving, screaming child, my phone goes again.

Daniel Best.

Bugger, I’ll have to take it. It must be important.

‘Hello?’ I almost have to shout to compensate for the blaring TV and the blazing row which is still ongoing inside.

‘Vicky? Is that you? Are you OK?’

‘Oh absolutely grand!’ I lie through my teeth. ‘Just . . . emm . . . well, a friend of mine had a bit of a childcare emergency here, and emm . . .’

Baby Julia has now thrown the bottle back on to the floor and vomited all over my good Karen Millen
black
suit
. ‘Don’t worry a bit!’ I almost sing with hysteria into the phone. ‘Everything’s all set for the shoot next week, the press is totally under control, and I’ve my laptop with me in case there’s an emergency, which, of course there won’t be . . .!’ Cue the most blood-curdling yelling ever heard this side of a Hammer House of Horror film, coming from the upstairs bedroom.

‘Vicky!’ I can hear Tiffany-Amber, Emily’s friend, screaming from behind the locked door in blind panic. ‘Jaysus, quick, get an ambulance, will you!’

‘Oh shit, Daniel, hang on a minute will you?’ I leg it upstairs, phone in one hand, screeching baby in the other, and bang on Emily’s bedroom door. A very shame-faced-looking Tiffany-Amber opens it, holding a needle and a blood-stained wad of cotton wool. Emily is lying on the bed, writhing in agony, blood all over her white T-shirt. For a second I think they’ve been at some weird satanic ritual, but then Tiffany-Amber says, ‘It wasn’t even my fault anyway, I mean, she asked me to pierce her belly button for her, and then just as I was sticking the needle in, she went and moved. It was an accident. Honest.’

‘Vicky?’ I hear Daniel’s voice on my phone as I stand rooted to the scene, which, honestly, looks like something from a Tarantino movie. ‘Vicky, are you still there?’

‘Sorry, Daniel, there’s . . . emm . . . there’s a bit of an emergency here and . . .’

‘Look, where are you?’

‘What?’

‘Give me the address and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

12.30 p.m
.

I do not believe this. I really don’t. I’m just trying to change Baby Julia out of yet another babygro after she puked up for a second time over the one I had her in. She’s still screeching, the row is still going on downstairs and Emily and Tiffany-Amber are in the bathroom using the good lacy towels to soak up blood. Dear God, I must have aged about six years in the past hour and a half, I’m thinking, as suddenly there’s an authoritative thump at the front door.

I run downstairs, Baby Julia in what already smells dangerously like a very dirty nappy in my arms, and fling open the hall door.

It’s Daniel. Grinning, in his Gap chinos and a white T-shirt. Oh my God, I could hug him. Just for turning up. Just for being here.

‘Now tell me the truth,’ he says, arms folded, looking at me in that cute side-on way that he has. ‘I’m taking a wild guess that you don’t actually have any experience with kids, do you?’

‘How on earth did you know?’ I practically have to wail over the ongoing row in the living room. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. I mean, don’t you have emm . . . you
know
, like . . . a huge corporation to run, and all that?’

‘Vicky,’ he says, gently taking Baby Julia from my arms and lifting her up. ‘I’m one of seven kids, and at the last count had eleven nieces and four nephews, with two more on the way. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s take care of kids. Lesson one, here’s how you hold her. She’s a baby, not a football. Hi there, sweetie pie!’ He coos at Baby Julia, who’s miraculously stopped wailing and is just staring at him, completely mesmerized.

‘Hey, is that the unmistakable whiff of a dirty nappy I’m smelling?’

12.45 p.m
.

The guy is unbelievable. Just incredible. Within two minutes flat, he’s sorted out the row between the boys in the living room, with the promise that if they shut up and behave, they can come with him to a Harley-Davidson bike show this afternoon. Apparently H-D are huge clients of Best’s (wouldn’t you know it, only the coolest people for Best’s), plus Daniel insists he has to go anyway, and has tickets to spare.

It works like a charm. That on top of the fact that the boys copped on they’d be getting there in Daniel’s brand-new, showroom-condition Aston Martin, parked in the drive, which pretty much sealed the deal. They hopped into the back of his sports car like a pair of
obedient
choirboys, like there’d never been a cross word spoken between them all morning. Meanwhile, as I manage to get the still-screeching Emily, and a sobbing Tiffany-Amber into my car on our way to the hospital, a neighbour who I vaguely recognize sticks her head through the front door and worriedly asks if everything’s OK?

‘Fine, not a bother,’ Daniel calls back cheerily. ‘Just a routine trip to the emergency room!’ You should hear him, his tone is so relaxed and confident, you’d almost swear this was our idea of a fun-filled family day out.

‘Would you like me to take the baby for you, while you’re gone?’

She’s looking at me with such concern that I might as well be handing out business cards that say: ‘Nanny Choke-Child, now out of prison and accepting play dates.’

‘We’d really appreciate that, wouldn’t we, Vicky?’ Daniel says, shooting an encouraging glance at me. ‘Sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, not at all,’ says concerned neighbour. ‘Although maybe we shouldn’t mention it to Laura. Last time my kids went near little Julia here, the poor child ended up getting head lice from my youngest, and I still haven’t heard the last of it.’

Off they go, and Daniel walks me to my car, where Emily is now genuinely writhing in agony. ‘Oh God,’ I
say
, panicking. ‘Are you sure it was OK for us to hand over the baby like that? I mean, suppose . . . suppose . . .’

‘Well now, I could hardly bring her to a bike expo with me, and, no offence, but, based on what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t trust you with her for a full afternoon, never mind what she might catch in the hospital.’ He’s grinning at me in that crinkly-eyed way he has that, in the middle of all this mayhem and screaming kids, I’m actually starting to find quite sexy. ‘Believe me, Vicky, we’d no choice, and your friend will understand.’

No, make that
irresistibly
sexy. You should just see him, all tall and calm. And I just feel tiny beside him. Tiny and useless and incapable of looking after kids for longer than five minutes.

‘My friend’s going to go mad,’ I say to him. Laura suddenly comes to mind, and I’m trembling even at the thought of having to tell her what’s happened. ‘What’ll I say when she calls? One of her kids is in the emergency room, one’s with a vermin-infested neighbour, and I’ve sent the other two off with a man they’ve never met before?’

‘Hey, come on, we’ll think of something,’ he says, grinning, the eyes all crinkly. ‘You keep in touch and let me know how you get on at the hospital.’

‘Who’s your man?’ asks Tiffany-Amber, as I clamber into the car and wallop the door shut behind me.

I have to pause for a second before I can even think
straight
. It just sounds so bizarre that I have to say it aloud – almost so I’ll believe it myself, as much as anything else.

‘His name is Daniel, he’s the head of a huge company, he’s like, a self-made gazzillionaire, I’m doing some freelance contract work for him, and today . . . today . . . he’s babysitting Emily’s brothers.’

‘Gorgeous-looking though, isn’t he?’

4.30 p.m
.

I needn’t have worried about a thing. It’s all fine, crisis averted.

Emily needed two stitches, a tetanus shot and a very stern lecture from a junior doctor who, God love him, looks as if he hasn’t slept in about a fortnight. She’s calmed down now, the screaming has mercifully stopped, and Tiffany-Amber managed to keep us both entertained during the interminable wait on a hospital trolley by showing us her routine for an audition she has coming up to be in a girl band.

‘That’s my number-one goal in life,’ she explains to me. ‘And my dad says it doesn’t even matter that I can’t sing or dance, cos girl bands are all shite anyway. And if I don’t get into the band, then I’m going on
The X Factor
. The quicker I get famous, the quicker I can become a WAG.’

And I don’t think the child has even turned thirteen.

5.15 p.m
.

I thought Laura would totally flip, but, astonishingly, she doesn’t. When she gets home she just hugs Baby Julia tight, and Emily even lets her give her a peck on the cheek, which normally is unheard-of.

‘I am so glad to be home,’ Laura keeps saying over and over. And she doesn’t even bat an eyelid when I tell her that I’ve let the boys go off with Daniel for the afternoon.

‘I can’t do it again, Vicky,’ she says, slumping down at the kitchen table, totally worn-out. ‘I thought all I wanted was to go back to work, but it turns out . . . I didn’t after all.’

‘I’m not with you. What do you mean, you didn’t? All you’ve talked about since the baby was born was getting back to work. It’s all you’ve dreamed about. You’re the girl who has the days counted, remember? I’m surprised you don’t have pie charts stuck to the fridge with the number of days you have left till the baby’s in school.’

‘I know, I know,’ she says, looking a bit distant and slowly stirring the cup of tea I’ve made her. ‘But did you ever find yourself in a situation where the one thing that you thought you wanted most out of life turned out, well, not to be what you were chasing after all? There I was in my wig and gown, and I should have been the happiest barrister in the Four Courts, but I wasn’t. All I wanted was to be here. Home. With my family. On the plus
side
, though, I will get a terrific column out of this.’

God only knows what happened to Laura in that courtroom, but it’s had the weirdest effect on her.

6.45 p.m
.

Daniel’s flashy car pulls into the driveway, and out get the two boys, now clad in Harley-Davidson T-shirts, baseball caps and sweatshirts; the full works. Daniel, it seems, is officially their new best friend. And, after today, mine.

I bring him into the kitchen to meet Laura, and I can practically see her sizing him up, this guy she’s heard so much about, billionaire-turned-babysitter.

Like so much in my life, you couldn’t make it up, you really couldn’t.

‘I really can’t thank you enough,’ she says politely, although he refuses to join us for a (I’m guessing, badly needed) glass of wine.

‘Love to stay, but I’d better get back to the office,’ he says, grinning. ‘I’ve some calls coming in from the States that I need to be there for.’

Oh shit, yeah, of course, the girlfriend. Or maybe something to do with the bleeding . . .
penthouse
he’s buying her. Lucky, jammy cow, whoever she is.

‘I really, really owe you,’ is all I can say as we show him back out again.

‘Pleasure,’ he says, playing it all down and doing
his
sideways look at me. ‘So, I’ll see you soon, yeah?’

‘Definitely. Sure, we have the big shoot next week.’

‘Eh, yeah, yeah, the shoot, of course. Well, we’ll talk.’

The minute he’s out of sight, Laura closes the hall door behind us and we move back inside.

She doesn’t say anything for ages, but is doing her lop-sided smile, so I get in ahead of her.

‘OK, OK, I know what you’re thinking, but I can officially tell you he’s spoken-for.’