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HETTIE GOT TO THE HALL early, as promised by Alexander on her behalf.
Georgia was hurling her breakfast at Fred and chortling as Fred encouraged her with exaggerated dodging. Artie was chewing absently, lost in a book, and Flossie the spaniel was scooping Georgia’s missiles from the floor. There was no sign of Grace, James or baby Sophie, and for a panicked moment Hettie wondered if they’d already gone.
She shouted across the large cluttered kitchen. ‘I’m here!’ Putting her bag on the floor, she forced a smile at the kids. ‘Should you be doing that, Georgia?’
Georgia ignored her, but Artie glanced up. ‘Hello, Hettie. She won’t listen to you. Georgia doesn’t listen to anyone, not even Daddy. Mummy says she was born to rebel, and that’s a good thing for girls.’
Grace blustered into the kitchen, clapping her hands at the table. ‘Fred, Georgia! Eat your food, don’t throw it. Hettie, thank you for doing this. Good Lord, when did life get so bloody complicated? It feels like only five minutes ago when I could throw a rucksack over my shoulder and float off on a jaunt completely unencumbered.’
Hettie accepted Grace’s welcome hug. ‘Maybe at baby two? Baby three? Or would it be baby four?’
‘Yes, alright! I’m greedy, and I wouldn’t be without the little sods. But oh, for those days! I envy you sometimes. Trips to South Africa, boozy weekends with nothing to get out of bed—’
‘Skint, homeless and jobless.’
‘—only because you’re stubborn. Free and unfettered!’
They laughed at each other, and Grace prodded Hettie in the ribs. ‘I am looking forward to this weekend though, thanks so much. You’re sure you’ll cope?’
‘Well, we’ll survive, I can promise you that. Go, enjoy yourself. We’ll be fine.’ Hettie offered up a silent prayer to the gods of childcare.
James appeared with Sophie on his shoulder. ‘Grace is that all the bags? Hettie, last urchin for you.’ He dropped Sophie into her arms. ‘I would like to say they’re easier to manage than a yard full of horses, but it wouldn’t be true. Good luck.’
‘Instructions on the pad,’ Grace said, shrugging into her coat. ‘Artie knows the routine, and Zofia will be here at eight, so you’ll get a bit of relief. I’m sure you will all manage perfectly well without me.’ She dashed a lap of the kitchen, kissing each of her children goodbye, and darted out the door, her waving hand the last part of her visible.
Hettie stood with the realisation she was now meant to be the adult in the house. She had never been more scared in her life.
She was frazzled before Zofia arrived and could have hugged the nanny with weak gratitude when she bustled in and took control with calm efficiency.
‘Keep them busy!’ Zofia instructed in response to Hettie’s repeated thanks and apologies for her own incompetence. ‘Don’t give the little tykes enough time to think up mischief. It’s the only way to survive.’
An hour later they sat nursing coffees. Hettie beheld with admiration the calm domestic disorder of the three older children engrossed in clay modelling. Sophie had been returned to bed for her morning nap. ‘I have no idea how you did that.’
‘Activity, exercise, food. The three golden rules of childcare. Keep spinning them round until they fall into bed exhausted. Snack time when clay gets boring. Then we can take them out for a run in the gardens. After lunch, you’re on your own, I’m afraid. You might get away with playing a DVD for half an hour, but I suggest you have a plan B.’
‘You’re like a real-life Mary Poppins! How much would I have to pay you to stay?’
‘Can’t be done, I’m afraid. Grace already tried. Two of my own at home, a bar job at nights and waitressing at the weekend.’
‘Good God.’ Hettie raised her eyebrows. And she thought her life was hectic. She wondered if there was a Mr Zofia, but it wasn’t the sort of question you could just come out with. She hoped there was, for Zofia’s sake.
She shouldn’t have been so arsey with Alexander about this weekend. He was right, she should stop trying to do it all by herself at Hardacre. And she should stop getting so bloody defensive when he tried to help. Maybe that was why she’d never had a real relationship. It meant learning the art of give and take. She’d never even been good at sharing.
Her resolution to go a bit easier on Alexander was tested as the afternoon wore on. Sophie went through an incredible number of nappies, and Hettie wasted several more with her inept fumbling. Georgia refused to eat, clamping her lips in response to even Artie’s efforts to tempt her. And where the bloody hell was Alexander?
Resolution exhausted, Hettie could have wept with frustration, and while she was reading Grace’s bedtime instructions Fred wandered off and filled the loo with Lego bricks that had to be fished out one by one. When Georgia ended the day with a spectacular tantrum, she came close to joining her on the floor and screaming herself. Artie was a gentleman and a saint in his efforts to help, but he had no more control over his younger brother and sister than she had.
It was nine o’clock before she finally got all the children to bed, and there was still no sign of their uncle. Hettie sat with her elbows on the kitchen table and glared at the ketchup, the debris of dinner and the modelling clay that still littered the table’s surface. Alexander could clean that up. And God help him if he argued, because right now she could happily kill him.
A bottle of wine on the kitchen worktop beckoned to her, but she resisted the call. She needed her wits about her, and she didn’t want to be mellowed when Alexander came in. Eleven days without a cigarette, but she really wanted one now. It was suddenly all too clear why Grace took every chance she got to sneak out for one. You didn’t get a second to call your own with a house full of kids.
Hettie pushed back her chair. She should go and make sure the children were really asleep. She lifted her overnight bag onto her shoulder and climbed the stairs with a mixture of weariness and fear, but all was quiet.
Fred was back to front in his bed. Hettie smiled as she tucked the duvet around him. Artie slept with his mouth open. Georgia’s long lashes were dark against her sleep-flushed skin, her thumb in her mouth. Hettie wanted to reach out and smooth the toddler’s mussed hair, but she didn’t dare risk disturbing her. She crept from the room.
Still no Alexander. Pulling her phone from her pocket she typed a text to Grace: All well, your babies are sleeping. Enjoy yourself xx
And then another to Alexander: Where the fuck are you and what the fuck happened to spending time together? I’m going to bed. YOU CAN DO THE MORNING SHIFT
Hettie drew the brocade curtains, so weary now even folding the heavy bedcover back felt like an effort. She dropped her clothes on the floor, and sighed as she slid between the crisp, white sheets of the four-poster bed.
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SHE WOKE IN A STARTLED panic. For a moment she wasn’t sure where she was, and then she remembered she was meant to be in charge of four young children. It was clearly morning, and from the angle of the sun not early morning either. She hadn’t stirred all night. What if the kids had escaped? Alexander’s side of the bed looked as if it had been slept in, but there was no sign of him now.
Hettie ran out to the galleried landing. No children in any of their beds.
She flew down the stairs in growing fear, which eased only slightly when she heard childish laughter coming from the kitchen.
Fred glanced up from his breakfast. ‘You forgot to get dressed, Hettie.’
Artie blushed.
The kitchen was a scene of cosy domestic bliss. Georgia had a sausage clasped in her greasy fist, and Sophie was gabbling nonsense from Alexander’s lap.
His mouth turned up at the corners with amusement. ‘Nice look. Bacon? Eggs?’
Hettie clenched her fists at her sides. ‘Christ! You scared me half to death. You weren’t here last night, you weren’t there this morning, the kids weren’t in their beds...’
She stood in her underwear, her hair forming a bird’s nest around her head. She clamped her mouth shut when she realised she was ranting in front of the children.
‘Christ!’ Georgia parroted a timely reminder.
‘I was told to do the morning shift.’ Alexander stood up, and transferred Sophie proficiently onto his shoulder. ‘I’m simply following orders.’
‘You weren’t here last night though... I had to do it all on my own.’
How did he know what to do with them? Even Georgia was behaving. Inexplicably, Hettie felt close to tears.
‘I’m here now.’ Alexander stood in front of her, and his tone softened. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night. Artie has been telling me all about your adventures. Go and get dressed. Have a bath if you want to. I’ve got things under control. You’ve run yourself ragged, Miss Redfern, you deserve some time off.’ He put his free arm around her. ‘I thought we could all take a walk up to Lockie’s field later. Let these hooligans run off some steam. Go on, take your time.’
Hettie was torn between the equal desires of relaxing into his arm with the relief of a problem shared or kicking him for his smugness. In her mind she mimicked him, I’ve got things under control. It smarted that he had, and that he was clearly so much better at this than she was.
‘Christ, Miss Redfern!’ Georgia’s words landed on Hettie as if a rebuke of her thoughts, and she chided herself as Alexander steered her back out of the kitchen.
‘I haven’t forgiven you yet, but I will take that bath.’ She lifted her chin and went up the stairs with as much dignity as she could dredge up, dressed in only her bra and knickers.
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THE REST OF THEIR WEEKEND settled more comfortably. The children kept them busy, but it was easier with two. Easier to keep up and easier to bear when things went wrong.
Hettie found herself relaxing into the role of almost-aunt. They were great kids really; rarely an hour passed without one of them providing amusement. She and Alexander laughed a lot. Spending some time together really was good for them.
Sophie was deliciously cuddly. Fred was full of character and kept up a steady banter of hilarious comments and questions so bizarre they left her and Alexander in stitches. Artie was the kindest child she’d ever met, and even strong-willed Georgia was brought round by Alexander, with whom she was clearly besotted.
Saturday evening bath time went without a hitch. They formed a production line, passing squirming naked bodies into the embrace of fluffy towels, before steering their charges off to bed. And Alexander did know how to change a nappy, which came as another surprise.
Ten o’clock found them both sprawled on the sofa in the snug, nursing glasses of wine.
Hettie dropped her head back on the cushions. ‘The kids are great, but this parenting lark is bloody hard work.’
‘Zero to four is a baptism of fire, but I’ve never known you scared off by hard work.’
‘I’m still here, aren’t I?’ Hettie moved her head to his shoulder and closed her eyes.
She might still be there, but this weekend had proved beyond doubt she wasn’t ready for kids yet. Maybe she never would be, because she couldn’t imagine a time in her life when she would feel sorted enough to take on this level of responsibility. Oddly, the thought made her sad. But babies were too big a commitment to even get a grasp on. Another person, completely dependent on her to get it right. She’d screwed up enough times to know she’d probably get it wrong.
In the warmth of the cosy snug, drowsiness muddled her thoughts, and her mind played a slideshow of the day: Fred swinging off Alexander’s hand, Georgia riding on his shoulders, her and Alexander getting the giggles when Sophie gurned at a spoonful of baby food. She smiled. It was a shame she didn’t want kids. Alexander would make beautiful babies, and he was bloody good with them – softer and somehow more vulnerable. With the kids he showed a side most people didn’t get to see. She fell asleep with the thought that she was lucky to know him better than most people.
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ALEXANDER LIFTED THE dangerously tilting wine glass out of Hettie’s hand and set it down on the coffee table. The pipes of the old house creaked as the boiler fired up. The patter of dog’s feet across the wooden floor, and a sigh as the dog flopped down on the rug. He thought about getting up to sort out the after-supper mess in the kitchen, but he was rather too comfortable in the embrace of the aged, sagging sofa.
The old house and its familiar sounds settled around him. With Hettie asleep beside him and the kids tucked into their beds he was rendered strangely lethargic by careless contentment. Spending time with the kids had both worn him out and recharged him. They taught him how to live in the moment, and their open-hearted trust challenged the cynic in him. He tightened his arm around Hettie. It was a shame that innocence couldn’t last forever.