Once Upon a Wish-Mas Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Laura Barnard.

  First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  This book is dedicated to my amazing mum. Without her helping me in every way possible this book wouldn’t have got done.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Check Out Laura’s Other Titles

  Chapter 1

  Monday 25th November

  Ruby

  ‘Now.’ She sighs, slapping her hands on her thighs. ‘Mr Rothchester is not the easiest to get along with,’ Mrs Dumfy, the housekeeper, explains, with a hard swallow and scratch of the neck.

  I can’t help but think of my favourite movie, Mary Poppins. “Master is hard to get along with.” Well, he clearly just needs a Mary Poppins like me, a Nanny extraordinaire, to come in and help him look after his kiddies. I’ll show him how easy life can be when you have the right help.

  ‘I get on with most people,’ I insist, adding a smile.

  I guessed he was going to be a nightmare when I noticed on the ad it specified “no person with tattoos need apply”.

  I only have a small one, one that they’ll never see, thank god. A stupid butterfly on my lower back. Sure, they call that area a tramp stamp now, but I was fifteen, drunk and it was oh so pretty.

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt that.’ Mrs Dumfy smiles warmly.

  I liked her from the moment I walked into the Notting Hill townhouse. In her late fifties with brown hair tied back into a no-nonsense neat bun, she kind of gives me a Mrs Doubtfire vibe, but obviously without the whole being a secret man thing.

  ‘It’s just that he... doesn’t.’ She grimaces. ‘Not since his wife died, I’m afraid.’

  That’s the only reason I bothered coming to the interview today. I’ve actually already been offered a placement in the South of France but when I heard their mother had died it broke my heart a little. Reminded me of when I was little and my dad died.

  ‘May I ask... how long ago did she pass?’

  Her eyes become glassy. They were clearly close. ‘Two and a half years ago. The youngest was only a little baby, the poor love.’ Her voice breaks a little and she quickly takes out a tissue from her sleeve and dabs at her eyes. It reminds me of my grandma. She always used to have a tissue up her sleeve in case of emergencies.

  Poor little babies losing their mum. I smile back politely. The poor man. I can only imagine the grief he must have suffered, and while looking after two little girls. No wonder he needs help and comes across as unfriendly. He has every right to be angry with the world.

  ‘So, I’m assuming the girls have had a nanny before? Can I ask why she’s leaving?’ I ask the question that always tells me everything I need to know.

  ‘Left.’ The housekeeper purses her lips. ‘She left. Just like all the others.’

  ‘Others?’ I balk. How many have they been through? How unfriendly is this guy?

  She nods. ‘Like I said, Mr Rothchester can be hard to get along with.’

  ‘Right.’ I nod in understanding; he’s clearly a nightmare. ‘So, you’re basically warning me to have a thick skin if I get the job.’

  ‘Exactly.’ She nods with an optimistic smile and crinkle of her eyes.

  He can’t be that awful if she’s stayed working for him. He must have a soft side underneath all that angst. I can’t see her taking his bullshit. She’s friendly and warm, but I can already tell she doesn’t take fools gladly.

  ‘And the job is yours if you want it.’

  ‘Really?’ I can’t help but beam a smile back at her. Don’t ask me why, but even with all these warnings, the place has a good vibe about it. ‘Doesn’t Mr Rothchester want to meet me first?’

  She chuckles. ‘Don’t want him spoiling things before we’ve even got you moved in.’

  She hands over a contract. I take a quick scan of it. On top of my healthy pay is a rent-free room in the basement of the townhouse, use of a chauffeur driven car and expenses. I read closer, noticing the lack of contracted hours being listed. That’s strange.

  ‘Sorry, but how many hours a week is the job? I can’t see it on here.’ It is possible it’s just written in small print.

  She bites her lip and avoids meeting my eye. ‘Well, it’s actually unlimited. Mr Rothchester is very busy with his work. We expect you to look after the girls from morning, through until the evening when you put them to bed. That does mean,’ she hesitates, ‘if one of them were to wake you’d have to deal with it.’

  ‘Right.’ I nod, wondering if they wake every night. ‘But do I ever get a night off?’ I force a laugh.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to only one or two nights off a week, but the fact that it’s not stated in black and white has me nervous.

  ‘Yes, every Tuesday night I’ll stay here so you can have a night out. If you’d like anymore nights off just ask me and I’ll see if I can cover for you.’

  Given how hard it sounds like I’ll be working, I’ll probably just want a pizza in bed.

  ‘Wow, so it’s quite a commitment?’

  Not that the one in the South of France isn’t. They want me to sign up for the next two years and the truth is that they’re all just as demanding as each other. At least this one is being upfront about it.

  ‘It is.’ She nods. ‘But that’s why you’re compensated so well. And remember, it’s just looking after the kiddies. Marge will do all the cooking and I’ll do the cleaning. I see that the house is run properly.’

  Oh, that’s not so bad. I’m used to doing both in my other jobs.

  ‘If you’d like to think about it, by all means take the contract home. But I will continue to interview in case you change your mind.’

  Wow, she’s turning the screws. Sneaky lady trying to lock me down.

  It’s not like I can take it home to look at. I’m currently living in the nearest Premier Inn. When I’d realised I’d outgrown my old family and
decided to leave, I knew I’d only be out of work a few days. Let’s just say I know I’m good at my job.

  My mum died the day after my eighteenth birthday. She was perfectly healthy but had never gotten over the death of my dad. The doctors said they thought it was broken heart syndrome; although they’d never known anyone to die from it ten years after losing their husband. It was as though she’d waited for me to turn eighteen. I already knew I wanted to work with kids. Nannying seemed like it solved both problems; gave me a home, a job, and a family.

  Oh, what am I so worried about? It says here I only need to give one month’s notice.

  If I hate it, I can just leave.

  Maybe they’ll still take me back at the South of France job. I didn’t actually need to start until January, and I hate the idea of twiddling my thumbs at the Premier Inn until then.

  ‘No need.’ I shake my head, grabbing the pen off her and signing my name. ‘I’ll take it.’

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday 26th November

  Ruby

  So, that’s how I find myself moving my luggage into the rather large basement studio flat the next day. Some people might find it sad I can fit all my worldly possessions into three suitcases, but not me. I only ever keep what I need. Everyone knows important things, like your memories, are carried everywhere, all the time.

  The house is a typical Victorian terraced townhouse over a whole four floors. It doesn’t look that big when you look up at it on the street, but it goes way back. Probably cost a couple of million round here. Notting Hill is ridiculous money.

  My room is a self-contained studio flat next to an enormous playroom which leads onto the garden via bi-folding doors. It was clearly done by the wife, as it’s fabulous. One entire wall is blackboard painted with the girl’s names, Jessica and Charlotte, in big bold pink and yellow. One corner is a set up as a little market with the kid’s art hung with pegs on rope, another is a cute and cosy reading corner with fairy lights.

  I’ve been to some fancy houses and playrooms in my time, but this one is Pinterest worthy. It’s clear she loved her kids. Makes it all the more heart-breaking that she left them so soon.

  My space is a complete contrast to the rest of the house. It’s modern and practical, nothing has been done to look nice but just to serve a purpose. But saying that, once I make it my own, I know it’ll be cosy. I’ve lived in far worse.

  This Nanny game doesn’t always guarantee good accommodation. I was once in a box bedroom barely bigger than a cupboard. In fact, it didn’t have a window so I think it could have been a cupboard.

  The rest of the house oozes glamour and somehow at the same time feels homely. It’s decorated in warm browns, oak hardwood floors and original features like fireplaces and sash windows kept in place. I take myself up into the sage green open plan kitchen to meet the girls for the first time. Mrs Dumfy is there with them, waiting for me.

  I smile and drop down to their level; the overwhelming urge to get them to like me strong. The six-year-old twirls some of her long blonde hair around her finger and chews on her lip.

  ‘Hey, little lady. What’s your name?’ I ask, knowing full well. Mrs Dumfy has already given me a detailed brief of them.

  ‘I’m Jessica.’ She extends her hand out for me to shake. Ooh, very formal. I take her little hand and shake it, smiling at her.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Jessica.’ She gives me a guarded smile. Hmm, clear trust issues. Understandable with a revolving door of nannies.

  I pretend to look around. ‘Now, I’m sure I was told you had a younger sister, but I can’t see her anywhere?’

  I look around everywhere, deliberately avoiding the little girl hiding behind Mrs Dumfy’s leg, clinging to a bunny comforter. If only my drama teacher could see me now, and she’d said I’d amount to nothing.

  ‘She’s Lottie,’ Jessica says. She smacks her forehead, dramatically. ‘I mean, Charlotte. Daddy keeps telling me off for calling her Lottie.’

  I wave towards the little girl with the dark blonde hair and chubby cheeks.

  ‘Hi, baby. I’m Ruby. Do you prefer Charlotte or Lottie? That’s all that matters.’

  ‘Lottie,’ she mumbles, her bunny pressed into her mouth. Oh, bless her.

  ‘Okay, Lottie it is.’ I look back at Jessica who giggles mischievously. ‘Just don’t tell Daddy.’ I wink causing her to burst out laughing. I knew I’d win her over.

  ‘Come say hi, Lottie,’ Jessica instructs her, holding out her hand. Lottie dubiously takes it and walks towards me, chewing on her bunny’s ears. Stunning hazel eyes take me in. She surprises me by throwing her little arms around my neck and snuggling into me.

  I snort a laugh, almost falling backwards from the force, but wrap my arms around her little squishy body, breathing in the scent of baby lotion. They seriously need to make a room spray of this scent. It’s my favourite.

  ‘Nice to meet both of you. Now, what do you fancy doing?’

  Jessica shrugs, her blue eyes bored. A six-year-old with no ideas on what to do? I’m not used to this. I’ll have to come up with some options.

  ‘You could help me unpack downstairs. We could have a picnic in the garden or... go swimming?’

  ‘A picnic?’ Jessica shouts, eyes wide, as if it’s an outrageous idea. ‘It’s November. It’s too cold for a picnic.’

  ‘Picnic,’ Lottie repeats, clapping her hands in glee. ‘I want picnic.’

  ‘It’s never too cold.’ I smile mischievously. ‘We’ll get all wrapped up and build a cosy fort.’

  Their eyes light up in wonder. ‘Picnic it is then.’

  Two hours later, we’re snuggled up with all the blankets we could find in the fort we’ve built in the small courtyard garden. Throwing the blankets over the garden chairs, it was easy to build. I’ve never understood people who buy houses as large as this one, but then have a pathetic little garden.

  The girls are all wrapped up in their coats, hats, gloves and scarfs. We’re just sipping out of the little teacups Jessica owns and drinking our hot chocolate Marge, their cook, made for us in a Thermos, when we hear the slam of what must be the back door.

  Jessica’s eyes widen and her body stiffens. ‘Uh-oh. Daddy.’

  I stare back at her in dismay. What kind of six-year-old has this kind of reaction to her daddy? That’s not normal. I’m used to children leaping up and running towards them in excitement. Not looking fretful.

  Footsteps thud towards us, causing my stomach to lurch violently. How bad is this guy? Before I know what’s happening the top blanket is pulled off to reveal the person who I’m assuming is Daddy. We stare back at the man who looks at me in disgust, as if he just caught us in a crack den not a pretend tent made of blankets.

  He’s got a vein on the left side of his forehead which is so engorged it looks like it might burst. His square jaw is tense and his dark brown eyes murderous. They actually look black right now. They’re the kind of eyes I think you’d see just before you’re strangled to death.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ he thunders, his voice booming around the garden. Jesus, man, the neighbours!

  ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ Jessica says straight away, eyes downcast to the floor.

  ‘Sorry for what?’ I ask Jessica. Scrambling up from the floor I extend my hand to him. ‘Hi. I’m assuming you’re Mr Rothchester?’

  He looks down at my hand in revulsion, like I’ve just tried to pass him a pineapple. Like it’s just that random that I might want to shake his hand.

  ‘And I’m assuming you’re the new nanny who decided it would be a good idea to take my children out into the freezing cold garden in an attempt to get them ill?’ he asks, his eyebrows drawn together and his nostrils flaring.

  I balk. I’ve never been spoken to so rudely, and that’s saying something. Nannies are often ignored or treated as if we’re stupid, but I’ve never had someone look at me with such animosity.

  I must remember that Mrs Dumfy warned me. And that he’s lost his wife. I
t’s only natural for him to protect his girls. Saying that, I don’t appreciate his tone. Quick discreet deep breath, Ruby.

  ‘I think you’ll find, Mr Rothchester, that the girls are wrapped up very warmly and we’ve been having a great time enjoying our picnic.’ I smile at the girls in encouragement.

  ‘We have, Daddy.’ Jessica nods, biting on her bottom lip, obviously scared of his reaction.

  ‘Dada,’ Lottie says, extending her arms to him.

  Good idea, kid. Distract him with your cuteness. He bends down and scoops her up as if she weighs nothing. It’s crazy to see someone look so hostile, also holding his daughter like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

  ‘Whatever,’ he barks back at me.

  I stop myself giggling. It’s such a moody teenage boy response.

  ‘I want the girls brought back inside and their routine adhered to.’

  He carries Lottie back inside and curls his finger for Jessica to follow him. She smiles back at me, hesitating, before following him in.

  Well, I’ve met some rude people in my time, but this guy takes the biscuit. In fact, I bet if there was a last digestive on a plate, he would shamelessly snatch it. And who says ‘adhered to’ in real life? I roll my eyes. What a control freak.