“Sophie,” I said, uneasily. Coco let go of the bars and plopped down on her bottom, then turned around and started to crawl. Tom bent down and scooped her up. Blonde, downy curls around her neck, like a little duckling, the same wide green eyes as Gaia. She was adorable.
“And this is Coco,” Tom said, planting a kiss on her cheek.
I was struck by how young Coco was, particularly since her mother had passed away.
“She’s nine months old,” Tom told me; it was as though he was thinking the same thing. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then pulled himself together. I can tell when people do that. “She’s just learning to crawl,” he said then, his voice slightly loud. “And she can say Dada. Say Dada, Coco. Da-da.”
Coco smiled wetly at him. “Ma-ma,” she said. “Ma-ma. Ma-ma.”
The room was suddenly charged with emotion, and I felt my lies pressing down on me like lead weights. But just then, Coco reached out to me, both her hands open wide. Tom passed her to me and I took her, feeling the lovely warmth of her in my arms. I swear, I’ve never been remotely maternal or gooey over other people’s kids—quite the opposite, especially during the drool stage—but there was something different about Coco and Gaia. Or maybe I just related to their loss.
It was clear that Coco had an interest in my hair—she grabbed on to it and yanked it hard, and even when Tom stepped forward to undo her grip she did it again and laughed hysterically. I pulled a face and she clapped her hands together and laughed again. I pulled another face and she squealed in delight.
“Shall I let you spend some time with the girls?” Tom asked me. “Ellen can fill you in on their routines.”
The urge to run out of there screaming was starting to wane. I was on surer territory now, especially since I felt so comfortable around Gaia and Coco. It almost felt like I’d known them much longer than three minutes.
Serendipity. That’s what it felt like.
Tom left me and Ellen to chat while Gaia and Coco played in the nursery. Ellen told me she’d worked for Tom for just two and a half months, but she was getting married and couldn’t go to Norway. I could see she’d been torn about this and it was clear she loved the girls.
“So you didn’t know their mother?” I said, calculating the length of time Ellen said she’d been in the post and the length of time it had been since Aurelia died.
Ellen shook her head. “No. It’s clear that they were devastated, though they’re so young that it takes a long time to process something like that, losing your mother . . .” She paused briefly. “It was one of the reasons Tom wanted me to nanny for him, while he tried to keep his business going and get his head around it all. I’ve had child counseling training, you see.” She glanced over at Gaia, who was playing with an enormous dollhouse. “They’re doing much, much better now, though Gaia still asks questions. Just so you know, if she asks what happened, the party line is: Mummy had an accident and is in heaven.”
I nodded, though the phrasing made me unsettled. “An accident?” I said cautiously.
Ellen dropped her gaze to the floor. “Suicide,” she said in a low voice. “Terrible, isn’t it? What would drive someone to do something like that?”
The scabs on my arms began to itch beneath my sleeves. “Yes,” I said after a long pause. “Terrible.”
* * *
—
I left an hour later, both exhilarated and disgusted with myself. There was no way I could take the job, absolutely no freaking way. I’d be lying to a family who had been utterly devastated by an unthinkable tragedy.
But on the other hand, I wanted to be a part of their lives.
I wanted to go to Norway, yes, and I wanted a home and a chance to write my book and turn my life around. But Gaia and Coco were sweet, precious girls who had lost their mother to something I knew better than I knew myself, and beneath the usual thrumming cacophony of self-hatred in my head was a quiet but insistent whisper that maybe—just maybe—I could actually make a difference.
It’s up to you, Universe, I thought. Que será, será, okeydokey?
* * *
—
On the train back to York, an e-mail arrived in my in-box.
From: [email protected]
Subject: nanny
Dear Sophie,
Can you start on Monday?
Warmly,
Tom
4
the nanny
NOW
I could not believe it.
I had to scroll up and down a few times to make sure there was no P.S. Just kidding, loser! at the bottom of the e-mail. I even zoomed in on the e-mail address to make sure it was from that Tom, the same Tom with the crinkly gray eyes behind rimless glasses, the same Tom whose sadness had swirled around the room when his baby girl said “Ma-ma,” and then I had to say the e-mail out loud to check that I wasn’t getting the wrong end of the stick—“Can you start on Monday?” really did mean “We’re offering you the job,” didn’t it?
I clapped my hand to my mouth and gave a little scream. I thought I’d come across a little too wired-to-the-moon, especially when Maren was asking all the questions about my nursing degree and vegan cookery.
Speaking of which, I had five days to learn everything I could about veganism, and I figured I ought to brush up on some first aid . . . When I managed to get my hand to stop shaking I e-mailed back and said I’d be delighted to accept the job, and a reply came back shortly after saying that he was delighted, too, and that details of the flight I’d need to book to Norway would follow shortly after from Maren, as well as money to pay for it.
I could hardly keep still in my seat. It was as if every emotion in existence had come blasting into the train carriage in a torrent, drenching me and leaving me gasping for air. I always did feel things a little stronger than the next person, but usually it was Bad Feelings that I felt strongly, and I’d basically gone through life like a dandelion clock, blown to smithereens over and over by an endless series of misfortunes that gusted into my life. But now—now—things seemed to be actually working out, and while it wasn’t a feeling to which I was accustomed, it was the best high ever.
A woman sat in the seat opposite staring at her phone with a frown, and I desperately wanted to reach across the table and shake her by the shoulders, screaming, I’ve got somewhere to live! Isn’t that great? And I wanted to shout about how I felt this was meant to be, that those little girls needed me in their lives and that the book I was writing was going to basically write itself, now that I was going to live in Norway surrounded by moody fjords and sinister, abandoned fishing villages.