The Nanny

Hi everyone! So, this is a stand-alone story, it is also my entry into the Literotica Annual Winter Holidays Contest, so it would mean so much to me if you give it a quick rating at the end! This story is 'a grower, not a shower', so you'll need to give it a bit of time, but I promise the build-up is worth it for the pay off!

Hope you like it xoxo

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Saturday, November 3^rd, 2018

It was 8pm and all of my friends were asking me to join them in town. But I couldn't go out tonight. My wages from waitressing were only just barely covering rent, never mind the cost of a dozen jagerbombs on a Saturday night.

I was sitting in my unheated room -- the top floor of an old building. I rented a single bedroom for £550 per month. Bills were another £50. I had to pay the majority of council tax as well, being the only non-student in the flat. The wallpaper was scratched and peeling and there was a patch of damp above the large, single pained windows that didn't open. In summer I hated them because the room got so stuffy at night. In winter I hated them more for their lack of insulation.

I had graduated from Cambridge in June. Now, five months later, I was still in Cambridge trying to find a job. A post-grad degree had seemed like such a stupid thing to get at the time -- it was just more debt. And yet I found myself regretting the decision to not carry on in education as all my friends on my course had. A history degree was useless, apparently, unless you had a masters to decorate it with.

Job websites were also useless, unless I wanted to get another waitressing job or become an office admin. And still I trudged on, refreshing my email and all of the search websites, hoping for a golden nugget.

I sighed and picked up my cup of tea, taking a swig before immediately spitting it back into the cup. Cold. Of course, it was.

Why can't I catch a break? I remember asking myself before throwing myself into bed. 8pm was a good time to go to sleep.

************

At 1am I awoke to my phone buzzing. The caller I.D. showed that it was Olivia, my best friend. For a moment I considered ignoring it -- she always called when she was drunk to tell me that she loved me. But on second thoughts I accepted the call. If she was in trouble, then I'd be the first person she'd contact.

"Hello?" I whispered. My flatmates didn't like me much. They were all still studying, so late night noises were a constant source of aggravation for them.

"Ursula!" Ursula. I had despised the name growing up. I can remember being in primary school and kids making fun of me, calling me a sea witch. When I asked my parents why they'd chosen it, they said it was because of the Little Mermaid. When I then asked why they'd name me after the witch, mum called me ungrateful.

When I came to Cambridge, though, it was the biggest blessing I'd ever had. No one would believe I was working class -- Ursula, it turned out, was a 'fancy' name. The sort of name that girls who owned horses had.

My parents weren't bad people, they were just . . . odd. Mum was from a strictly working-class background and believed that getting a starter when you dined out was the height of wealth and sophistication. Dad never really had any opinions or thoughts of his own, he just agreed with mum all the time. They moved to a one-bedroom apartment in the Costa Del Sol in Spain as soon as I left for university. As a result of my upbringing, I spent so much of my time playing catch up and pretending that I knew what it was like to come from money just so I could fit in with my new friends. The only part of me that actually fit in was my name.

"Olivia," I replied, pulling the phone away from my ear. "It's late."

There was giggling and some shouting at the other end of the phone. "Urs, you should have come out tonight!" Olivia was slurring quite badly.

"I couldn't, remember? I'm broke," my eyes were closing again, ready to let me drift back to sleep.

"Have your parents still not transferred you your trust fund? I swear, Ursula, I would sue." One of the small white lies I had told. When all of your friends are constantly spending their parents' money it's difficult to admit that your family are broke. I told everyone that my parents were mad at me and were withholding my allowance when I couldn't afford stuff. "It's been months since they gave you anything!"

"They want me to learn the value of earning money," I replied automatically. There was more giggling, and the sound of the phone being moved. "Liv, did you need something?"

"No, silly, I just wanted to say hi," Olivia laughed. "There was one teeny thing though. . ."

"I'm all ears," one of my flatmates smacked the wall separating our rooms. I had stopped whispering. I smacked the wall back -- it was a Saturday night for Christ's sake, and it wasn't like I did this on the regular.

"Matty was in the pub we were at earlier . . . with a girl."

My stomach fluttered at the name. Matthew, my ex. The boy who broke my heart. "Oh."

"Look, I'll tell you more about it on Monday, but I just wanted to be the first to say."

"Ok. Well thanks, Liv."

"No worries doll face!" Olivia laughed loudly. I wondered who she was with. "I've got to go, speak to you soon!"

"Bye Liv. Love you."

"Love you too!"

I lay awake for a moment, just staring at the wall. Matthew was with a girl. We'd been together for three years, broken up for just over three months. I don't know why I was surprised -- he was handsome and kind and charming. And we'd been broken up for long enough.

I unlocked my phone quickly to check the time before noticing that I had an email. I didn't recognise the sender, but the subject stated that it was a reply from a job application. In truth, I had applied to so many jobs -- anything and everything -- that I had forgotten about most of them.

Opening the email, I saw it was a nanny job I had applied to up in Edinburgh. Expecting an outright rejection (I had no childcare experience qualifications -- my only asset was two summers as an au pair in Spain) I skimmed the email quickly. To my utter surprise, the email was an invite to a phone interview on Monday morning.

I scanned the details of the job again before accepting.

It was a live-in nanny position in Edinburgh for over Christmas, but with the chance of a permanent position for the right candidate. It offered £15 an hour for 30 hours a week, over-time being paid in accordance to the family's needs. The family had two daughters, aged 2 and 10, and the parents both worked full-time. Even though it was only temporary (no one ever actually means that they're going to keep you on), accommodation and food were both provided, so I'd be able to save a lot of cash before coming back.

I emailed back accepting the interview. It was worth a shot at least.

************

Friday, November 16^th 2018

I was standing on Princes Street, looking at Edinburgh castle, with two suitcases beside me. People kept shooting me dirty looks as they went past. I understood why. I was taking up a lot of room and not moving. Honestly, I had no idea where I was going.

I had done the phone interview almost two weeks ago. The mum of the family conducted it. Her name was Isabella Redhurst and she was posh -- the sort of posh that was intimidating because they were also friendly (and you were never sure whether or not they were patronising you).

It had gone really well. She asked me a lot about my background, and I didn't lie and say I came from money. I told the truth -- that I came from a small flat in Huddersfield, that I had been working two jobs for most of university, and that I had no idea where I wanted to be in one years' time, let alone have a five-year plan.

Either they were in desperate need of someone, or I did something right. Isabella offered me the job the same day, and said she wanted me to come to Edinburgh the next week. She told me that her two daughters were going to be staying with family friends in Stirling this weekend but that I should come up anyway and get myself settled in before I started the job.

It had been a rush to find someone to sublet my room to in under two weeks. I had only gotten away with it by charging only 70% of the rent total and covering the rest myself. I had to pay my flatmate £40 to agree to give the guy the keys and show him around as well.

This morning I had flown from London Stansted to Glasgow, then got a bus from there to Edinburgh. It was the cheapest option I could find. The bus dropped me off on Princes Street where a car was picking me up to take me to the house. I had offered to walk but Mrs Redhurst had told me not to be silly.

Within a few minutes a nondescript black car pulled up in front of me and an older man came out, taking my bags and putting them in the boot. He didn't ask my name or anything, but he did smile at me as he opened my door. Really, I should have asked him if he had the right person -- honestly anything would have been better than me just getting into the car with a stranger -- but in just 10 minutes my fears were proven unfounded. We arrived at the house.

I had assumed it would be big -- a family who can afford a nanny aren't likely to live in a hovel -- but this was something else. A white Georgian townhouse, at least three storeys tall, though I'd wager there was a basement and an attic. There were two tall paned windows on each side of the overly wide red door, which had a staircase leading up to it. Across the road was a fenced-in park with a clear sign that it was for residents only. There was even a lock on the gate.

The driver of the car took my bags out and took them to the door for me, knocking for me as well. I smiled politely when he turned to look at me. This was a level of fancy that I had never experienced.

A small elderly woman greeted us at the door. The driver continued in with my bags and took them upstairs. The woman smiled at me, seemingly unbothered by the silent man. "Ursula," my name sounded strange with a Scottish accent. "I'm June. You need anything you tell me. Come in, I'll take you to Mrs Redhurst."

"Thank you," I grinned at her. She seemed like the sort of person who didn't take nonsense. I liked her immediately.

She took me in through the main hall to a set of stairs that led down into a basement and through another hall into the kitchen, where Mrs Redhurst was standing.

The kitchen cabinets were a beautiful deep blue colour with black counter tops. They took up the full back wall and there was a matching island in the middle, which was bigger than my whole kitchen in my flat. To the right was a wall of windows -- I'm sure one of them was a door but it was discreet and I couldn't tell where it was. At the other end of the room was a dining table, though it looked like more of a breakfast nook, given the size of the room.

Mrs Redhurst was on the other side of the island from me. She had a huge wine glass with a small amount of white wine sitting on the counter in front of her, beside a magazine that she was absently flicking through. She wore cream trousers -- wide at the bottom, and perfectly creased in the middle, with a tie belt. Her top was a simple jumper of a matching colour. She had blonde hair, cut to shoulder length, that she tucked behind her ears. On her left hand was a simple gold wedding ring and single solitaire engagement ring. Of course, she had a perfect, minimalist manicure, and make-up so discreet that I almost thought she was bare faced. Mrs Redhurst was elegant and beautiful. And yet, I could imagine her backstage at a concert with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. I wasn't sure where that image had come from.

"Mrs Redhurst," June smiled. "That's Ursula here."

"Thank you, June," Mrs Redhurst said, not lifting her eyes from the magazine.

June scurried out behind me, leaving me alone with my new boss.

"Sorry," she looked up and smiled at me, giving me a quick once-over. "It's a party catalogue. I really must start planning Christmas earlier," she laughed. "Would you like a drink, or anything?"

"No, thank you," I tried to sound as polite as possible. She seemed like the sort of person who wouldn't forget a first impression.

"Alright, well then let's just dive right in. Let me give you a tour," she smiled at me, throwing back the last of her wine and coming out from behind the kitchen island. "This is obviously the kitchen, you can take whatever you like from in here, we always keep it stocked. Out there," she gestured to the wall of windows, "is a courtyard, but we don't use it much. There's a barbeque out there for summer."

Mrs Redhurst strode past me and into the hallway again. "Through that door is a wine cellar," she gestured to the right, "and then that's a large guest bedroom," she pointed to the other door in the hallway. "We usually reserve that for Allan's parents. Allan's my husband. He's American," Mrs Redhurst turned to give me a look. It was a roll of the eyes, but in a playful way. It was clear she had a sense of humour, though I was uncertain exactly what it was. I followed her back up the stairs to the main hallway. "His family will be coming over for the holidays, they'll arrive just in time for our Christmas party -- it's on the 22^nd of December this year, it's set to be spectacular -- this is the lounge and dining room," she cut herself off, opening a set of white sliding doors and revealing a lushly decorated sitting area.

The sofas were a dazzling white. I decided in that moment to never enter this room unless instructed. I would spill something or find some way to smudge those sofas and it wasn't worth the risk -- they must have been worth thousands of pounds. The wall to my left was just windows to the street -- the tall Georgian windows that I had admired from outside -- with gauzy curtains floating around them. The far wall was dominated by a grand fireplace, with logs stacked neatly and a poker to the side. On the right was another set of sliding doors which were held open, revealing a large dining area. In the middle was a long glass table, flanked by what must have been at least twelve chairs but there was definitely room for more.

Mrs Redhurst pulled back out and gestured to the door on the other side of the hall. "That's the office, Allan's favourite room. You won't need to go in there." She continued to walk away from the front door, gesturing to the left again. "That's the family room, you'll spend a lot of time in there with the children."

I followed her up the stairs. On the first floor was her and her husbands' bedroom, two guest bedrooms and the main bathroom. The next floor was the children's rooms, a playroom and another bathroom.

"We were going to just get an agency girl," Mrs Redhurst told me as she showed me around Iona's room, "but they're not exactly reliable. We went through four last summer, but as soon as they got bored or just don't want to be here anymore, they up and left. And don't get me started on Au Pairs. They'll fuck your husband, drink your booze and then fuck off with no notice. No, I needed someone who needed the money. Frankly, Ursula, I needed someone who can't afford to get the next flight home." We moved into Sophie's nursery, which was beautiful. All soft pinks and blues and purples, with lots of teddies. "My husband and I both have very busy jobs, they tend to take-over our lives from time to time, but we love them." Mrs Redhurst looked at me, suddenly stopping. "Not that we love our jobs more than our children," she snapped, as though I had actually suggested such a thing. "We love our professional lives and our children equally." I smiled. That wasn't something a lot of people admitted to.

"During the holidays is always a particularly tricky time, though," she told me, beginning to walk again. We came back into the hall. "The girls want to go places and see friends, which is fine, until they want their friends to come here. It's never pleasant to have the parents of their friends silently judging me because I don't personally supervise them at all times. I believe that if your daughter is ten and doesn't yet know not to stick a fork in a socket, then you've failed as a parent. My supervision won't fix that." I struggled not to laugh -- had that actually happened?

We came to another set of stairs at the back of the house, the foot of the stairs tucked away behind a linen closet. At the top of the stairs was two doors.

"This is your floor -- the bathroom is in there," Mrs Redhurst gestured to a door on the right, "and the bedroom is through here." She opened the door straight ahead of them.

The room was small but bright -- all white and matching. It had a double bed in the middle, a chest of drawers with a tv on top in one corner, an empty desk and chair to one side and a built-in mirrored wardrobe running along the other wall. There was a window on either side of the bed, at the end of a short alcove. Ursula knew that it would be difficult to see the street from those windows, but that the view in general would be beautiful.

"As I said, you just need to keep your room tidy. The housekeeper will look after your bathroom and change your sheets for you once a week."

"Thank you," I turned to her. "This is lovely, Mrs Redhurst."

"Oh Lord, no. Please, call me Isabella," she smiled tightly at me. "Dinner's at 6.30pm." With that, she turned and left the room.

I looked around, taking it all in. It had been a quick tour, along with a lot of information to digest in ten minutes.

My suitcases were in the corner, beside the wardrobe, so I opened them up and started to get organised.

I spent a while just unpacking, before setting things up how I liked them -- my laptop went on the desk, along with my make-up and notebooks. I noticed that my door didn't lock and I giggled, realising that I better not spend too much time in my underwear. I sat for a while browsing the internet before I decided to go for a shower before dinner.

It was lush. It wasn't a power shower, but it didn't go hot and cold and the pressure was good enough. June, I assumed, had left towels on the rack for me, where they had been warmed. I sighed in happiness. It might just be a temporary situation and, for all I knew, the kids were going to be a nightmare, but for that moment I was totally content.

By the time I had dried my hair and dressed again it was dinner time.

I went downstairs, hearing voices come up from the kitchen. I was unsure of what to do -- it was an odd feeling being in someone else's home and treating it like it was your own. I was so used to trying to be as polite as possible and having my host in the same room as me.

In the kitchen I found June cooking while Isabella had a conversation with a man at the dinner table.

"Ah, Allan, this is Ursula, our new nanny," Isabella gestured to me.

Allan got up, turning around to see me.

I immediately saw how well they fit together as a couple. Allan was very handsome, though definitely too old for me. He looked early, to mid-forties. His hair was an ashy colour, slicked back, but there were a few curls escaping -- noticeably one that caught on the leg of his glasses and was sticking out. He was tall, with a little bit of a dad body going. But what really caught me was his smile -- he was a sweet looking guy.

"Ursula, what a pleasure," he greeted me, his American accent subtle, pulling me into a hug.

"Oh," I hadn't expected to be hugged.

"Allan! Don't scare the poor girl," Isabella snapped, making Allan and June laugh.

"Come! Sit with us. June is making us something delicious for dinner before she goes home."

I followed Allan to the table and sat at the end, between them. Isabella had several party catalogues in front of her, with a notebook and pen as well. She seemed very much engrossed in her task.