The Au Pair Page 9

  ‘Jilly! You have provided a service which is not up to standard. Do you want me to take this further? To the ombudsman perhaps?’

  She could have argued with her but it would have caused bad feeling and, in a small town, she couldn’t afford that. Especially not with another school mum. So reluctantly she sent the deposit back and explained to a tearful Fatima on the phone that she’d try to find another family to place her with.

  ‘But where am I to live?’

  Jilly felt like saying it wasn’t her problem but that wouldn’t be very kind. ‘How about a hostel? Or maybe a cheap hotel?’

  It wasn’t very satisfactory but what else could she do? ‘It’s the girl I feel sorry for,’ she tried to explain to David later.

  He ran his hand over his chin ruefully as he always did when musing over a problem. Usually she found the gesture endearing but now it worried her. David had warned her that setting up an au pair agency was bound to be fraught with difficulties. And if her husband had one fault, it was that he did like to be right …

  ‘I can see what you mean, Jilly, but you’ve got to set emotional boundaries. Now, has Dawn given you that petrol money for picking up the French girl from the airport the other week, like she promised?’

  ‘I don’t like to nag her any more. She’s a friend – well, sort of.’

  He sighed. ‘You can’t let that get in the way, Jilly. Not when you’re running a business.’

  ‘I’m only doing this because I’m trying to help.’

  His face tightened and, too late, she wished she hadn’t said that. David, who was usually so even-tempered, had become increasingly uptight since the problems had started at work. ‘Thank you for reminding me, Jilly.’ He stood up, moving away from her, hurt written all over his face. ‘You were the one who always said you wished you’d worked a bit longer before having the boys.’

  The argument resulted in a distinctly frosty atmosphere between the two of them for the next few days. Her husband’s words rankled, not least because there was some truth in them. Then, a couple of days later, an email popped up from one of the many European agencies she’d contacted, in a bid to find more would-be au pairs. It was in German! Oh dear …

  ‘MUM, MUM!’

  Oh God. The boys were awake already even though it was only ten in the morning. Since the summer holidays had started, she’d given up the you-will-go-to-bed-on-time struggle and taken to letting them stay up late in bed with their computer games. The upside was that they were so tired, they woke up later than usual in the morning. The extra breathing space gave her time to get on with advertising her business and building up a network of contacts. Guiltily, Jilly wondered if that made her an awful mother.

  ‘Please. I’m trying to concentrate.’

  ‘IT WASN’T ME, MUM. HE DID IT FIRST.’

  Did what? Alfie staggered sleepily into the kitchen, clutching his PSP. In her day, it used to be a teddy.

  Harry followed, with an exaggerated limp, wearing a T-shirt that said It was him. Their uncle had brought it back from the States last summer (Alfie had an identical one) and she had to admit that the slogan said it all.

  ‘Did what?’ she groaned.

  ‘Bruised my knee. Look! He whacked me with the computer mouse.’

  There was indeed a rather nasty green and yellow map forming on his leg although there was an identical one on Alfie’s.

  ‘And we’re starving,’ Harry added indignantly as if this was related to the injury. Ah. Until a few weeks ago, she’d have had breakfast ready and waiting with placemats out and the table already laid. But there was no time for niceties. Not if she was going to help keep the family solvent.

  ‘Here.’ Guiltily, Jilly shoved a bowl of cereal into their hands. ‘You can eat that in front of the telly.’

  ‘Really?’ Alfie’s eyes lit up with surprise. Usually meals in front of the television were a no-no. ‘Cool.’

  Right. Now she could get on with trying to work out what the email meant. Maybe – that was a thought! – Paula could translate. Hadn’t she read modern languages at Oxford in the years BC (before children)?

  Swiping the files out of the way so she could retrieve the handset from a puddle of spilled soya milk, she dialled her friend’s number. ‘Hi! It’s me. Look, I’m sorry to bother you but could you possibly come over? I’ve got this email from a German agency that I don’t understand and … hang on, my mobile is going. Can you get here as soon as you can?’

  Dropping the handset so that – shit – it broke on the floor, sending the batteries scattering, she grabbed her mobile. It was an unknown number. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is that Jilly’s Au Pair Agency,’ asked a voice doubtfully.

  Whoops! She must remember to answer more professionally now she had a business.

  ‘Yes it is. How can I help you?’

  ‘This is Caroline Thomas. You sent me details of a Norwegian girl called Margit.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Jilly felt her hopes rising. Did she want her? Please! Please! It was like waiting for an exam result!

  ‘We would like to take her on but only for the summer holidays.’

  YES!

  Jilly was scrabbling for the right file. There it was! Jammed up against the muesli packet and – what? – a final demand for the gas bill. Shit. She’d thought David had paid that.

  ‘MUM, MUM. HE WON’T LET ME HAVE MY PROGRAMME!’

  ‘IT’S MY TURN TO CHOOSE. YOU SAID SO.’

  ‘Can you hold on a minute, please?’ Jilly shut the kitchen door between her and the boys and held the mobile between her ear and shoulder while leafing through Margit’s file. No! The kitchen door was bursting open.

  ‘MUM!’

  Gesticulating madly at the boys to indicate they should be quiet on pain of death (in other words, ‘no television ever again’), she scooted past them and into the downstairs loo, clutching both file and mobile. ‘Er, sorry to keep you there. Let’s see. Ah that’s right. Actually, Margit is looking for a nine-month placement.’

  Mrs Thomas sounded annoyed. ‘I’m not prepared to take on someone for that long until I know her better. If I am happy with her performance, I might consider it.’

  Oh God. Mrs Thomas sounded like the kind of mother who kept spare batteries for emergencies and did her Christmas shopping by October half-term. ‘I can ask the Norwegian agency who put me in touch with her,’ said Jilly doubtfully.

  ‘Thank you. And by the way, I want her to start next week.’

  ‘MUM, MUM!’

  How many more knocks could the downstairs loo door take? She might as well move her office in here permanently.

  ‘Sorry about the noise but I’m in a sort of meeting. I’m afraid I must go but I’ll back to you as soon as possible.’

  ‘MUM!’

  Unlocking the door, she stormed out. ‘Alfie! Don’t ever make a noise like that when I’m on the phone.’

  A small face stared up at her. ‘It’s not Alfie, Mum. It’s Harry.’

  What was wrong with her that she couldn’t even tell her own boys apart? Harry’s right ear was slightly smaller than his left and always had been. Until now, Jilly had always prided herself on being able to tell her virtually identical twins apart. If this was what work did for you, was she doing the right thing?

  Then a picture of that unpaid gas bill swam into her head. Frankly, she had no choice. Because if this didn’t work, she’d need to get out and do a proper paid job and then who would look after the kids?

  ‘Hello?’ said a clipped voice. ‘Are you still there?’

  Shit! Horrified, Jilly stared down at the phone. She’d forgotten to turn it off. ‘Sorry, Mrs Thomas. I think we had a crossed line there. As I said, I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve spoken to Margit. Thank you for your call.’

  And with that, she ended the conversation before she could make an even bigger fool of herself.

  ‘I think,’ said Paula, rereading the email doubtfully, ‘that this means the German agency is prepar
ed to work with you if you split the placement fee sixty-forty. In their favour.’

  ‘Shouldn’t it be fifty-fifty?’

  ‘You’d think so.’

  ‘Can you email them back for me and say I’d like half-half?’

  ‘I could but … hang on, there’s a clause here that says – well, I think it does – that they can send you an immediate list of names if you agree.’

  ‘I’ve got a list of English families who want help for the summer.’ Jilly moved the jar of discounted decaff to create a bit more space. ‘It’s here somewhere. There we are. My ad in the local paper brought in loads of enquiries – did I tell you that I’d managed to place Fatima again with a family from Puddleducks? – but everyone wants short-term au pairs for the summer instead of the usual six to nine months.’

  Paula gave a short laugh. ‘I could have told you that. The last thing you want is to be landed with someone whom you don’t really like for that length of time. That reminds me. Antoinette has signed up for a language course every morning which is exactly when I need her for my lot.’ She sighed. ‘Still, she’s getting on a bit better with Immy. Frankly, I don’t know how you manage without any help.’

  Jilly felt a twinge of guilt. ‘I’m afraid I’ve just given my lot a bumper bag of crisps and another DVD from the library. That’s why they’re so quiet.’

  ‘Great!’ Paula gave a conspiratorial smile. ‘You’re learning. You know, until you started your agency, I thought you were a bit too good to be true. Always doing stuff with your kids: taking them to museums and that boat in Portsmouth, the what’s-its-name …’

  ‘The Mary Rose.’

  ‘That’s it! God, my kids have done my brain cells in. Of course, you had a big age gap between Nick and the twins. That must have helped.’

  ‘You’re kidding! Try having twins at the same time as a hormonal teenager! I’m beginning to think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Paula, bless her, was already emailing the German agency. ‘You’re superwoman. We’ve always said so. Perfect Jilly who can make a soufflé rise every time and whose kids always have neatly labelled school uniform.’

  That might have been the case in the past but it wasn’t now. Since she’d started working from home, everything seemed to have gone to pot. Paula’s comments made Jilly resolve to tidy up those files, get the kids dressed and away from the telly.

  ‘Send!’ Paula sat back with an air of satisfaction. ‘You’ve got another email here. Look.’

  Wow! It was from the Norwegian agency. That was fast. And it was written in English, thank heavens. ‘Fantastic! Margit is prepared to work until the end of the summer holidays and will extend it if she is needed. She can also fly out this week!’ Jilly hugged Paula. ‘The placement fee is only a hundred and fifty but it will pay the gas bill.’

  Paula looked at her pityingly. ‘I didn’t realise things were that bad.’

  She nodded. ‘If David doesn’t find a different job soon, we’re going to fall behind with the mortgage. Now do you mind keeping an eye on the kids? I’ve got to fill in the insurance form.’

  ‘Insurance?’

  ‘Every au pair agency has to be insured in case our girls supply false information or hurt the kids or do any of the other zillion things that could go wrong.’

  ‘Hurt the kids? That wouldn’t happen, surely.’ Paula waved her hand towards the window and the leafy lanes of Corrywood. ‘Maybe in south London but not round here.’

  Jilly dropped her voice. ‘To be honest, I didn’t realise I had to be insured myself until I was reading up about it on the net last night. I’ve already placed one girl – the French one – with the Greens without being insured but don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Right,’ said Paula uncertainly. ‘Look, you’ve got another email. It’s the Germans. Blimey, they’re efficient, aren’t they? Don’t like the look of that one, do you? I wouldn’t trust my husband within a yard of her. Looks like that gorgeous model Heidi thingamajig.’

  Jilly ran her eye down the list of names and mug shots alongside them. ‘What does the blurb say?’

  ‘Let’s see.’ Paula sat down, put on her glasses and took on a rather smug expression as she proceeded to translate. ‘Clara, aged eighteen is a non-smoker. She’s lactose intolerant, vegan and she doesn’t drive.’

  ‘No good.’ Jilly was going through her printed-out list of families with a Coco Pops stain on the front page. ‘Everyone wants a driver.’

  ‘Not surprised with all the activity clubs the kids need to get to. How about this one? Brigitte is twenty – that’s better – but she’s a smoker.’

  ‘That’s a no no then.’

  ‘Well, at least she’s admitted it. Antoinette said she’d given up but is now on two packs a day. She’s also developed this strange allergy to dust since arriving so can’t do any polishing.’

  How convenient!

  ‘Wait, this one looks a bit better.’ Paula stabbed a finger at the screen. ‘Grette is twenty-one. She’s got a driving licence and has experience of children. Wow. Can I have her instead of Antoinette, do you think?’

  ‘No!’ Jilly giggled. ‘This isn’t the swap shop.’ Then she grew more serious. ‘These are real lives at stake. Finding the right match is an art.’

  ‘Ooooh! Just listen to you!’

  ‘MUM! MUM! IMMY’S STUCK BEHIND THE SOFA!’

  Paula groaned.

  ‘I’ll sort her out,’ promised Jilly, jumping to her feet, ‘if you don’t mind translating that last one’s details so I can send it off to one of my English families.’ She gave Paula a big hug. ‘Thanks. I really owe you one.’

  By the end of the following week, Jilly had placed the Norwegian girl and the German one with two local families. She’d also managed to build up a link with the German agency, thanks to Paula, as well as a Parisian one, although she hoped Paula’s German was better than her own rusty schoolgirl French.

  Meanwhile, the twins had spent most days slobbing in front of the television in their boxer shorts and T-shirts while Nick moped around the house, declaring he was ‘bored’. At fifteen, he was too young to get a summer job apart from his paper round and too old to want to hang out with his younger brothers. Before working, as Paula had reminded her, she’d have taken them out on a trip. They used to go everywhere! Legoland. Woburn. The Natural History Museum. But this summer, they’d done absolutely nothing.

  Still, maybe now she’d got some clients – and a few cheques coming in – she could make up for it. Just as long as it didn’t involve any expense.

  ‘Come on, you lot,’ she announced, after Paula had left for her salsabellylates class. ‘We’re going out.’

  ‘Can we get a new computer game?’ asked Harry hopefully.

  ‘No. We’re meant to be saving money, not spending it. So we’re going to get some nice fresh air.’

  ‘Boring,’ groaned Alfie.

  ‘I thought we might go to the park and feed the ducks.’

  ‘Double boring.’

  ‘We’re not babies any more, Mum.’

  They were right! What was it Mum had said the other month before dashing off on her latest cruise? ‘These early years can slip past faster than you realise. You need to make the most of each day.’

  ‘We could take your skateboards,’ she suggested hopefully.

  ‘I need new pig wheels on mine.’

  ‘And mine.’

  Jilly was shocked. Not even a please! Had she and David spoilt the kids in the days when they’d been able to do so? ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to manage with the ones you’ve got.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they’re expensive and—’

  Oh no, not the phone again! Just as she was finally giving the kids some attention.

  ‘Hello!’ she trilled, forcing herself to sound professional. ‘Jilly’s Au Pair Agency!’

  Why was it that those words always made her feel like a fraud? It was her a
gency, yet somehow running it from the kitchen table made it feel as though it was a hobby rather than a business.

  ‘This is Mrs Thomas. Have you got my email yet?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘I sent it a good four minutes ago. Margit isn’t working out. I made it quite plain that I didn’t want a smoker but there’s a distinct smell of cigarettes in her room. I want my money back and I’m going to lodge a complaint against you. In my view, you’ve acted under false pretences.’

  False pretences? ‘Actually, Mrs Thomas, I’m afraid we can only act in good faith over matters like this. If an au pair tells us that she isn’t a smoker, we have to believe her unless proved to the contrary.’

  ‘MUM! YOU SAID WE WERE GOING SKATEBOARDING!’

  ‘However, I will obviously have a word with Margit and—’

  ‘MUM! HARRY HIT ME!’

  Waving madly at the boys to indicate they needed to keep quiet, she ran upstairs into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. ‘And if she won’t stop smoking inside the house, we will find you someone else.’

  Quite how, she had no idea; the promise had just slipped out of her mouth in a bid to appease her client.

  ‘MUM! OPEN UP, MUM, SOMEONE’S RINGING THE DOORBELL.’

  ‘Mrs Collins! This is really very unsatisfactory. I have to say that I thought I was dealing with a proper agency here but it is obvious, from the sounds at your end, that this is a sideline of yours. If you do not sort out this matter, I will report you. And it goes without saying that I expect my registration fee back.’

  ‘MUM! ALFIE’S OPENING THE FRONT DOOR AND IT MIGHT BE A STRANGER!’

  Dropping the phone, Jilly tore down the stairs just in time to see that Alfie was, indeed, standing on tiptoes to unlock the door. There, in front of her, stood a small, rounded figure with spotty brown skin and a mass of dark hair with yellow and red beading in it. For a minute, Jilly thought she was one of those door sellers from whom she sometimes purchased a duster, out of pity.

  ‘Mees-is Collins.’ The girl’s face pleaded up at her, revealing a gap in the middle of her teeth. ‘I is Fatima. I follow your address. My family, she has thrown me out. I have nowhere to go.’