To Lindsay Starwood and guest
Will Marsden & Heidi McPherson request the honour of your presence as they join their hands and lives in holy matrimony.
Please help us to celebrate this very happy union.
Saturday 26 August
Town Hall, Hamilton
It was starting to feel like my world revolved around marriages and break-ups. The term ‘whirlwind’ didn’t even start to cover it. It had been six weeks since Sir Cameron had officially left Alysha and since then life had moved at breakneck speed. The divorce had already been finalised and Alysha had got the house, custody of the kids, a hefty monthly allowance and a 10 per cent cut of the profits from all his future movies. She also kept her wedding ring and the Fabergé egg they received as a wedding gift. Hell hath no fury like a woman with a vicious divorce lawyer.
I was actually responsible for hooking Alysha up with her divorce lawyer, Ivan Sandy, who was the go-to guy for scorned wives in Hollywood. (Alysha had decided her usual lawyer didn’t have enough ‘break-up’ experience.) As you can imagine, he was never short of business. He could find a loophole in any pre-nup and was not afraid to use dirty tactics. According to Fernando, who had been desperate to know the details, Alysha had threatened to leak a story about her husband’s ‘unusual’ sexual preferences to the press if he wasn’t accommodating. The whole deal was signed and sealed within a week.
A quickie divorce was in everyone’s interest as Cindy Berry hit her third trimester. Sir Cameron and his new leading lady made their first public appearance as a couple at the Met Gala. They didn’t have to confirm the pregnancy, because her bump spoke for itself.
I’d heard through the grapevine that they’d already hired a nanny, who’d been told to update her passport so she could spend two weeks in France with them the following summer. I suspected this meant they were planning to get married. A lot of celebrities fly to France to get hitched, because the paparazzi laws are stricter there, and photographers can’t get away with flying over the venue in helicopters or hiding in the crypt of the church.
Alysha was dreading the moment the pregnancy was confirmed, but it actually worked in her favour, thanks to a slip-up by Cindy. The mum-to-be had agreed to give an interview to The Daily Juice on the proviso that she only talked about her latest movie, not her private life. Unfortunately, her agent had underestimated Caesar’s powers of persuasion.
‘CINDY BERRY CALLS ALYSHA APPLEBY A “FAILURE” FOR NOT GIVING BIRTH TO A SON’ screamed the headline the next day. Cindy claimed she had been misquoted, but the damage was done as women around the world turned on her. Meanwhile a ‘Team Alysha’ page was set up on Facebook, and she instantly earnt the sympathy of any woman who’d experienced infertility or infidelity.
Suddenly every television station and magazine wanted a piece of Alysha. She was a household name at last, but was acting unusually coy. ‘I really, really don’t want to talk about it,’ I heard her tell her agent over the phone. ‘I just don’t want to. Stop asking me.’ She finally accepted an invitation from Oprah, but said no to every other interview request.
I’d seen a distinct difference in Alysha since the divorce. She was far quieter at home and, instead of going out for dinner every evening, she had asked if she could eat with the children and me in the kitchen. ‘Umm, Alysha, you don’t need to ask my permission,’ I answered. ‘It’s your house and they’re your daughters.’
I even saw her eat a carbohydrate, when Koko fed her a piece of alphabet spaghetti from her fork. This was a miraculous event.
One evening I caught her watching Cherry and me as we played on the living room floor. I was tickling Cherry, who wiggled on the carpet, letting out happy snorts and giggles.
‘Lindsay, can I ask you a question?’ Alysha asked quietly. ‘How do you know how to play?’ It always amazes me how many parents don’t have this natural instinct. If a director told Alysha to jump, skip or laugh she could do it for the cameras, but she had no idea how to create spontaneous fun. I had faith that she could do it; she just needed to be pointed in the right direction.
‘Cherry,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you sing your mummy the song I taught you yesterday? I’m sure she’d love to hear it.’
The song was ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’. I know nannies who teach their kids pop songs, but I like to be more traditional, and that’s always a crowd-pleaser. Both Cherry and her mother looked hesitant, unused to having each other’s undivided attention.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ I encouraged. ‘Why don’t the three of us sing it together? Alysha, you must know the words from when you were a little girl. Come on, Cherry!’
I stood up in the centre of the room, took a deep breath and began to sing as loudly and tunelessly as I could manage. When I got to the first clap Cherry couldn’t resist joining in, her pigtails shaking as she nodded her head in time.
I glanced across at Alysha and was amazed to see that she was blushing. This was a woman who’d allowed a reality television crew to film her pap smear, but was too shy to sing with her daughter. I silently wished she would let go and live a little. At first just her lips moved, as she mouthed along with the words, and then she grew louder and more confident.
Soon the three of us were belting out the song, stamping our feet and clapping our hands, as the reality television cameras continued to whirr overhead.
I once read a quote by an American journalist named Lester Bangs, who said ‘The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you’re uncool.’ Maybe I should have this printed on a T-shirt for Alysha. From the look on her face, I’d be willing to bet that she’d have chosen that moment with her daughter over her entire divorce settlement.
•
I hadn’t heard a peep from Tommy Grant since he rescued me from the paparazzi; however, that didn’t mean I hadn’t had any excitement in my personal life. I’d had a job offer, which in itself wasn’t unusual, but it wasn’t in my usual line of business.
I’d been invited to spend a fortnight on the superyacht of an Oscar-winning director called Roger Kane, but he didn’t want me to spend time with his daughters; instead, he wanted me to spend time with his nannies. He’d requested that I act as their mentor and school them on how to handle privileged children.
I would be paid $850 per nanny, per day. That meant a pay cheque of over $71,000 for one fortnight’s work. I’d also be flown to Hawaii, where the superyacht was docked.
‘But I don’t need to go,’ I told Alysha. ‘I’m just telling you about the job offer in case you heard it through the grapevine and thought I was hiding it from you. I wanted you to know that they approached me, I’m not job-hunting.’
I hadn’t expected her to give me the time off when her home life was currently so unsettled. However, it helped that Roger Kane happened to be her ex-husband’s biggest rival. If Roger’s life was easier, that would make Sir Cameron’s life harder. She also seemed genuinely excited to have the opportunity to spend extra time with her daughters. I had offered to find a nanny to cover my workload, but she insisted that she could take care of them.
‘We don’t need any more strangers in this house,’ said Alysha. ‘I’ll see if their grandma can come and help out. It’ll be nice to have a houseful of Appleby women for a fortnight.’
Eugenie was delighted and sent me a box of my favourite chocolates as a thankyou for leaving them. I tried not to be offended and hoped they’d want me back at the end of my working holiday.
The morning I left, the six sisters lined up in the hallway to wave me off in a taxi. Goldie had just given her mummy a makeover; Alysha’s hair looked like a bird’s nest, she had a pink heart drawn on her cheek in felt tip and a moustache drawn on in lipstick. After I kissed each child goodbye, Goldie piped up, ‘Now it’s your turn to kiss Mommy.’
Alysha and I exchanged glances, both looking as uncomfortable as each other as Goldie started chanting, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ with her voice getting louder and louder. I was about to step in and silence her when I saw Alysha—who’d been standing as still as a statue—flicker. Was she leaning in? Oh my god, she was! I was sure it would just be an air kiss, because of the no-touching clause, but our faces actually touched, and the children erupted into cheers.
It took all my effort not to laugh as Alysha blushed and looked away. She really wasn’t used to public displays of genuine affection. As I closed the door of the taxi I heard Harlow say, ‘Mommy, you’re the only grown-up left!’
I predicted that while I was away for next two weeks instructing nannies in my yacht–classroom, Alysha would be learning plenty of lessons of her own.
•
‘I’m a supernanny on a superyacht,’ I thought to myself, as my helicopter touched down on the top deck of Roger Kane’s floating mansion. To be counted as a superyacht a boat must be over seventy-nine-feet long, which is roughly the size of a tennis court. From my estimation, this boat was almost double that size. If I stood at one end I couldn’t see the other.
A deckhand, who introduced himself as Josh, helped me off the chopper. ‘There will be no one but staff on board until tomorrow,’ he explained. ‘You can set up your classes in the conference room or the movie theatre, or anywhere really. The entire yacht is at your disposal, so there’s no shortage of options.’
During my career I’ve stayed on some of the world’s biggest superyachts, owned by royalty, presidents and mining heirs. However, Roger Kane’s $200 million mega-super-yacht was on another level. He co-owned it with his best friend, the CEO of a mobile phone company, and it was the ultimate boys’ toy. It wouldn’t be out of place in a Bond movie.
I tried to look unimpressed as Josh gave me a tour of the ship’s seven decks, which included a rock-climbing wall, surf simulator and a rifle range. All the windows were bulletproof, the cinema was soundproof and the yacht was fitted with an ‘anti-paparazzi laser shield’ that was designed to detect and block camera lenses. The entire yacht was also fitted with sensors so the doors opened automatically when you approached them. There was an underwater garage where a mini-submarine was stored next to a limousine. According to Josh there was two million dollars’ worth of art on board, which couldn’t be insured because it was located at sea.
The name of the yacht was written on the outside of the boat in twenty-four-carat gold but had been chipped slightly during a recent trip to the Arctic. According to my tour guide, Roger preferred to sail in colder climates and felt more creative when in the presence of icebergs.
‘Where is Roger now?’ I asked Josh, worried that I wouldn’t make the best impression if I bumped into my new boss in the denim jumpsuit I’d travelled in.
‘Oh, he’s in Egypt scouting a location for his next movie,’ said Josh. ‘He took the children so they could see the pyramids. They’ll be no one but staff on board the yacht for the next few weeks.’
He laughed as he saw my stunned expression. ‘Don’t look so concerned!’ he said, ‘This is a good thing. We’ve got no one to answer to.’
As this news sank in I felt a funny feeling in my ribs. I couldn’t put my finger on it for a while, and then I realised that I didn’t feel anxious. The unusual feeling in my chest was relaxation. For the first time in as long as I could remember I wasn’t being watched by a parent or a security guard.
When I explained this to Josh his eyes lit up with mischief. ‘So, how are you going to celebrate your temporary freedom?’ he asked. ‘I have some very good suggestions . . .’
It seemed the yacht’s crew liked to party when their boss was away, and make the most of the ship’s special features. ‘The liquor cabinet is well stocked and the whirlpool is warm enough for skinny dipping,’ added Josh. ‘If we invite the security team to join in they’ll turn off the cameras.’
However, I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and it didn’t involve getting drunk or getting naked with strangers. There was only one way I wanted to rebel that evening. I planned to do the one thing that I could never ever do at home because I didn’t want to upset the children, set a bad example or be caught on camera. It was the one thing I swore I’d never do in my boss’s home, but now I was away and nothing was stopping me.
I said goodnight to Josh, went to my private cabin and shut the door firmly behind me. Then I sat on the floor and burst into tears. I let out the sob that I’d spent months and months suppressing. I cried like one of the children I cared for, until I was hot, sweaty and exhausted. I cried in an ugly way, not pretty crying, like a damsel in a movie.
I wasn’t even sure what I was crying for, but I certainly felt better afterwards.