Until You're Mine Read Free Page B

give it a country feel. Up this end of the room, near the pine table, there’s a saggy old sofa piled with cushions and a rucked-up rather grubby throw. It’s littered with Lego pieces.
    James folds his newspaper and shifts over. I sit down next to him. He smells of soap. There’s no room for Claudia but she drags a chair over from the table. ‘I’m better perched on this,’ she remarks. ‘It takes a crane to haul me out of that old thing.’
    A moment’s silence.
    Then there are two little boys skittering at our feet. Both identical. They are squabbling over a plastic toy.
    ‘Oscar,’ James says wearily, ‘give it up.’
    I’m not sure why he should. He had it first.
    ‘So,’ I say when the din has subsided, ‘you’ll want to know all about my experience.’ I have it all prepared, learnt off pat. Right down to the colour of my last employer’s eyes and the engine size of their car. Greeny-brown and two point five litres. I am ready for anything.
    ‘How many families have you worked for?’ Claudia asks.
    ‘Four in total,’ I reply easily. ‘The shortest term was three years. I only left because they went to live in Texas. I could have gone with them but preferred to stay in England.’ Good. She’s looking impressed.
    ‘Why did you leave your last job?’ James pipes up. First bit of interest he’s shown. He’s probably leaving the decision-making to his wife so he doesn’t get it in the neck if they end up with a nanny fresh from hell.
    ‘Ah,’ I say with a confident smile. ‘Nannies tend to get made redundant when the kids grow up.’
    Claudia laughs but James doesn’t.
    I was careful to dress down for this morning – sensible tapered trousers for cycling, kind of rust colour, and a high-necked grey T-shirt with a pleasant primrose-yellow cardigan over it. Short and slightly mussed-up hair – trendy but not overly so. No rings. Just my silver heart necklace. It was a special gift. I look nice. Nanny-about-town nice.
    ‘I was with the Kingsleys for five years. Beth and Tilly were ten and eight when I arrived. When the youngest went off to boarding school aged thirteen they didn’t need me any more. Mrs Kingsley,
Maggie
, said I was worth having another baby for.’ I put in her first name because that’s obviously how Claudia likes things to be. First-name terms.
    The way her hands rest gently on her swollen stomach . . . it’s killing me.
    ‘So how long have you been unemployed?’ James asks rather bluntly.
    ‘I don’t see myself as unemployed exactly. I left the Kingsley house in the summer. They took me to their place in the south of France as a good-bye treat then I went on a short but intensive course in Italy at a Montessori centre.’ I wait for the reaction.
    ‘Oh, James. I’ve always said we should get the boys registered at a Montessori school.’
    ‘It was an amazing experience,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait to put into practice what I learnt.’ I make a mental note to re-read the Montessori information.
    ‘Does it help with four-year-old delinquent boys?’ James asks with a smirk.
    I can’t help a little laugh. ‘Definitely.’ Then, right on cue, I’m showered with a bunch of wax crayons. I try not to flinch. ‘Hey, are you trying to colour me in?’ The twin from the front door – I only know this because of the green top he’s wearing – hisses at me through gritted teeth. He grabs a couple of crayons from the floor and hurls them at me from point-blank range.
    ‘Pack it in, Noah,’ his father says, but the boy pays no attention.
    ‘Have you got any paper?’ I ask, ignoring the sting on my cheek.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ Claudia says. ‘I’d say they’re feisty, not delinquent as such. And it’s just Noah who’s occasionally challenging.’
    ‘Birth troubles,’ James adds quietly as the boys fight over who’s going to fetch the pad of paper.
    I look at Claudia and wait for her to tell me. I know it all anyway.
    ‘Not
my
birth troubles,’ she