Free Who Loves You Best by Tess Stimson Page B

doesn’t mind spending my money now that he’s screwed up his business.”
    “Oh, but that’s the thing,” I confide. “Marc’s never been like that. He’s always been really proud of what I do, I’ve heard him boast about it to his friends. He’s got five older sisters; he really respects women. Although,” I add thoughtfully, “none of his sisters has worked since they had kids.”
    “So you’re going to fire me and stay home after all?”
    “Heavens, no. No! I’d go mad if I couldn’t work.”
    “He’s just going to have to deal with it, then, isn’t he?”
    “I suppose he is,” I agree, smiling.
    “You need to make it clear nothing’s changed, Clare. I see it all the time: Men marry a really successful woman, then she has kids, and suddenly he expects her to stay home and turn into a perfect housewife. But if she does, he gets bored with her and fucks off with the au pair.”
    Her language is a bit, well, colorful, but she does cheer me up.
    “Maybe I
should
fire you if you’re going to run off with my husband.”
    “Yeah, but then you’ll be stuck with him forever.”
    I laugh. “Oh, Jenna. What would I do without you?”
    “I’ll remind you of that next time I want a pay raise.”
    I listen to her chatter to Rowan as she takes him downstairs. She thinks I’m joking, but what
would
I do without her? Rowan never laughs like that with me. Jenna is a lifesaver;my rock. Already, after just two months, she’s become the linchpin of the family.
    That first morning, as I waited for her to arrive, I was literally sick with nerves, racing off to the lavatory twice to throw up. Maybe I shouldn’t have hired her; I panicked; maybe I shouldn’t have hired
any
one. I’d made a dreadful mistake. What was I thinking, opening my home to a complete stranger, handing my babies over to someone I barely knew?
    And then she arrived, calm and reassuring, radiating competence. I watched Rowan turn to her, like a flower towards the sun, and knew I’d made the right decision.
    Jenna imposed order. She had the twins sleeping in their expensive cribs in the nursery within a week (though Marc and I still lapse sometimes on weekends and put them in the pram in our room). The nursery looks like a spread from a parenting magazine: the stuffed animals lined up with artful carelessness, Babygros folded just so, crib sheets so crisp you could bounce a coin off them. No matter how closely I try (and I took a photograph one Friday night after she’d left, so I could copy it precisely) I can never make it look quite the same.
    With Jenna in the nursery, I’ve been able to take back control of the rest of my life. I’ve had my hair cut, the leak in the roof has been fixed, I’ve fired the cleaner (who spent all her time drinking my expensive coffee and calling Brazil on my phone) and hired someone who actually knows where the mop is. Craig biked over the account books for PetalPushers, and I’ve caught up with my emails, all four hundred and seven of them. I know that when I go to workthis morning, the twins will be happy and cared for and organized without me.
    The real surprise, though, is I how much I enjoy Jenna’s company. We come from different worlds, of course. I don’t expect us to be real friends. But I’ve never had a sister, and Davina and I are hardly close. It’s so nice to have a girl around.
    Poppy disengages milkily from my breast, and I button my nightdress and take her down to the kitchen. A month ago, I’d have cringed at the very idea of allowing a virtual stranger to see me half-naked and without my makeup, but it’s as if Jenna and I have signed an unspoken pact, and entered a partnership that’s already intimate. A partnership, I acknowledge, that excludes Marc.
    I put Poppy in her pink Bumbo Seat and pour myself a glass of orange juice.
    “Jenna!” I exclaim suddenly, noticing her bruised cheek. “How did you get that?”
    “Cupboard door swung back and caught me,” she says, too