The Nanny Part 44

"And what do I do with it?"

"Make spaghetti bolognese for the children to spread on their faces."

"Where's the recipe book?"

"Dad, it's mincemeat and tomato sauce. You'll be fine."

"Where the h.e.l.l's Tumble Tots?"

"Address is in the diary."

"Where's the diary?"

"In the dining room by the telephone."

"Is Beavers what I think it is?"

"No. It's a club for little boys teaching them to obey mindless rules so that they can grow up to be unquestioning members of society. Zak loves it, don't forget his woggle."

"What the h.e.l.l's a woggle?"

"He'll tell you. I have to go. Phone me if you need any help."

"Why? Will you come home and help me?"

"Nope. But I'll need a laugh."

By ten, d.i.c.k had tidied the kitchen, put the dishwasher on for the second time, changed all the bed linen, and put the third wash in. The house was buzzing with activity, and all thanks to him. He was the master of all he surveyed, the king of his castle, and all was well with the world. He stood at the ironing board, listening to a Radio 4 play and piling up his children's clothes. Why hadn't anyone told him that the act of ironing tiny clothes corresponded directly to the amount of love you have for their wearers? The knowledge that his children were eating what he had put in their lunch boxes filled him with satisfaction. The awareness that their last contact with home life before entering the big bad world had been Daddy made him yearn for them again. How come no one had told him these things? It was a conspiracy! Women had conned men for centuries that these jobs were unfulfilling, yet all this time their souls were being pumped with love.

By 11:30, the Radio 4 play was over, the ironing was done, the sheets were blowing in the suns.h.i.+ne (he'd decided against the dryer) and d.i.c.k knew that he never wanted to work outside his home again.

After finger-painting with Tallulah and getting her to tidy up faster than ever before by pretending it was a race; after picking up Zak from school and watching him shake hands with his teacher, which brought a lump to his throat; after picking up Ca.s.sandra and seeing her face light up at the rare sight of him; and after driving home while singing "Postman Pat" louder than all of his children put together, d.i.c.k's mind was made up.

This was what life was about, not worrying about money, not trying to sell records to people who really wanted DVDs, not sweating over figures that never added up and living in fear that any day you'd be found out as a failure. Life was about nurturing the next generation, giving them a sense of values that would give their world meaning, teaching them to have confidence in themselves and love for others. He may have been forced to fail Josh and Toby, but he wasn't going to fail his little ones. They were his future, and he had as much to learn from them as they had from him.

"Dad?" asked Zak.

"Yes, son," said d.i.c.k, smiling down at his youngest boy.

"What does b.o.l.l.o.c.ks mean?"

The Alice in Wonderland shoot would be in full swing. And why on earth shouldn't I be popping along to it, Vanessa asked herself once more, as the taxi carried her toward it. She was the account manager, she needed to see how the company's most important ad was going. And she needed to have a word with Anthony.

She paid the taxi, smoothed down her Nicole Farhi suit, straightened her back, and walked purposefully into the studio. The pungent aroma of fresh paint vied with the strong cappuccinos she knew they'd been drinking since dawn.

She stood safely at the back watching for a while. In front of her stood the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Casting was perfect, and everyone was 360-degree beautiful, despite heavy makeup and costumes. The scene was one of three that were being set in Alice's Wonderland. The actress playing Alice was a TV presenter, which meant she had the body of a child with helium b.r.e.a.s.t.s. As soon as the camera light went on, she widened her eyes, curved her back, and bared her teeth and b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the obligatory pose once reserved for a top-shelf wonderland, but one that had now encroached fully on daily life, making everyone less satisfied with their own. As soon as the camera light went off, so did the light in her eyes, and she looked bored and a little hungover, as if the effort of breathing filled her with ennui.

Vanessa had long since got over the excitement of seeing a star perform the same three lines all day with decreasing finesse and patience, and this part of the process would be much more pleasant if everyone else involved in it, including the star, felt the same.

She tiptoed closer to the action. Anthony was standing near Tom, who was looking through the camera and moving his right hand to indicate to the Dormouse to move fractionally over.

The director was watching the action intently while authoritatively stroking his chin. Beside him, his PA, wearing more body piercing than clothes, watched her boss just as intently while authoritatively stroking his ego. Anthony turned round, saw Vanessa, and walked toward her, smiling. She immediately craved a Silly Nibble. They met in the middle of the studio.

"How's it going?" asked Vanessa coolly.

"G.o.d, you look amazing."

"Not here, Anthony. How's it going?"

"Who cares? There's a perfect cupboard in studio 3."

Tom turned round and grunted a greeting. Vanessa waved at him overeagerly and joined him at the camera.

"How's it going?" she asked with great earnestness.

"Typical nightmare," said Tom. "My vision is compromised in all senses of the word."

He moved over, allowing her to see.

She looked at the composition for a while, taking in every detail. "Is Alice's eye shadow purple?" she asked eventually.

"Why?" shot Tom. "Don't tell me they hate purple."

Vanessa kept her tone even but firm.

"I told you in the pre-preproduction meeting that they didn't want any purple because of the new Emiscar logo."

"I thought you said purple was their favorite color."

"That was in the pre-pre-preproduction meeting." Why didn't anyone concentrate around here?

"Well it's too late now," said Tom. "It's taken us all morning to get her to open her eyes. Asking her to close them again while someone changes the color of her eye shadow is far too risky. We'll change it in postproduction." Vanessa felt a presence at her side. She ignored it until it spoke.

"Would you like a mochachino?" asked the PA. "Some cinnamon toast? Bottled water?"

She stared at the girl for a second before realizing that she'd like all three.

"The color will be brightened up in production, won't it?" clarified Vanessa, back to the business in hand.

Tom smiled at her. "Thanks for your comments," he clipped. "All positive input greatly appreciated."

"Well, I'm just saying, it needs to be brighter than bright. The opposite of real life."

Tom stared at her as her postbreakfast-prelunch arrived. "Have I ever produced an ad that was too realistic?" he asked, loudly enough for Alice to look over and practice focusing. "I am aware I'm not Ken Loach, you know." He began a performance of a real-life artistic temperament at work. "I do know what I'm doing-selling promises, allowing the world to return to its thumb-sucking, halcyon days when happy endings really did come true. That's what all those awards in my office are for-"

"I was only saying-' interrupted Vanessa through a mouthful of cinnamon toast.

"Yes, well," shouted Tom suddenly, "you can shove your 'only saying' where the sun doesn't s.h.i.+ne."

The studio fell silent. Vanessa finished her toast and placed her coffee on the camera stand.

"For your information." she told him primly and loudly, "I have incredibly flexible joints and a private sun terrace, so that the cliche is totally redundant. But I take your point, Tom. Thank you."

Jesus, she had to get away from these t.o.s.s.e.rs. She'd have to confront Anthony another time. She walked out to silence. As she reached the door, Anthony appeared at her side, as if from nowhere.

"About those flexible joints," he whispered.

"Not now, Anthony," she said.

Anthony stared at her.

Her last thought as she left the studio was that Anthony looked in serious danger of bursting.

Josh's lunch hour was over. But he found it impossible to tear himself away from his father's books. The morning had flown by. He'd never thought he would enjoy bookkeeping, but doing it for somewhere he cared about had transformed it into a work of love.

At 3 p.m., when he looked up for the first time since lunch, he saw his office with different eyes.

He asked himself why he'd become an accountant and immediately knew the answer. He could remember, as if it was yesterday, asking his father what he should become when he was older.

"Don't do what I did, son," d.i.c.k had proclaimed with the solemn wisdom of regret. "Get yourself a profession. You can't go wrong with a profession."

And fifteen-year-old Josh had been impa.s.sioned by the idea of making his dad so proud of him that he'd come back home for good. He wondered now if d.i.c.k would even remember the conversation.

His thoughts pinballed round his brain as he stared blindly at the office ahead of him. Sitting in an office all day was shriveling his spirit. He needed to find something he believed in, something he could put his skills and his pa.s.sion into. And he'd just found it.

Now all he had to do was tell his father.

Midafternoon, after returning from the shoot, Vanessa found a window to phone home. At the sound of d.i.c.k's voice she felt a rush of emotion.

"How are you?" she asked tentatively.

"Fine!" There was more warmth in his voice than she'd heard for a long time.

"And how are our children?" she asked.

"Fine!" said d.i.c.k again, with even more warmth. He had one eye on the clock, the other on the sandwich he was making. "Tallulah picked you some flowers on the way home from all the neighbors' front gardens. We ran the last fifty yards."

"Aah, sweetheart. Give her a big kiss from me."

"I will. I'm just about to pick up Zak."

"Don't forget his scooter. Walking's for girls."

"Oh right. Thanks. Then I'll make them lasagna. I'm making pancakes when Ca.s.sie gets home."

"Blimey. Good luck."

"Thanks."

"I'll be out in time to pick up Ca.s.sie from Mandy's," Vanessa told him.

"Okay. I'll be here with an open bottle of wine. Empty, but open."

"Excellent." Vanessa laughed. "Bye then."

"Bye, love."

d.i.c.k put the phone down, wrapped the sandwiches in foil to eat on the way to school, picked up Tallulah, the scooter, and car keys, and left the house.

Meanwhile, Vanessa sat looking at the phone. Something was different. What was it? Oh yes, she realized with a little start. They hadn't argued. And d.i.c.k was going to make lasagna.

The lasagna was disgusting. Even d.i.c.k couldn't eat it, and he was starving. So when Zak suggested whole wheat biscuits covered in golden syrup and chocolate b.u.t.tons and Tallulah started getting so excited she hugged her daddy, d.i.c.k decided that food was for fun, and one meal really wasn't going to harm anyone.

By the time Josh came home, d.i.c.k, Zak, and Tallulah were so high on E-numbers they could have invaded a small unsuspecting island. Josh tidied them up, cleaned the kitchen, calmed them down and made them sit down to cheese on toast with Tabasco sauce followed by fruit salad a la Josh. Then he and d.i.c.k prepared the pancake mixture while the kids tidied up.

Stalemate reigned in Niblet-upon-Avon. Jo had started ignoring her father back, and every opportunity that could have been taken to make friends had become an opportunity to be the first one to ignore the other. Jo's new existence was punctuated every so often by emptying her mother's commode and taking headache pills.

She was in the kitchen taking her teatime pills, ignoring her father as he prepared Hilda's tea, when her mobile interrupted the silence. Her father ignored the noise. She ignored her father ignoring the noise. When she saw that it was Gerry, she stared at the phone, and it was only her father's grunt that made her answer it.

"h.e.l.lo!" she greeted warily.

"Hi there," said Gerry. "Just wanted to see how you are."

"I'm absolutely fine, thanks," she said, surprised to feel warm and friendly at the sound of his voice instead of threatened and claustrophobic. "Thanks for asking." Her father grunted again.

"Don't be daft," said Gerry, "We've been missing you."

"Oh thank you!" She crossed her arms and faced her father, while speaking into the phone. "Tell you what, it's nice to know someone cares."

Bill looked at his watch, checked it against the kitchen clock and tapped it in Jo's face.

"I'd better go, Gerry," said Jo. "I'm needed."

"Okay," he said. "I'll call you again another time."

"Okay," said Jo. "Thanks." She put the phone down and told herself that this was not a man who couldn't take no for an answer. She had been frightening herself over nothing.

The pancakes were disgusting. Even d.i.c.k couldn't eat them and he was starving. But it didn't matter. The ice cream Vanessa had picked up while taking Ca.s.sie home was a grand success, and it only took an hour to clean the kitchen up afterward. No one was surprised that the kids disappeared for this. While the grown-ups tidied, the children had important issues to discuss.

"Right," said Ca.s.sandra, upstairs. "I call this meeting now open."

Zak and Tallulah looked up at her excitedly.

The meeting didn't take long at all. Ca.s.sandra chaired it with confidence and purpose. Zak and Tallulah loved their roles and admired her terribly. They had no time to lose. Operation Jo had to start immediately.

Downstairs, things weren't quite as exciting. While Vanessa showered, Josh and d.i.c.k spoke quietly in the kitchen.

"Well?" asked d.i.c.k eventually. "Are things as bad as I thought?"