Free The Nanny by Melissa Nathan Page B

her family until they all shut up, then said quietly, “I thought I heard a bomb while I was in Hampstead, but I had no idea it had hit my own kitchen.”
    The children, including Dick, laughed at this, so it was Jo alone who took in the scene through Vanessa’s eyes. The kitchen was a disaster. She felt a pang of pity for Vanessa until Vanessa said to her, “I’m sure Dick’ll give you a hand with this lot,” when she felt a much bigger pang of pity for herself. Vanessa was still talking, “Then when you’ve finished, we can go through the week’s schedule. Right!” She turned to her family. “I’m having a hot bath. Approach at your peril.”
    And before Jo had time to cry, “Wait for me!” she was gone.
    By the time Jo had cleared away the mess in the kitchen, learned from Dick where everything belonged, and had just enough time to open her suitcase and look at it for a while, Vanessa felt like a new woman.
    They met at the kitchen table for Jo’s first Sunday evening debriefing. Vanessa was in her fluffy bathrobe, her hair in a towel, and her face cleansed. Jo was in a foul mood, her hair in a mess and her face clenched.
    â€œRight,” started Vanessa, taking a big breath. “Zak goes to St. Albert’s in Hampstead—I recommend beating the rush hour, otherwise, you’ll be in traffic all morning. Cassie goes to St. Hilda’s on the way in Highgate, doesn’t mind being dropped off halfway up the hill if there’s traffic. Tallulah goes to the local Montessori, but we do like her to walk, so we’d rather you drive her back home after dropping the other two off and then walk her up there please. It’s wonderful exercise, one big hill! Lulah gets picked up at midday. Once a week she does Tumble Tots and once a week she does ballet, her tutu’s on the back of her bedroom door, don’t forget it please, she has been known to cry until she turns blue. The other two are out at twenty past three, Zak first, because Cassie’s old enough to start walking home with a friend or doesn’t mind waiting—always find out which in the morning, she often forgets to tell you. After school Zak does Beavers and karate and has tutors for math and English at home, in the dining room. Cassie does drama and music at school, Brownies, ballet, tap, and jazz outside school in Muswell Hill, she can change there, address on the fridge, A-Z with the cookbooks by the kitchen door.
    â€œThe two older children practice piano and recorders once a week each at least, in the dining room. (The local pharmacist has very good earplugs.) Zak needs his recorder for school on Monday, Cassie—treble and descant—on Friday.
    â€œTheir weekly schedule is on the fridge calendar—off the top of my head I can’t remember which day is which. All I do know is that we had a nanny once who took Cassie to karate, Tallulah to Beavers, Zak to ballet, and she was back in the bosom of her family in Norfolk that night. Oh! And of course, whenever she can squeeze it in, my mother, Diane, pops in to see the children—they adore her. All you really need to remember is that Tuesday’s the nightmare day when it’s so stupid you have to make packed teas for all of them as well as lunches—oh that reminds me, Zak’s packed lunches must always have cheesey straws inthem, otherwise he literally doesn’t eat anything else. All day. He also has every pair of pants ironed. Otherwise, he won’t wear them. Tallulah’s lunch box is Tweenies—Zak’s is Superman—Cassie’s is Buffy. Please don’t mix them up or they will be bullied.” Vanessa frowned suddenly. “Any questions?”
    Jo’s brain started curling at the edges.
    â€œOoh,” remembered Vanessa, diving into her handbag. “Here’s your new mobile phone.” She handed Jo a tiny, silver mobile phone. “Needs to be