5. Primrose #2
“I thought you were about to say Lavender.” She forces a smile.
“I have four brothers and a Lavender.”
She gives a deep inhale. “He can be a bit of a handful. It’s like someone recently told him being a preteen means you need to be a pain.”
“It won’t be anything I haven’t dealt with before. Besides, the new wave of Whittingtons are unholy terrors,” I add, thinking in particular of my nephew, Gus.
“Yes, but—”
“And I haven’t smothered a single one of them in their sleep or even accidentally-on-purpose dropped them on their heads.” Though I am sure my family will think someone dropped me on my head if they hear about this. But the truth is pretty simple: I’d suffer through a lot for this girl.
Emmy didn’t have the best childhood. Her mum was chronically ill, and there wasn’t a lot of money in the household. This job and its salary have given her a sense of stability she’s never known. So here I am in her stead, and here I’ll stay. For the weekend.
“Go on.” I make a shooing motion with both hands.
“Bugger off. Go see your dad. Give him a hug for me. And also a slap for frightening you like that.” After collapsing at work, he’d been diagnosed with a 90% artery occlusion.
Thankfully, he’s stable now after receiving a coronary artery stent.
But it must still be terrifying. I was quite young when my own dad died but I still recall the fear and the feeling of absolute helplessness. “I promise everything will be fine.”
It might not be the most professional statement I’ve ever made but I’m not by her side in a professional capacity but as a friend.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“That’s easy. You’d get fired.” I give a playful twist of my mouth. “Then you’d probably end up working for Leif and Mimi, and I wouldn’t wish their progeny anyone.”
“I’m sure their children are lovely,” she says, reaching for my hand.
“Pray you never find out.” I give a theatrical shiver. “Anyway, I might find I like this nannying gig and get you sacked anyway. Steal your job.” I give a little shrug.
“Ha, as if.”
“Maybe I’ll like the hours. Not to mention the pay, which is considerably more than my salary will be as a lowly junior doctor.”
“You’d never give it up—it’s a calling!”
“Well, I do love the oldies.” I force a smile. Since she’s moved to Paris, Emmy’s knowledge of my life has been somewhat curated. I’ve been lonely, I suppose. Doubting myself and my career decisions.
“I feel so bad stealing your free time.”
“If I can’t spend my summer break with you, what else will I do?”
“Aren’t they yachting around the Med?”
“I think we both previously discovered I have very bad sea legs.”
“Was it seasickness or was it the bottle of ouzo we drank?”
I smile at another of our adolescent holiday tales. I loved it when Emmy tagged along.
“I’m not spending my summer holiday with my family.
” I wrinkle my nose for effect as we turn for the doors and the cab pulls away from the curb.
“It was bad enough when I was the youngest of the bunch, but now, I’m like the piggy in the middle thanks to their procreation.
And there is literally no peace when the little miscreants are about. ”
“Maybe don’t call Felix a miscreant.”
“Why, can’t he spell it?” Emmy slides me a long-suffering look. “Okay, fine. I’ll just call him a little shit. Joking,” I quickly add.
“You won’t stay with your family, who probably all have nannies, but you’d do my job as a nanny for me.”
“I like you. My nieces and nephews I just tolerate.”
“I know that’s not true. By the way, I told Madeline you like children.”
“I couldn’t eat a whole one.” Madeline must be the mum. It’s probably a good sign she hasn’t got my bestie calling her madame.
“Please don’t say that in front of her, either. She probably won’t get your sense of humor.”
“Who said I was joking? Fine. Sheesh!” I give a theatrical roll of my eyes and make the accompanying mime: my murderous lips are sealed.
When we make it to the Eurostar check-in, I can see Emmy is nervous. “Tell me more about the kids,” I say, bumping her shoulder with mine.
“Felix is twelve and—”
“A bit of a pain, as we’ve already established.”
“I was going to say he has a really quirky sense of humor. And Sylvie is six,” she says, rushing on.
“Great. No bum wiping.”
“It will only be a couple of couple of days. The agency might even get someone there by tomorrow.” She hitches the strap of her purse higher.
“It’s fine and it’s going to be good news about your dad,” I say, catching her hand briefly in mine. “And you’ll be back in Paris before you know it.”
“I hope so.”
“Trust me. I’m a doctor,” I say. “Call me when you get there,” I say, pulling her in for a quick hug.
At the turnstile, she pivots. “Sylvie can’t sleep without her pink bear, and Felix will give you trouble about showering.”
“Of course he will. He’s a boy.” I make another shooing motion with my hand.
“And the boss…” Her words trail off and she pulls a pained face. “Just remember, his bark is worse than his bite.” With that, she spins away.
Great. So Madeline is lovely, but she’s married to a dick. Isn’t that always the way? But I’ve coped with consultants and surgeons with massive egos and very real god complexes. I’m sure I can survive a weekend with one rich arsehole dad.