The Nanny

They were almost an odd couple, but it was immediately obvious how they fit together. Allan seemed as though nothing could phase him -- I just knew that he was an eternal optimist and he found joy in the small things. Isabella was the opposite -- everything was an obstacle and she didn't suffer fools gladly (or at all, I would wager). Allan would drive his wife insane with his belief that everything would work out fine; Isabella would work hard to make sure everything actually did work out fine and then they'd be fine. I got the feeling that Isabella was the type who would go insane if she wasn't constantly busy.

"So, where are you from?" Allan asked me as June served us lasagne with garlic bread. I almost drooled on the table, it looked so good.

"Huddersfield," I smiled at Allan as June put a massive piece of lasagne on my plate. I grinned at her, silently thanking her. I was starving and had always despised small portions.

"Oh," Allan looked a bit confused. "You don't have much of an accent. I have a friend from Huddersfield and I can barely understand anything that he's saying."

"Yeah, I, um, I never really had one. My parents don't have accents either." That was an obvious lie. Isabella was frowning a little, though I was unsure if it was because of me or the page of her catalogue. I risked getting called out, but I could not admit that I had practiced a neutral accent for the past four years. It was too embarrassing.

"And what do you normally do for Christmas, Ursula?" Allan asked me as he took a bite of garlic bread.

I finished swallowing a mouthful of lasagne before replying. "If I have the money, I go to Spain to spend it with my mum and dad. If not, I usually tag along to a friend's house." I smiled, omitting the part where I'd been too shy in my second year of university to admit to my friends that I couldn't afford to go to my parents. I'd spent the day by myself in uni halls. The next year I told Olivia that my parents were going to Dubai to spend the holidays at a resort and I thought it would be too boring, so she invited me to her parents. We had pheasant for dinner, and her parents gave me Channel perfume and £100.

"Your parents live in Spain? That sucks," he frowned.

"Usually people think it's really lucky," I laughed, trying not to shovel my food too quickly. "They think it's like getting free holidays."

Allan shook his head. "Yeah but you never see them. My parents live in New York and I swear, when I first moved here, I used to feel so alone."

"Yes, but, darling, your parents flew you home every few months," Isabella reminded Allan, not looking up from her notepad.

Allan waved his fork. "Doesn't matter," he said around a mouthful of garlic bread. "Still lonely."

"Isabella was telling me that your family comes over for Christmas?" I asked.

Allan grinned. "Yeah, it's become a tradition since my brother and sister moved to the UK. Daniel, my little brother lives in London but comes up here sometimes. Hannah, my sister, is technically not based anywhere, but she likes Edinburgh a lot."

A phone rang upstairs. "I'll get it," Allan called, getting up.

"Wait until you meet them," Isabella rolled her eyes. "Hannah looks like such a normal girl, but she's got one hell of a temper. She lives in a different city every week, speaks several languages. Allan and I have been together for fourteen years, married for twelve -- I've known Hannah since she was eleven, and I still don't know what she does for a living. And Daniel," she laughed a little, flicking through her catalogue. "He's a partner in a software development company. Knows nothing about software development -- he just invested in a company one of his friends was starting and it took off. Now he lives in London and dates CEOs and beauty queens. Don't get me started on his parents," she finally looked at me just to roll her eyes. "It's a circus of a family, I swear."

Just then Allan came back and sat down. "Where was I?"

Dinner passed quickly after that -- I found Allan very easy to talk to and Isabella was funny but she had a strange sense of humour at times.

"We'll be having some friends over for dinner tomorrow night, so you'll need to fend for yourself then, I'm afraid," Isabella called after me as I was leaving the kitchen, having cleaned my dishes. "The girls will be back from their grandparents on Sunday afternoon, so we'll get you acquainted then. Until then, you're free to do as you like." I smiled my thanks.

Do as I like, I thought. With what money?

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

I spent Saturday going to the popular tourist spots in Edinburgh, but soon found that it was too expensive to do much. The castle was the most expensive, so I simply walked up to it and looked around without going in. I climbed Arthur's Seat, a tall hill on the other side of the town, down at the bottom of the Royal Mile, and tried to look into the Palace of Hollyroodhouse, but the walls were high and the gate too small to see much. I had lunch in a small café in Grassmarket, and completely avoided the Christmas market which was up and running along Princes Street.

I took a lot of pictures and had a nice day, but I was glad when I returned to the Redhurst's house at 8.45pm. I had realised how lonely it was to move to a new city and not know anyone. Early in the day I had decided to check the internet for walking groups or hobby classes -- anything I could take part in to meet knew people. I would need it, even though I was only here for two months.

The tall Georgian windows glowed from within, and the house looked so warm as I came close. It was freezing outside, though I was glad it hadn't rained. I felt like an intruder as I opened the front door, almost as though there should be a separate entrance for 'the help'. I was careful to take off my shoes before treading on the beautiful cream carpet leading to the stairs.

The door to the lounge and dining room were closed, so I was able to slip past without intruding on their evening. I wasn't sure how serious Isabella had been about me keeping out of the way but I intended to remain unseen.

I left my shoes, coat and scarf in my bedroom, breathless from the three flights of stairs. I brushed my hair quickly before heading back down to the kitchen. I was sure that by 9pm they had finished eating and was happy to see dishes stacked in the kitchen, waiting to be washed in the morning. No one would be coming in here for me to bother them.

I forced myself to cook some pasta. It's an odd thing living in someone else's house. You're raised with manners -- you don't ask for things; you wait until they're offered -- and suddenly you have to take other people's food and use their plates without having to ask every time. In my house growing up, I wasn't allowed to take so much as a yoghurt without telling my mum so she could make a note and buy more when she did the weekly shopping. But looking through the refrigerator, I doubted anyone would notice anything missing -- it was full to bursting. Besides, Mrs Redhurst didn't do her own shopping, the housekeeper did it for her.

I began boiling some water as I took some chicken and peppers out to put into the pasta. I had found a tomato and garlic sauce but it was quite high in the cupboards, so I turned to grab a chair to stand on.

"Oh," I gasped. A man was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. I hadn't heard him come in and I wondered how long he had been watching me.

It was more than that that had shocked me, though. The man was perfect. I knew I was staring at him, but I couldn't help it. Tall, broad, well-dressed. He wore an expensive looking white shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly -- just enough to show his arm hair and a silver watch. Big hands. No tie and his top button was undone, again revealing body hair -- but just a smattering of chest hair. He had a small amount of stubble -- enough that it was clear he kept it trimmed, but never clean-shaven -- on a strong, square jaw. And his hair was the typical cut most men had nowadays -- short back and sides with slightly longer hair on top, pushed back off his face. It was a light brown colour.

I stood in perfect silence, like a child who had been caught doing something wrong. I had to physically restrain myself from checking that I looked alright; tugging my skirt down or straightening my top. I didn't know why but I felt like it would have been a sign -- an admission that I found him attractive. I couldn't help but push my hair off my face though. It was a tick of mine, something I did all the time.

I don't think it could have been clearer. The wide eyes, the open mouth, the short shallow breaths. I wanted him. From a single meeting.

Oh, come on, Urs, I chided myself. The man is stunning. Most women will probably react like this. He must be used to it.

"Struggling?" He asked me.

"Pardon?" I replied. I don't know why but I thought he was talking about the way I was staring at him. Which I was struggling with, but it wasn't like he'd actually call me out on it.

He nodded behind me. "You were reaching for something?"

"Ah, yes. Pasta sauce," I said lamely.

He pushed away from the door frame and came over to me. He was even bigger up close.

"Need a hand?"

"No, I'm fine thank, I'm just going to stand on a - oh!" I squeaked. His hands circled my waist suddenly, lifting me up and turning me to face the cupboard.

I didn't move, unsure what to do.

"You still want the sauce?" He laughed. My lower back was against his chest, and I felt his laughs vibrating through me.

"Yes," I breathed, reaching out and grabbing the jar. Once I'd brought it to rest against my chest, he loosened his grip, letting me slide down. I felt my ass and back slide against his body, covering every ridge, passing by his crotch, before I was on my feet again. I turned to face him, my face just at his neck level. He smelled lightly of aftershave, but something else. Something natural and intoxicating.

"Thank you," I whispered, though I was unsure what the appreciation was for. It could have been for the help or for the throbbing sensation that I could feel between my legs. I was sure my face was beet red by this point.

"You're more than welcome." He leaned into me. My whole body tensed, my breath coming even shorter if that was possible.

If he kisses me, I will melt, I thought. I will melt into a puddle at his feet.

But he wasn't. Of course, he wasn't. I felt foolish immediately. He was reaching past me to grab a bottle of wine.

And just like that, he walked away; back up the stairs to re-join the party.

I stood for a moment by myself, my hand clutching the jar against my chest, pressing it there as though that could slow my heartrate. What just happened?

I turned the heat off and discarded the boiling water, putting the chicken and the peppers back in the fridge. I had lost my appetite.

That's not true, I thought to myself. I have a whole different appetite now.

I left the kitchen, running up the stairs but I didn't get past the main hallway.

"Ursula!" Isabella called as she saw me. If I was being honest, she looked a little drunk. "Come and meet our friends!"

I smiled politely -- how could I explain to her that I'd rather go straight upstairs and take care of my . . . sticky situation?

I followed her into the lounge. There were eight people, including Isabella and Allan. "This is Rose and Carter," Isabella gestured to a slightly older couple who seemed like they were married but looked more like brother and sister. "William and Drew, my colleagues," she pointed to two ordinary looking men, both wearing suits. "Hannah, Allan's little sister," she nodded towards a woman, just a little older than me, though she looked as though she'd stepped off the streets of Paris (I don't know much about designer labels, but her clothes were definitely expensive). "And Daniel, Allan's younger brother," and she turned to my mystery man, lounging on the couch and looking at me in, what I thought was quite a smug way.

There was a definite age gap between the siblings, and I wondered if Allan, Hannah and Daniel all shared the same mother and father. Allan was around 42, Hannah couldn't be older than 25, but Daniel (I tested the name in my head, stretching it out to see if I felt that it fit), must have been around 31, I guessed.

I nodded and smiled at each of the guests in turn, though they simply looked at me. Except Rose and Carter, who smiled warmly at me. I supposed introducing 'the help' wasn't exactly usual in these circles.

"Ursula is our Au Pair for the Winter," Allan added, introducing me.

"Oh," Hannah interjected, suddenly more interested. "Where are you from? Parlez-vous Francaise? O Espanol? Italiano?"

"Oh, em, no. Sorry. I'm more of a nanny, really. I'm from Huddersfield," I smiled shyly, and Hannah's face had already dropped. Daniel snickered a little, but he hid it behind his hand. My face immediately flushed -- was he laughing at me being so far below them all, or at Hannah and her failed attempt to show off her abilities to speak several languages?

"Ursula went to Cambridge," Allan told them with an amount of pride that even my own father had never shown me. I supposed it was an achievement to have a nanny with such a prestigious education.

"You have a degree from Cambridge and you're a nanny?" Hannah asked, almost snarling at me.

"Yes," I replied smiling happily as though I wasn't wounded. It's not like this is where I planned for my life to take me. I didn't get into one of the best schools in the country just to look after other people's children temporarily.

Hannah smirked, evidently pleased that I was no threat to her. I wasn't aware that I could be much of a threat -- it's not as though I was as pretty as her, or as wealthy. Perhaps she was worried I'd be particularly interesting and steal attention off of her.

"Anyway, I better get upstairs. It was lovely to meet you all," I smiled again, nodding my head. I turned from the room without looking at Daniel. The moment had passed, along with any need to finish what had built up so greatly in the kitchen.

It was probably for the best. A full two months of an awkward crush on my employers' brother was more than I thought I could handle.

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

And yet, I continued to relive that moment from the kitchen the entire night and most of the next morning. What did it mean? Why hadn't he reached the sauce for me -- he was more than tall enough? Or simply stood behind me while I stood on a chair? And there was certainly no need to press his body along mine as I came back down. His hard, masculine body, muscles tensed from holding me, though he lifted me with such ease . . .

The only point in which I really put it to the back of my mind was during the afternoon when I met the girls. They were adorable, but shy. The eldest, Iona, was very polite and seemed quite restrained -- like a really small adult. The two-year-old, Sophie, was just adorable. Isabella picked her up and she kept turning her face into her mother's neck to avoid talking to me. I was sure I could draw her out easily enough. You know the words to one Frozen song and you're golden with children her age.

"You met my brother and sister last night; they come and go from Edinburgh for work quite a bit. We were lucky to see both of them at the same time, it was quite a surprise, really," Allan told me, smiling into the rear-view mirror. He was driving us back from Stirling where we'd picked up the girls. I was stuck in the middle seat in the back, between them.

I smiled. "They seemed lovely," I hoped I sounded sincere. In reality Hannah terrified me and Daniel . . . well, he did other things to me.

Isabella laughed. "You're too polite," she told me, turning to raise an eyebrow at Allan, who grinned in response.

Just then my phone bleeped -- it was a Tinder notification.

I had installed it last night after meeting Daniel. I was in my room when I saw that Mark, my ex, had made a post on Facebook. It wasn't anything important but when it was added to the frustration of the evening, it just put wheels in motion.

Mark has moved on, I reminded myself, as I sat in the dark, recalling the conversation with Olivia. It's time I did the same.

Olivia had actually been of very little help as far as information on Mark went. She had told me that he'd been with a girl in the pub when she called me, but she couldn't expand much on that information.

"It was a blonde girl, clearly not a natural blonde though," Olivia rolled her eyes. She actually was a natural blonde, and, for some reason, this gave her bragging rights over anyone who dyed their hair. "She was pretty, but in a fake-tan, eyelashes, and lip-filler sort of way. She definitely had work done on her boobs. No one can be that thin with double D's. I don't know what else to tell you, Urs. She was the polar opposite of you."

I nodded. Whoever this girl was she sounded nothing like me. I had natural long brown hair, pale skin and I had always thought of myself as chubby. People always told me that I wasn't -- that I had a 'feminine' figure and I should be proud of my curves, but friends are always trying to make girls feel better. The ugliest girl in the world could say she hated her face and her friends would still gather around to tell her she was lovely.

I'd always sworn I would never use Tinder but something in me had snapped.

I had entered my email and my details, signing myself up. I put up a couple of pictures of me and set my search radius to 10 miles. I stopped for a second at my age parameters. I was 24, having waited two years before I started university, so that was the lowest I was willing to go, but what was the highest?

I knew why I was doing it, though I found it difficult to admit. I could come up with a thousand excuses but when I put the upper limit as 35, I did it so that on the absolutely tiny chance Daniel was using this app, I wouldn't miss him. And I hated myself for how desperate that made me feel.

The notification from tinder was just a promotion, I hadn't expected much more -- I had yet to actually start swiping.

I guess I was hoping something better would show up.

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

Friday, December 14^th 2018

I was home alone with Sophie when the doorbell chimed. Sophie had just fallen asleep, leaning on me while we watched Peppa Pig (which, by the way, was driving me insane). It was 3pm and June had gone home for the day. Iona was going to a friend's house for dinner and would be dropped off at about 8pm, and Isabella and Allan were away for the night.

The Christmas decorations had been put up last week by a woman called Frances and her 'team'. Apparently the Redhursts were wealthy enough to hire a 'professional decorator' (how was that even a job?) to come every year and make the house look festive. Isabella had told me that it was for the children's benefit and that it was just easier since Frances would come back at the end of December and remove the decorations again. Allan had then told me it was because they threw a party every year and Isabella wanted to impress her friends.

Though I silently judged the waste of money, I couldn't deny that the house looked incredible. There was a huge tree in front of the windows in the lounge, decorated with such precision that I didn't doubt Frances had used a measuring tape. There were wreaths, baubles, streamers, and ornaments everywhere. The stairs had red and green fabric woven between the slats, and the huge vases in the hall had been replaced by a light-up Santa and reindeer. I wondered how much they were spending on batteries, as well, because there were fairy lights everywhere.