Memory Ten
MEMORY TEN
GRANT
I’d never felt so elated or apprehensive at the same time before, the drive from Gatwick airport to my home in the Oxfordshire countryside peppered with stretches of silence between me and Marie when we were both clearly thinking about what was happening in the next few hours and the implications of what we were doing and furiously fast conversation when we seemed to talk our way to the same paragraph of the same page, a plan or a strategy coming together.
“Your kids have had a lot of change already,” she said, as we joined the first of many country roads. “How many nannies have they had since Rachael died?”
“How many have they had since Jackson was born, you mean? Probably about fourteen. I wasn’t there during the week, but from what I gathered, Rachael asked a lot of them. I don’t think we gave a good impression of what it was like to work for us. And the kids weren’t easy. They’re still not easy.” I glanced at her, hands remaining on the steering wheel. I’d left my car at the airport during my trip so I could get home as quickly as possible. “You might spend a few days with them and charter a plane back to New York.”
She smiled, a knowing little grin that made me slightly more nervous.
“Grant, I’m one of nine. The second eldest, so I grew up with seven younger siblings. Our mam was around and she didn’t have the same difficulties with her mental health as Rachael did, so we weren’t missing a parent but we had times when we brought ourselves up. We fought and shouted at each other, and did some horrible things to each other, but if someone new entered the fold, we really ganged up on them. We had an old fashioned governess one summer because my dad had some strange idea that we needed extra lessons – we probably did, I think it was the summer two of my brothers were asked not to return to school in the September. She lasted four days. We locked her in an outhouse, knowing she was scared of spiders. Bernadette and Colm kept finding spiders and posting them through a gap in the window. It was terrible, looking back.” She was still smiling.
“How long was she locked in for?” I asked, expecting her to say half an hour.
“About twelve hours. The gardener found her just before sunset. She didn’t come back after that. She was horrible though, really nasty to one of my sisters. Your kids may achieve the same standards as we did, but there’s half of them. They won’t scare me.” She glanced at me. “Can I speak bluntly?”
“I think you always do, but go ahead.”
“Your kids have experienced rejection from their mam, from you with you being at work so much, from the people paid to look after them. They’ll go into every relationship expecting to be rejected so they’ll find it hard to make that attachment because they’ll be scared they’ll be hurt again. Playing up for people’s part of that.”
I let the quiet sit there for a minute while I decided what to say.
“I can see what you mean. It hurts to hear it.” Because it did. I was their dad and I should’ve been protecting them. By working, I thought I was looking after them.
“I can imagine and I can’t take those words back. But it what’s gone has gone and all that. It’s what happens going forwards. I’m not going to be their mammy, but I will mother them and I won’t be moved.”
I took a big breath, my own eyes unusually wet. “You like a challenge, don’t you?”
“I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t and I have a very good idea what I’m walking into. I do need you to trust me though. I promise I’ll act in their best interests.”
“Not mine?” I made sure my words sounded light hearted.
“Absolutely not.”
The driveway to the house was long and winding, tree lined and green, even in summer. The usual feeling of apprehension and nerves cluttered in my stomach. It’d been years since I’d looked forward to coming home, never entirely sure what mood Rachael would be in, or what carnage I’d need to sort out when I walked through the door.
Carnage was the right word for it today.
We walked through the front doors into the hall, the floor littered with toys and paper and my aunt who was standing there with her arms folded and her suitcase next to her.
“These children are now your problem, Grant, and whoever your friend is. I will not be helping out again in the future. The other nanny left last night and said she won’t be returning and I can understand why.”
My aunt had always reminded me of a Victorian school ma’am. She’d never married and never had kids. I remember thinking that she hated me as a child and I stayed well out of her way.
Three pairs of eyes peered around a door. Callum walked into the middle of the doorway, dressed just in bottoms. He looked filthy, like he’d been rolling in mud.
“I’m sorry it’s been difficult, Aunt Hannah. Thank you for – erm – keeping them alive.” Because that was probably a challenge in itself.
“Never again.” She looked at Callum and shook her head. “He’s a beautiful child, but his brothers and sister are leading him astray already. You need to think about boarding school and the sooner the better. They need discipline.”
“I’ll consider it.” I was aware of Marie moving slowly over to them, crouching down about two feet away from Callum. “Thanks, again, Aunt Hannah.”
“I’ll see myself out. You need to sort out those scoundrels.” She didn’t even say goodbye to them, opening the door and pulling her suitcase behind her.
“Daddy, what’s a scoundrel?” Claire appeared from behind the door and launched herself into my arms.
“A person who is a bit naughty, so your aunt’s probably right. You’re filthy, what’ve you been doing?”
She wrapped her arms around my neck. “We were gardening. We were being helpful.”
I wasn’t sure that was going to be the case.
I looked over at Marie who now had hold of Callum, holding him close to her even though he was absolutely full of mud too. Max and Jackson made their way into the hall, Jackson slightly more messy than the rest of them. Max had a long graze on his arm and needed a haircut. Jackson looked like he’d been planted in compost for a week as he’d grown.
“I’m sure you were. This is Marie, my friend. She’s staying with us.” I looked at her, not sure what else to say.
Her smile wasn’t for me this time. “It looks like you’ve been having fun. What do you think you need now?”
Max put his arm around Jackson’s shoulders. “Callum needs a bath.” He looked at Claire and then himself. “We need to get clean too. I think I’ve ripped my T-shirt too. Sorry, Dad.”
“These things happen.” I didn’t want to scold him for that right now. Marie had said in the car to choose battles wisely and that seemed like good advice.
“I think we all need baths and showers,” Marie said, gently patting Callum’s back. Her accent sounded especially Irish, soft lyrical sounds that soothed me at least. “Your dad and I do as well because that was a very long flight back. So why don’t we all have baths and showers and have a pyjama party.”
Claire wriggled in my arms. “What’s a pyjama party?”
Marie looked purposefully shocked. “What do you mean, child? What’s a pyjama party? Have you never had a pyjama party before?”
Claire shook her head, her hair looking decidedly odd.
“Well, we have to solve that. A pyjama party is when we get into our PJ’s early, bring down blankets and comfies and eat treats in front of the TV. We can even make dens and be all cosy. What do you think?”
My children clearly thought she was an alien.
Max stared at me. Jackson looked at his feet. Claire struggled to be put down, which I did, watching her beeline for Marie.
“But we made a mess. We should be in trouble.” That was Claire.
Marie looked around at what was indeed a mess. “Messes happen. We have to tidy it up though. That can be now, or after our pyjama party or in the morning. I’ll help, but I don’t know where things go.”
“I think we should do it now before we have baths.” Max kept glancing at me as if he expected me to erupt like a volcano, which if Marie hadn’t been with me I probably would’ve done. Then called a cleaner to sort it out.
“Agreed. I think that’s very sensible. Are you Max?” Marie looked at him seriously.
My eldest nodded. “I am. This is Jackson. That’s Claire. And you’re holding Callum; he’s the baby. I’ve been giving him his baths.”
“Then how about after we tidy, you show me how you bathe him and then we can do it between us and your dad.” The look she sent me was clear: this is your job too.
Max nodded, too serious, too old for his age.
Too shocked with Marie.
They were used to serious people. Adults who still thought children should be seen and not heard. That wasn’t Marie.
That wasn’t me, really. We were all living up to what we thought was expected of us, really.
“And I tell you what we’ll do, if we can get tidied up before five o’clock, so when the big hand is on twelve and the little hand is on five, then your dad will go to the supermarket and get us ice cream.” She glanced at me, clearly I was getting no say in this.
“I like ice cream.” Claire looked up at Marie as if she was a Disney princess, which she did resemble.
I noticed that Claire’s hair was definitely not right.
“So do I. Chocolate’s my favourite. Shall we get started?”
It wasn’t something I’d seen before, my kids being constructive rather than destructive. Maybe it was the novelty of an adult who spoke to them like they were people instead of just children, or maybe it was Marie’s accent, as I was pretty sure they hadn’t heard an Irish accent before. It could also have her manner, asking a question, offering different solutions, getting them to think what the consequences would be.
“I don’t know where this goes,” Jackson said to Marie, holding up a screwed up table cloth that’d probably been a wedding present from some distant relative.
“What is it?” Marie asked back. “It looks like you’ve blown your nose on it.”
Jackson eyed the material warily. “I haven’t, but Claire might.”
“So where does it need to go if your sister’s used it as a handkerchief?”
“Laundry basket.”
“Do you know where it is?” Marie was still putting pieces of lego into a box.
“Upstairs.”
She didn’t say anything, just waited for Jackson.
“I don’t want to go upstairs yet.” His shoulders sagged. Max looked over, forever checking on his siblings.
“Why’s that? You can leave it on the bottom of the stairs for now and when you go up, take it with you then. Is that a solution?” She put more lego in the box.
Jackson nodded rapidly. “I don’t like going upstairs on my own.”
Marie gave him a gentle smile. “How about I come up with you and you can show me where the laundry is. I’ll need to know it anyway so that would be helpful.” She tried getting up off the floor and pretended to struggle. “Would you give me a hand?” She held her hand out to Jackson, who pulled on it.
Marie got up, thanking Jackson. “It’s hard getting up off the floor when you’re old.”
I shook my head at her. “You’re twenty-eight.”
“That’s really old.” That was Claire. “Can I come upstairs and show you too? I want to show you my room.”
We all ended up going upstairs to show Marie where the laundry was, my children fascinated with her. Then they all had to show her their bedrooms.
“But we all sleep in Max’s room.” Claire said when she closed her door.
I turned round at that. “What? Why are you sleeping in Max’s room? You all have your own room.” The house wasn’t exactly small. It had eight bedrooms and an annex, which I’d planned at some point to renovate so it became part of the main house.
Claire and Jackson looked at each other, scared.
It was Max who spoke for them as usual. “They have to walk past Mummy’s old room to get to the bathroom if they wake up in the night and that scares them, so they stay with me.”
I looked over at Marie and found her looking at me.
That wasn’t good. I got it, could understand it and knew it wasn’t good.
“Okay, so do we need to bring their beds in here?” She looked at Claire and Jackson, both still filthy.
Max nodded, far, far too serious for a child his age. “Maybe.”
Or maybe we really did need that house move. Then I could have some remodelling done on this and it’d feel different when we came back. A fresh start.
Marie clapped her hands together, breaking the atmosphere that was heavy in the room. “How much is left to clean up? We’re nearly at five o’clock – best get a move on if we’re sending Dad out for ice cream.” And with that, my kids got back to work.
The house was still a mess when I got back from the little shop in the nearby village that sold homemade ice cream, but it was tidier. A quick run over with the vacuum would help, if I knew where the vac was kept.
I had a feeling I’d be acquainted with that vac midday tomorrow.
I found Jackson and Max on the sofa in the sitting room, blankets around them, cushions everywhere as well as their pillows. They were clean scrubbed, their PJ’s looking fresh.
“You’ve done a good job tidying.” I sat down in between them, putting an arm around each of them. “Was it as fun as making a mess?”
Max shook his head. “It was boring but it didn’t take that long.”
“Good. What happened in the garden?” I’d already seen which flower bed they’d attacked. It looked like a hurricane had torn through it.
Max shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “Apology accepted. It’s going to need some work to look pretty again so maybe we need to go to a garden centre tomorrow and choose some new plants. We’ll need to put it right.”
Jackson cuddled up closer to me, but Max was still sitting stiffly.
“I’m not mad. I know it’s been boring with Aunt Hannah. She’s not the most fun person, I know.”
Another shrug. “I got kicked out of school. And two nannies left. I don’t think anyone likes us.”
“Maybe you haven’t been helpful and you’ve all caused extra work, but I like you.”
“I don’t think Mum liked us.” He relaxed a little into me now. “I think that’s why she died.”
Guilt, fear and sadness wrapped around my throat and stopped my breath for a moment. “Your mum died because she was poorly. She loved you very much. She was just too poorly to take care of you and that wasn’t anyone’s fault.” Except mine, because I should’ve been around more rather than pretending it wasn’t happening by hiding away. “Shall we go and see what Claire and Callum are doing?” I needed to divert them.
“They’re with Marie. Claire cut her own hair yesterday and Marie was trying to fix it.” Jackson slid off the sofa. “Claire looked stupid.”
“Please don’t tell her that.” I could do without a brother and sister fight which Claire would win because she had absolutely no boundaries when fighting with her brothers.
Jackson shook his head. “I’m not stupid.” He grinned, which made me feel instantly better. “Can we have ice-cream for dinner?”
“Dessert. Dinner first.” I had no idea what we were having for dinner. Max followed us out of the lounge and into the hall, up the stairs and towards the big family bathroom that really needed to be revamped.
They ran in Max’s room instead, something catching their imagination, leaving me just outside the door.
“I like my fringe.” My daughter’s voice sounded happily through the gap. “Are you a hairdresser?”
“No, I’m a solicitor like your dad, but I have three little sisters so I had to do their hair. My mammy used to cut our hair and I watched her so I could do it too. Stand up, let’s look at you.”
Movement echoed through. Footsteps, the knocking over of something.
“That’s better, Clairey. You look like a human now instead of a wild animal that’s been battling through a jungle. Get yourself out of the bath.”
I popped my head round. Claire was standing fully dressed in an empty bath, which I guess made it easier to get rid of the hair that’d been trimmed. “I like your fringe.” It was probably needed. I couldn’t remember the last time Claire’d had a haircut.
“Marie said she can plait it.” She climbed out of the bath and stepped over Callum, who was fast asleep in a towel, looking clean. “She said she’ll be here for ages too and she’ll help you look after us. Is that true?”
I nodded, looking at Marie who was nodding at me. “It’s true. Why don’t you go and see what Max and Jacks are doing and tell them to go downstairs? Get making a den.”
She scattered out of the room, yelling at her brothers. I stooped down and picked Callum up. “It’s too early to put him to bed.”
“Take him downstairs. He’ll wake up in a bit so just put him on the sofa.” She stretched. “They’re not that wild.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “I suppose it depends on your baseline, but they’re not feral like you were describing. They’re nice kids. There was some resistance from Jackson to having a shower, but when we explored the contents of soil and what he probably had crawling on him, which would crawl in his – or Max’s – bed, he decided a shower was a good idea. I don’t think he’s showered well, but we can work on that.”
“Are you sure about this? We’ve just had a big flight and you’ve walked into this.” If I was her I’d be heading straight back.
Her smile was genuine. “I’m not your nanny, Grant. You’re their dad and you need to step up for them, but I’ll help you do it.”