13. ARIES
13
ARIES
G emma’s picnic is twice as fancy as Mr Hawkston’s, and there are members of staff mingling amidst the other parents that circulate the tables. They’re dressed like waiters and waitresses, in dark trousers and white shirts, and they’re handing out platters of food from trays and pouring champagne.
There are just as many people, if not more, coming over to talk to Gemma as there were at Mr Hawkston’s picnic. She drops Lucie’s arm as soon as she reaches the group and, without bringing her little daughter over to speak to anyone, dumps her on a folding chair that’s made for an adult. Lucie looks lost, her legs dangling in midair, and her white ankle socks with their frills, and her patent Mary Jane’s, add a whole extra level of cuteness that makes my heart ache. When she looks up and sees me, the relief in her gaze is so acute that it softens her entire body, and a small lump forms in the back of my throat.
“Ariel,” she whimpers.
At this, Gemma turns back to look at me. I hand Lucie the plate of salmon, and she starts picking at it with her fingers.
Gemma’s nose scrunches, and she snatches it away. “You can’t eat that. It looks disgusting. Plus, the nanny had her fingers all over it.”
What a bitch .
A man comes up behind Gemma. He’s tall, with salt and pepper grey hair, looking close to fifty. A lot older than both Gemma and Mr Hawkston. In fact, Mr Hawkston and Gemma are probably the youngest parents here. Everyone else looks at least ten years older than they do. They must have had Charlie really young.
“Who’s this?” the man asks, looking at me but keeping one arm around Gemma. He snuffles his large nose into her hair, and she makes a soft purring sound.
“I’m Aries,” I say, sticking my hand out.
The man’s eyebrows rise, and though he takes my hand, I get the sense I’ve done something socially unacceptable without realising, but I have no idea what it is.
“Mark Charlton,” he says.
“This is Matt’s new nanny,” Gemma says, flapping her hand at me. “Can you believe it?”
Mark takes me in, then nuzzles the side of Gemma’s head again. “You know we could have fought for custody, and you wouldn’t have to deal with this,” he murmurs, speaking to Gemma as though I’m not an actual human being with functioning ears, who’s standing right in front of him.
“God, no.” Gemma rolls her eyes. “I don’t want the kids that often. Matt’s welcome to them. Honestly, after today, that’ll be enough for me for a few weeks. I’ll probably need to lie down and recover.” She cackles, and Mark laughs too, as if this exchange is the funniest thing they’ve heard all day.
Lucie’s bottom lip begins to quiver, and her big innocent eyes look up at her mother like the woman has punched a fist right through her ribcage and dragged her heart back out through the debris. Which is exactly what I want to do to Gemma.
“Couldn’t agree more,” says another woman, coming over to join them. She reminds me of an over-sized bird, all dressed in red with a pointed nose and slightly too-large chin. “We’ve got three nannies at home. One for each child. The less I see of my kids, the better. David”—she waves at a tall blond man, who’s shoving what looks like a tiny Yorkshire pudding into his mouth—“wants to have another. Can you imagine? I said to him, ‘David, do you really want another child, or is it a status symbol? Because if it’s the latter, I’d far rather get the kitchen redesigned or buy a new car’. God knows, the kids cost just as much.”
The three of them burst into raucous laughter.
I kneel at Lucie’s side, putting my arm around her. “You okay, sweetie?”
“I’m hungry,” she says, and I’m struck by the fact this kid has already learned to suppress what she’s really feeling. Maybe she is hungry, but it’s certainly not the only thing going on.
I squeeze her hand. “I’ll get you something.”
Gemma is still clutching the plate of blinis I dismantled, so I make my way to the food table here, pick up a plate and start choosing things.
“Did I say you could eat here?” Gemma’s at my side, having left Mark and the red-bird-woman discussing how much they hate their kids.
“It’s for Lucie,” I reply, but I also haven’t eaten and I’m starving. Was I supposed to bring myself a packed lunch?
“She hasn’t eaten yet?” Gemma asks. “For crying out loud, what have you been doing? You know it’s the boat race soon?” She thrusts the plate of salmon back at me. “Go on, give her this, then. If you must. Just keep her out of sight while she’s eating. She’s messy, and it turns my stomach. I’m easily nauseated.”
Gemma swaps her empty champagne glass for a fresh one, which she snatches from one of the staff. She takes a sip and wanders away, leaving me wishing I could brush myself off in case any of her nasty energy is stuck in my field. But I figure everyone here would look at me like I'm crazy, so I focus on my task instead.
As I’m filling Lucie's plate with other bits from the buffet, I notice an influx of school boys drifting across the fields between the parked cars.
They’re wearing the fanciest school uniform I’ve ever seen. Long burgundy tail coats paired with striped trousers, and waistcoats over white shirts. Some of the boys have different colour waistcoats, which must signify some rank or position in the school, but I have no idea what. They have little white bow tie type things around their necks. They look like characters from a period drama, and against the backdrop of the ancient, immense school buildings, I feel like I’ve been dropped into an alternate universe, where everyone is rich and privileged, and no one bats an eyelid at how bizarre it is.
Three boys make their way towards me, heading directly for the food. In the middle is a tall youth, who looks just like Mr Hawkston. He must be Charlie. He’s tall for a sixteen-year-old, but nowhere near as bulky and muscled as his dad. Charlie has a lean, almost lanky appearance that suggests he’s yet to fill out.
On either side of him are two equally tall blond boys, but they are closer to men; more muscular, their faces more mature. I guess they’re a few years older than Charlie.
At first, I assume they’re a group of friends, but when I look closer, I notice Charlie doesn’t look comfortable. The other two, clearly brothers, are pinning him in, knocking against him. Charlie jolts between them, shoved first one way, then the other, his brow creased. He makes no move to retaliate, and the other two boys are laughing.
“Boys,” Mark Charlton shouts. He opens his arms, and I realise these are the kids of Gemma’s new partner. The boys openly embrace him at the same time, while Charlie hangs back. Gemma hasn’t noticed him, and when Mark draws her attention to them, she greets his children first, only then going over to Charlie.
She’s tall and can see almost eye to eye with her son in her huge heels. She puts her finger beneath his chin. “You look tired. Are you sleeping? Do I need to call the school about the quality of the bed? We could get one shipped in for you.”
Charlie shakes his head out of her grip. “No, Mum. The bed’s fine.”
“Why do you look so dreadful then? Look at Ben and Hugo.” She points over at the two boys. “They look healthy. You look like you’re half-dead.”
“I have to train early mornings for rowing. The boat race,” Charlie explains.
Gemma laughs, but I’m not sure what she’s laughing at, and if the baffled look Charlie gives her is anything to go by, he doesn’t know either. But his face falls, and I know whatever the laugh meant, his mother is mocking him, and from the practised movement of his features, it’s a regular occurrence.
“The boys are training too,” she scolds. “You’re not the only one. Maybe we should book you in for a facial in the holidays.”
Hugo and Ben start chuckling, having overheard this. “That won’t sort his ugly mug,” shouts one of them.
Gemma smiles as if this is genuinely funny. A flash of hurt crosses Charlie’s face, and he makes his way to the food table and stares down at what’s on offer.
“Can I get you a drink, sir?” one of the staff asks.
He looks up. “Just water, please.” The waiter disappears and returns with a fresh glass of iced water. “Thanks,” Charlie mumbles. He keeps staring at the food, but doesn’t pick anything up. Then, drawn by my attention, he looks at me. “Hi,” he says.
I give him a big smile, hoping it might induce him to smile back at me, but his lips don’t even flicker. “I’m Aries. I’m your new nanny. I’ll be looking after you for the summer.”
He huffs a hollow laugh. “Great. A nanny. Dad really doesn’t fucking trust me, does he?”
I try not to show how taken aback I am. “Should he?”
“Cracking onto the nanny already?” Ben or Hugo, whichever one he is, appears behind Charlie and slams a hand on his shoulder. Charlie jerks forward under the impact. “I’m Ben. This is Hugo,” the boy tells me, indicating his brother who’s appeared at the table too. Hugo’s waistcoat has the Union Jack printed on it, whereas Ben’s is plain blue. I try to remember so I can tell them apart.
“I’m not cracking onto—” begins Charlie.
“Best you don’t. Can’t have a taste of her,” Hugo taunts, grinning at me. “Look at that hair. Red as a strawberry. That would bring you out in a rash.”
“Excuse me,” I snap, realising I sound a bit too prim. But damn it, this kid is rude .
Ben gives a hearty chortle. “Relax. It’s a joke. Got nothing against redheads. Charlie’s allergic to strawberries. Pretty serious allergy, isn’t it?” He whacks Charlie on the back again. It’s a gesture that could easily be dismissed as friendly, but it’s definitely a little too hard.
Charlie shrugs, although I suspect it’s mostly to get the boy’s arm off him rather than in answer to the question.
Hugo picks up a large bowl of strawberries and shoves one in his mouth, making a noise which sounds vaguely orgasmic. “Delicious,” he moans. “I could eat these all day.” He gives me a lewd look, which has me physically recoiling. He smirks at my reaction.
“If he’s really allergic to those, you should keep them away,” I say, wondering why Gemma would even have strawberries on offer if her son is allergic.
Hugo and Ben snort dismissively. “Yes. Of course. Let’s keep them away.” The two of them wander off, holding the bowl.
“Do you want to sit with us?” I say to Charlie, indicating where Lucie is sitting.
He looks across at his little sister. She waves at him, plunges off the chair and skips over, throwing her arms around him.
He picks her up, and she hooks her short legs around his waist. “Hey, Lulu.”
“Charlie.” She kisses him on the cheek, and Charlie finally smiles. Thank goodness; I was beginning to worry that he didn’t know how.
“I can’t stay," he says. "I’ve got to go change for the boat race. You’re going to come and cheer me on, right?”
Lucie nods. “Row fast. Really fast.”
“I will. Make sure you get down to the river early, or you won’t see anything.” Charlie puts his sister down and looks at me. “Bye, Aries. Good to meet you.”
He wanders back the way he came, alone. No one apart from me and Lucie appears to have noticed his departure.
I’m struck by the air of melancholy that clings to him as he walks through the parked cars. Does Mr Hawkston know his teenage son is desperately unhappy?
I turn to Lucie, who’s busy eating from the plate of salmon. “Does your brother really have a strawberry allergy?”
“Yes,” Lucie says, her mouth full. “When he was little like me, his throat got all big and they had to take him to hospital.”
“Did that happen after he ate a strawberry?”
“No. A jam sandwich.” Her eyes light up. “Hey, can I have a jam sandwich when we get home? I don’t like this food.” She dangles a piece of roasted artichoke between her fingertips.
“Sure. I can manage a jam sandwich. Probably have to be raspberry though. Just in case.”
I keep Lucie entertained for about an hour, when all of a sudden everyone starts moving, like a crowd of well-dressed lemmings.
“The boat race,” Lucie squeals. “Let’s go, or we won’t get near the front.”
I take her hand and follow Gemma, Mark and the others. I scan the crowd for Mr Hawkston, but I can’t see him anywhere. I wonder what he’s been doing. Probably being all suave and charming and handsome. Did Charlie go to his picnic too?
Gemma, ahead of me, slows down so she’s at my side. “I’ll take Lucie. It’s important that everyone sees us together. You keep out of the way.”
Before I can object, or even wonder why it’s important people see her with Lucie, Gemma drags her daughter away through the crowd. Amongst all the over-dressed bodies and the women wearing hats that obscure my view, I completely lose sight of them in seconds.
Shit .
I try to reassure myself that it’s all right, because Lucie’s with her mother. Gemma might be a little lacking in compassion for her kids, but that maternal instinct is strong, right? It’s gonna click right into place if there’s any possibility of harm coming to her children.
I push my way through the crowd, heading towards the riverbank. People hustle to get a better view, and I edge my way to the front, hoping that if I keep heading in the direction that Gemma and Lucie went, I’ll find them again.
A little further downstream, there’s a bridge over the river with a wooden railing. It’s not high, but it would definitely give the best view. It’s already chock-a-block up there, so I don’t have a chance of getting a spot.
As I watch, I see Lucie perched on top of the railing. Gemma is behind her, holding her in place with one hand on Lucie’s hip. Lucie’s staring at the water below, but Gemma is paying her no attention, talking animatedly to another parent beside her.
Nerves flutter in my stomach to see Lucie so precariously positioned, and anxiety whips through me. I wouldn’t let her sit like that, if it was me up there. Maybe I’m being paranoid. She’s with her mum, and Gemma will keep her safe. Won’t she?
I try to put it out of mind, but my eye keeps being drawn back to the sight of Lucie perched on the railing. She’s not the only child up there, which makes me feel a little better, but I wish Gemma would hold her with both hands.
I look across the river and see Mr Hawkston on the other side of the bank. There aren’t many people over there and it’s much less crowded than it is here. He stares right at me, his dark eyes so angry that his gaze scorches; a searing heat on my skin. He glances to the bridge where Lucie sits in the middle.
He gestures toward her, then mouths something at me which looks like ‘ what the fuck? ’ but I can’t tell for sure. A horrible sensation spirals through my stomach. What was I supposed to do? Wrestle her off her mother?
I begin pushing my way through the crowd again. Better late than never.
A cheer starts up as the boats come into view, far in the distance but moving fast. Everyone jostles to see. My path to the bridge becomes even more difficult, but I keep going, heart racing.
They’re rowing fast. A couple of minutes later and they’re passing beneath the bridge. It takes a few moments before I can make out the faces, but I see Charlie clearly. In the boat with him are Hugo and Ben.
People are clapping and waving. Their boat draws ahead of the other, just a fraction. The boys are working hard, the strain showing in their jaws and necks, and their bulging biceps.
People roar on either side of me as the other boat catches up again. It goes on like that, the tip of one gaining speed and drawing out front, then the other. They seem evenly matched, and neither team has the edge.
I glance to the opposite bank, where Mr Hawkston is cheering, his hands raised over his head as he claps. He looks more animated, more excited, than I’ve seen him. On the bridge above, Lucie is grinning and screaming, but Gemma is continuing her conversation, barely glancing at either of her children.
As the boats reach the crowd, the boys' faces are wet with sweat. The excitement is unrestrained, and even the primmest looking parents applaud and yell, calling out a chorus of boys’ names. Even I get caught up in the cheering.
I desperately want Charlie to have something to celebrate. He struck me as such a sad soul.
I’m jumping up and down as Charlie’s boat draws ahead, forging faster toward the finish line.
But then all of a sudden, my intuition hits. A voice in my head whispering, Lucie, Lucie, Lucie .
I turn back to the bridge, relief flooding me as I see Lucie’s still there. Safe . But wait… Gemma’s not holding onto her at all anymore. Lucie is unanchored, legs dangling off the bridge, while Gemma is completely absorbed in whatever conversation she’s having with the woman next to her. At a guess, it has nothing to do with the boat race, or Charlie or Lucie.
My gut twists. There is a four-year-old perched on the rail of a wooden bridge, and her mother is definitely not paying attention.
My intuition hits big time, screaming in my skull. Go. Go. Go.
I don’t second guess it. Don’t hesitate. I launch myself towards the bridge, trying to shove my way through the crowd, but everyone’s too excited to pay me any notice. Their attention is fixed on the boats.
“Please, let me through,” I plead, but my voice is drowned out by the cheering. No one is listening to me. They don’t even know I’m here. All my pushing is dismissed as the regular jostling of a crowd high on adrenaline.
Go, go, go , the voice continues.
I begin to sweat, anxiety exploding in my stomach. I haven’t ever felt a call this strong, and I’m powerless to act on it.
“Please, get out of the way.” My voice is louder now, but it’s still not enough. A few people glance in my direction but only for a second before being drawn back to the river, the race.
As I try to force my way through a horde of full grown men in suits, something catches my eye. A movement, a dropping motion, from the bridge.
I look up, glimpsing Lucie, her bright pink dress a blur, as she plunges into the murky water below.