Little Darlings Read online

  ‘Ace! Stop being such a little pig!’

  ‘I’m a pot-bellied pig, snort snort,’ says Ace, laughing and dribbling horribly. ‘And I’m ever so hungry.’

  ‘I’m a bit hungry too, Mummy,’ says Sweetie.

  ‘Didn’t Daddy give you any tea?’

  Sweetie thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t think we even had lunch.’

  Mum explodes at this. She starts telling me off for not making sure the little ones were fed. I try to explain that we nibbled from the mini bar and then had a large cooked breakfast at half past twelve, but Mum isn’t interested in explanations.

  ‘You must be starving, you poor babies,’ she says, opening her arms wide and giving Sweetie and Ace a big cuddle. ‘You must have some tea at once.’

  ‘Can you ask Margaret to make us pancakes, Mum?’ asks Ace.

  ‘Oh yes, Mummy, I love Margaret’s pancakes!’ says Sweetie.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you can have pancakes, my darlings, if that’s what you want. Claudia, Claudia!’

  Claudia comes practically running. I think she might have been listening in the hall.

  ‘Make the children pancakes for their tea,’ says Mum curtly.

  ‘Oh, I want Margaret’s pancakes with special jam and cream, and she writes my name on the top with strawberry syrup,’ says Ace.

  ‘Margaret is never around on Sunday evenings, Ace, you know that,’ I say.

  I go to help poor Claudia in the kitchen.

  ‘Margaret isn’t around, full stop,’ she says.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s walked out – with John. They packed up early this morning, told your mother when she surfaced and cleared off. I rather think they’ve had a little chat with your dad. He wants John to keep on driving him around – and he’ll need a cook as soon as he gets a new place.’

  ‘Oh, Claudia,’ I say, stricken. ‘Promise you won’t go too.’

  ‘Sunset, I’ve made plans, remember? I did tell you.’

  ‘Yes, but that was different. Dad was still here and everything was OK, sort of. Please don’t go just yet!’

  ‘Do you have any clue how to make pancakes? I know you put batter in a frying pan, but how do you make the batter . . . ? Try not to worry so, Sunset. I promise I’ll stay as long as I can.’

  But Claudia leaves in a few days. It’s not her fault. Mum gets really worked up and angry when the post comes one morning because Dad’s solicitor sends her a letter all about childcare arrangements during their separation.

  ‘I’m not going to go along with this tosh,’ says Mum, crumpling up the letter and throwing it in the bin.

  It’s already overflowing with tissues and take-aways and lots of bottles. Our daily cleaning lady, Danka, seems to have stopped coming too. The house has got really messy without her, and the kitchen is horrible, with stuff spilled all over the floor. Poor Bessie the cat is very upset because her litter tray is really, really dirty and she doesn’t like to use it like that. I have to pinch my nose and tip the horrible litter into a big plastic bag. I try to do a bit of mopping too, but I just seem to smear everything around instead of cleaning.

  I go to the wastebin now, wanting to see the letter.

  ‘For God’s sake, Sunset, don’t start scavenging round the bins,’ says Mum. ‘What can you possibly want in there?’

  ‘I want to know if Dad still wants to see us,’ I mumble.

  ‘Well, of course he does. He’s demanding this and that, wanting to see the three of you every weekend, laying down the law about it – just so he can parade you around with that floosie for the benefit of all the paps. Well, he’s not a fit parent. He can’t clothe you, he can’t even remember to feed you, so I’m not having it. It’s a load of nonsense anyway. He could never be bothered to so much as play with you when he was living here. Why all the big fuss about his rights as a father the minute he walks out? What sort of a father is he, anyway? He doesn’t give a damn about any of us. When has he ever done anything for you, Sunset? He just brushes you away and says, ‘‘Not now, babe,’’ if you so much as try to talk to him.’

  This is so horribly true that I put my hand to my face, trying not to cry. Claudia’s trying to unload and repack the dishwasher. Mum’s crammed it ridiculously full, with saucepans bashing against glasses. She’s already broken several of the stems, and Claudia is fishing shards of glass out as she goes.

  ‘Really, Suzy, you should be more careful. This is highly dangerous,’ she says, wrapping the glass in newspaper. She turns to me. ‘Your dad might be busy sometimes but he still loves you very much,’ she says.

  Mum gets even angrier. ‘Don’t you tell me off in that silly fancy voice! I’m the one who tells you what to do. And don’t try to fill Sunset up with that rubbish about her dad. He doesn’t love her very much. She’s a total embarrassment to him.’

  I feel as if the glass shard is sticking in my stomach.

  ‘That’s the most terrible, unfair and awful thing to say to your own child,’ says Claudia. ‘Your mother’s being incredibly unkind because she’s upset, Sunset. Of course your father loves you. Don’t listen to her.’

  ‘Excuse me? How dare you take that attitude with me!’ Mum shrieks. ‘You’re just the wretched nanny.’

  ‘You seem to have turned me into the chief cook and bottle-washer now,’ says Claudia. ‘But yes, I am the nanny, and I have your children’s interests at heart.’

  ‘You just want to turn them against me, like everyone else,’ says Mum. ‘And I’m not standing for it. You can get out of here now. Come on, pack your bags and go.’

  ‘I’ll very happily go, but not till you’ve made arrangements to have the children properly looked after.’

  ‘How dare you dictate to me! You’ll pack and be out of here in half an hour or I’ll call the police! I don’t need you or anyone else to look after my children. I can look after them myself.’

  So Claudia goes, though she weeps when she says goodbye.

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Sunset. I wish I could stay – but if I insist it will only make her worse. I’m sure she’ll calm down a bit when I’m gone. And I’ve got your father’s mobile number. I’ll let him know the situation. Apart from anything else, I’m actually owed a lot of money, but that doesn’t really matter. You’re the ones who matter, you and Sweetie and Ace. Your parents don’t deserve you – especially you, Sunset. You’re a sweet, warm, lovely, clever girl and don’t you forget it. I’d be proud to have you as my daughter.’

  I start crying then, and Sweetie and Ace join in. We’re all three realizing too late that Claudia is the best nanny we’ve ever had. But she’s off in a taxi and we’re left alone in our huge house with Mum.

  I don’t know what to do. I want to run upstairs and hide in Wardrobe City – but here’s Sweetie and Ace wailing beside me, and Mum flat out on the sofa howling too. So I go into the bathroom and wash my face. When I look at myself in the mirror I hear Total embarrassment, total embarrassment, but I say loudly, ‘Shut up! ’

  Then I wash Sweetie’s face and brush her hair, which calms her down. It’s harder with Ace, who screws up his face and screams, but I cup his chin with my palm and wipe all his tears and snot away. He’s still sniffling when I’ve finished, but at least he’s not messy.

  ‘Now,’ I say, ‘I want you to be Tigerman today, Ace. I’ll help you climb into your costume. And you, Sweetie, are going to be a fairy princess, so we’ll put on your party dress.’

  They both blink at me.

  ‘Am I having another party?’ Sweetie asks.

  ‘We can have a party for you, if that’s what you’d like,’ I say.

  ‘I want a party. It’s not fair, Sweetie’s just had one,’ Ace starts whining already.

  ‘It’s your party too, a special Tigerman party. We’ll have two simultaneous parties. That means two parties at the same time.’

  ‘Real parties, with real food?’ says Sweetie, who is used to my pretending.

  ‘Yes, we can have real par