Chapter 22
THE ADULT IN CHARGE
The closer they got to their holiday, the more the back of her mind kept nagging at her.
Specifically, that agreeing to this adventure was a risky and stupid decision in—oh, so many wonderful ways, especially in the way that she was not equipped for a fling with a rugby star who smiled warmly at her over expensive champagne.
A rugby star whose whanau was enmeshed with her own, too, so there’d be no avoiding him after said fling was over.
But then, she’d literally be keeping her distance while she was there, wouldn’t she?
Or he would. Zane wouldn’t even be there most of the time, and when he was, he’d be focused on his kids.
And as for school? As long as nothing happened in the sheets, nothing would happen in the streets.
She was quite proud of that poetic thought.
And her sense of pride would keep her from succumbing anyway.
She didn’t want to feel “good enough to sleep with for a bit.” Not again.
And, yes, as Jess had felt free to say, her standards probably were impossibly high.
Telling Jess had been interesting, as you’d expect.
At first, Skylar had merely said brightly, “We’ll be spending the first part of the holidays at home, then we’re off to Wellington for ten days or so.
” They were eating lunch, but Skylar had brought bread, cheese, and pickle this time, along with a couple of feijoas.
There were only so many bean-and-grain lunches a woman could eat, and feijoas were healthy! Full of vitamins and fiber.
“How are you managing that?” Jess had asked with no tact at all.
“Never tell me you can afford it. Ten days in Wellington, of all places? What’s next, Queenstown, for some heli-skiing?
You’ve probably booked a backpacker’s with the kids, after paying through the nose to fly down there.
I can’t believe what they’re charging now for a one-hour flight, and you’d be paying for four of them.
You’re telling yourself it’ll be educational, and I’m telling you that you’ll all come back with bedbugs.
I know you’re the Queen of the Positive Outlook, but I’m not, so here’s advice from the Real World: find somewhere else instead.
Northland, now … no spendy flights, and if you drive far enough, you can stay for less than you’d think.
Taupo Bay. Mangonui. Like that. Of course, there’s nothing much up there, so there’s that. ”
“Which means,” Skylar said, “that the tourists will be looking to those same places for their getaway. The solitude is the point. How many people do you see pictured in the tourist brochures? Unless they’re paddling a kayak or going across a swing bridge, just about none.”
“They’re kayaking in July, are they?” Jess asked.
“Though the weather will probably be heaps better than in Windy Welly. You’d be trapped in some shonky bach with your kids and your granddad, though, especially if it rains, and you can say a fond goodbye to your dishwasher, too. Consider me the voice of experience.”
“Ah,” Skylar said. “Nothing like a disaster story. Tell.”
“I got taken up there once for a ‘holiday’,” Jess said.
“I’ve put that in quotes, because it was August and he fished the entire time.
Turns out I was there to cook the fish and do the washing-up, and the place probably cost him forty dollars a night and smelled of mildew.
He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t bowled over by the romance of it all.
We ended up having a row after three days of that, and I took the bus home.
On the plus side, the whole thing only cost me thirty-five dollars for the bus, plus a bit for groceries, because if you think there was a restaurant up there, or even a café, you’re dreaming.
Still, holidaying out in the wop-wops with the flax plants and beaches is infinitely less dear than being in the city, especially in winter, because nobody else wants to go.
Collecting shells, now: there’s a fun and cost-free hobby.
With fish and chips to follow, if you want to drive to find them, for a true gourmet stay. Follow me for more free life advice.”
“So I’ll have an awful time if I take the kids somewhere close and cheap,” Skylar said, “and go bust if I take them to Wellington? Yeh, that’s helpful, thanks.”
“I’m just saying,” Jess said. “Unless …” She sat up straight. “No. You wouldn’t.”
Skylar eyed her warily. “I wouldn’t what? I probably wouldn’t, whatever it is. I never do, do I?”
Jess paid that the attention it deserved: none. She pointed a finger at Skylar and announced dramatically, “Zane Mahuta.”
“Shh!” Skylar couldn’t help that, but she did not look around in a guilty manner.
David Sacklett was right there at the next table, and what was worse, he was eating lunch with Stacey Thompkins, who also taught Year One and fancied him.
She raised her voice instead of lowering it, in what she considered some pretty brilliant thinking, and said, “Yeh, he was good out there, wasn’t he?
How the All Blacks will go against France and Ireland, though—that’s the real question.
New coach: yay or nay?” As if she had an opinion.
Jess was narrowing her eyes at her. Never a good sign. “The ABs have that flash new training facility in Wellington.”
“Do they?” Skylar did her best to make it airy. “Nice for them.”
Jess said, “Look into my eyes and tell me that you’re not going to Wellington to spend time with—” When Skylar made a frantic chopping-off gesture, Jess finished, “him.”
“I’m not going to Wellington to spend time with him,” Skylar said obediently.
“I’m going to Wellington to spend time with his whanau.
My granddad will be there for the full three weeks, so unless I really do want my kids to drive me mad, this seems to be the answer.
And before you ask, he won’t even be there.
Well, on occasion, on his days off, but he made a point of telling me that he hardly gets any days off, so you see … ”
“So he invited you to join him at his flash holiday rental in Wellington,” Jess said, “because he doesn’t want to spend time with you.”
“No. My granddad invited us, or possibly my granddad and Maureen—Zane’s Nan.
Freely spending Zane’s money for all those extra groceries and so forth, but he honestly didn’t seem to mind.
Probably because he knows his kids will have a better time if I’m there, and get out more, too.
The oldies are a bit wrapped up in each other. And as I said, he won’t be there.”
“So you’re, what?” Jess asked. “The nanny? This gets worse and worse. If he actually wanted to spend time with you, you realize that he’d ask you out on a proper date.
This sounds perilously like bang-maid territory to me.
As somebody out there in the trenches, don’t be na?ve.
Read the room. If you just want his lovely body, go for it. But don’t expect more.”
“I don’t want anybody’s lovely body,” Skylar said. “Or I don’t just want it. I want true love.”
“And how’s that working out?” Jess said. “As you never go anywhere?”
Skylar pointed at her. “Hence Wellington.”
“Where you’ll meet … who? As you travel about with a bag full of snacks and six kids trailing behind?
The way I read it, you want true love and Zane Mahuta’s lovely body and command presence, or the equivalent.
Though honestly, who would be equivalent?
” She’d lowered her voice, at least. “But not to be the nanny.”
“Yes,” Skylar said. “It’s that or nothing, I’m afraid.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Jess said. “My prediction is: you’re going to be the nanny. Reckon you’re like me with my romantic Northland holiday. Destined to live and learn.”
Skylar hadn’t protested, because it would only have sounded defensive.
Now, she thought, I trust my instincts. Well, mostly.
If she believed in her heart that she wasn’t the nanny, what did it matter if she looked after Zane’s kids as well as her own sometimes?
She wasn’t any object of pity. On the contrary, she was an incredibly fortunate woman who, thanks to her granddad’s apparent romantic talents—who’d have guessed?
—had been gifted an almost-free holiday.
And never mind the perennially-absent, spoilt-for-choice Zane.
So they flirted a bit down there, on those rare occasions when he was around.
Possibly had the odd glass of wine. Couldn’t that just be fun?
Even practice for a possible future romantic life?
Of course, the issues she encountered, once they arrived, were completely different from those she’d feared.
Which was generally the case, wasn’t it?
To begin with, when they collected their hire car, she found that it was a brand-new Toyota people-mover that seated eight.
A pretty overwhelming vehicle, to be honest. It was perfectly acceptable that Zane had paid for it, though, because this way, she could take all six kids to the many places he was also paying for them to visit.
She thought that until she drove out of the lot and realized how big the van was.
Wellington streets were narrow, and this car was not.
And then there was attempting to follow the GPS, and constantly finding herself in the wrong lane once they reached Wellington’s compact, hilly, and confusing CBD.
Somebody had apparently passed a regulation that said square corners weren’t allowed, and the streets shot off in every direction.
Did nobody else in the world object to having a maddeningly calm robo-voice saying, “Rerouting,” over and over again?
She needed the GPS, and she also wanted to bash it with a hammer.
It was cool and rainy out, but she was sweating.
“I think you’re over the line, Mum,” Finlay pointed out at that moment from the front passenger seat.