after Minnie when you’re at work? Still your mum?’
I nod. Since my maternity leave ended I’ve worked two and a half days a week at The Look, where I’m a personal shopper. While I’m there Mum looks after Minnie, which is brilliant because I can just leave her in the kitchen, having her breakfast, and she hardly even notices when I go.
‘Does your mum take her to playgroup?’
I make a face. ‘Not really.’
Mum’s not into playgroups. She went to Tick Tock once and had a disagreement with a fellow grandmother about who’s the best Miss Marple on TV, and never went back.
‘So what do they do?’
‘Well, it varies …’ I say vaguely. ‘They do lots of educational stuff …’
This is a slight fib. As far as I can tell the programme never varies. They go shopping and have tea at the Debenhams café and then come home and watch Disney videos.
God, maybe Suze is right. Maybe Minnie needs more routine. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.
‘A nanny will knock her into shape,’ says Suze confidently. ‘Plus she’ll organize her meals and washing and everything, and Luke will see how smooth everything can be. And he’ll change his mind instantly. Trust me.’
I knew Suze would have the answer. This is the solution. A nanny!
I have an image of a cross between Mary Poppins and Mrs Doubtfire, all cosy with an apron and a spoonful of sugar and lots of wise, homespun words. The whole place will be calm and smell of baking bread. Minnie will become an angel child who sits quietly making constructive Play-Doh in a pinafore, and Luke will instantly drag me off to bed and ravish me.
I mean, it would be worth it just for the ravishing.
‘Everyone’s using Ultimate Nannies at the moment. They’re the latest thing.’ Suze has already opened up my laptop and found the website. ‘Have a look. I’ll pop down and check on the children.’
I take the laptop from her and find myself looking at a website called Ultimate Nannies: raising well-balanced, accomplished children who will be the successes of tomorrow .
My jaw sags slightly as I scroll down. Bloody hell. These nannies don’t look anything like Mrs Doubtfire. They look like Elle McPherson. They’ve all got perfect teeth and perfect abs and intelligent-looking smiles.
Our modern, trained nannies are loving, trustworthy and educated. They will take full control of your child’s routine and cook a balanced menu. They will stimulate your child’s development, physically, emotionally and intellectually. Ultimate Nannies are highly qualified in child nutrition, safety, cultural enrichment and creative play. Many are fluent in French/Mandarin and/or offer instruction in music, Kumon maths, martial arts or ballet.
I feel totally inadequate as I scroll through pictures of smiley girls with long shiny hair cooking vegetable risottos, bouncing balls in the garden, or dressed up in judo kit. No wonder Minnie has tantrums. It’s because no one’s doing martial arts or making sushi with her. All this time, I’ve totally deprived her. Suddenly making jam tarts in the kitchen with Mum seems totally lame. We don’t even make the pastry ourselves, we get it out of a packet. We have to hire an Ultimate Nanny, as soon as possible.
The only thing is – tiny point – do I want some shiny-haired girl dancing around the place in her tight jeans and sushi-making apron? What if she and Luke really hit it off? What if he wants ‘martial arts’ lessons too?
I hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering over the mouse-pad. Come on. I have to be mature here. I have to think of the benefits to Minnie. I have to remember that I have a loving, faithful husband, and that last time I thought he was playing away with a shiny-red-haired girl whose name I won’t even deign to remember (you see, Venetia? That’s how little you mean to me), I’d got it all wrong.
Plus, if the nanny is really sexy and swishy-haired, I can arrange her hours so Luke never sees her.
Seized by
I nod. Since my maternity leave ended I’ve worked two and a half days a week at The Look, where I’m a personal shopper. While I’m there Mum looks after Minnie, which is brilliant because I can just leave her in the kitchen, having her breakfast, and she hardly even notices when I go.
‘Does your mum take her to playgroup?’
I make a face. ‘Not really.’
Mum’s not into playgroups. She went to Tick Tock once and had a disagreement with a fellow grandmother about who’s the best Miss Marple on TV, and never went back.
‘So what do they do?’
‘Well, it varies …’ I say vaguely. ‘They do lots of educational stuff …’
This is a slight fib. As far as I can tell the programme never varies. They go shopping and have tea at the Debenhams café and then come home and watch Disney videos.
God, maybe Suze is right. Maybe Minnie needs more routine. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.
‘A nanny will knock her into shape,’ says Suze confidently. ‘Plus she’ll organize her meals and washing and everything, and Luke will see how smooth everything can be. And he’ll change his mind instantly. Trust me.’
I knew Suze would have the answer. This is the solution. A nanny!
I have an image of a cross between Mary Poppins and Mrs Doubtfire, all cosy with an apron and a spoonful of sugar and lots of wise, homespun words. The whole place will be calm and smell of baking bread. Minnie will become an angel child who sits quietly making constructive Play-Doh in a pinafore, and Luke will instantly drag me off to bed and ravish me.
I mean, it would be worth it just for the ravishing.
‘Everyone’s using Ultimate Nannies at the moment. They’re the latest thing.’ Suze has already opened up my laptop and found the website. ‘Have a look. I’ll pop down and check on the children.’
I take the laptop from her and find myself looking at a website called Ultimate Nannies: raising well-balanced, accomplished children who will be the successes of tomorrow .
My jaw sags slightly as I scroll down. Bloody hell. These nannies don’t look anything like Mrs Doubtfire. They look like Elle McPherson. They’ve all got perfect teeth and perfect abs and intelligent-looking smiles.
Our modern, trained nannies are loving, trustworthy and educated. They will take full control of your child’s routine and cook a balanced menu. They will stimulate your child’s development, physically, emotionally and intellectually. Ultimate Nannies are highly qualified in child nutrition, safety, cultural enrichment and creative play. Many are fluent in French/Mandarin and/or offer instruction in music, Kumon maths, martial arts or ballet.
I feel totally inadequate as I scroll through pictures of smiley girls with long shiny hair cooking vegetable risottos, bouncing balls in the garden, or dressed up in judo kit. No wonder Minnie has tantrums. It’s because no one’s doing martial arts or making sushi with her. All this time, I’ve totally deprived her. Suddenly making jam tarts in the kitchen with Mum seems totally lame. We don’t even make the pastry ourselves, we get it out of a packet. We have to hire an Ultimate Nanny, as soon as possible.
The only thing is – tiny point – do I want some shiny-haired girl dancing around the place in her tight jeans and sushi-making apron? What if she and Luke really hit it off? What if he wants ‘martial arts’ lessons too?
I hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering over the mouse-pad. Come on. I have to be mature here. I have to think of the benefits to Minnie. I have to remember that I have a loving, faithful husband, and that last time I thought he was playing away with a shiny-red-haired girl whose name I won’t even deign to remember (you see, Venetia? That’s how little you mean to me), I’d got it all wrong.
Plus, if the nanny is really sexy and swishy-haired, I can arrange her hours so Luke never sees her.
Seized by
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