Once Upon a Wish-Mas Read online

  I pack up our food and fold the blankets. Anything to give me a minute to calm down. My hands are actually shaking with rage, causing me to put the blankets into more of a roll.

  How dare he speak to me like that… And in front of the girls. What a complete arsehole.

  I’m fuming and I don’t want the girls to see me like this, so I take a deep calming breath before heading back inside; ready to face the music. He’s having a heated discussion with Mrs Dumfy. I cringe when I realise she’s taking the flack because of me. They both stop talking and turn, making it pretty clear I’m the topic of discussion.

  ‘Miss Campbell,’ he snaps; his hands behind his back like an ancient headmaster. ‘Can I have a private word with you, please?’

  I’m surprised he’s even bothered putting a please on there. It doesn’t sound like he’s giving me a choice.

  ‘Of course.’ I smile brightly, ignoring my quivering tongue. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I find him a tad scary. Okay, kind of terrifying.

  Jessica’s eyes widen and she starts chewing again on her bottom lip. To think only ten minutes ago we were enjoying a lovely picnic. I shoot her a quick reassuring wink.

  I follow him upstairs, through the kitchen and into his office. It’s far more traditional than the rest of the house. An old oak desk sits next to a library full of books. I try to make out some of the titles, but it’s hard to take my eyes from his face.

  His furious, but annoyingly handsome, face is staring at me as if I’m the devil. He’d really be gorgeous if he just dared to crack a smile. Something I doubt I’ll ever see. He’s got all the characteristics of a model; strong jaw covered with the smallest hint of stubble, olive skin and full lips.

  He sighs and pulls his tie from his neck. Something I definitely should not find sexy. Why do I forever love a bad boy?

  ‘Miss Campbell,’ he starts, sitting down behind his desk in what is clearly a power move. Scratch the sexy. He obviously has a tiny penis.

  ‘Ruby, please.’ I smile. Kill ’em with kindness, that’s my motto. I almost fire finger guns at him. Thankfully I stop myself just in time.

  His nostrils flare, probably at me interrupting him, or maybe because I’m acting unaffected. He probably wants to be quivering in fear, maybe that’s how he gets off.

  I can’t help but feel a smile tugging at my lips. I bite my tongue to stop it becoming a proper one. I don’t want him to burst into actual flames.

  ‘Miss Campbell,’ he says again, his gaze sharpening, as if to reiterate that this is a business relationship and nothing personal. ‘I would appreciate if in future you would check with me before deciding to take my children outside into the cold.’

  I smile, wanting to challenge him. There’s just something about someone being so unnecessary rude that makes me want to be a rebellious dick back.

  ‘Okay,’ I nod. ‘But just to check, does that include their daily walk to school and back? Or a play in the park?’ I can’t help but be sarcastic. He’s being ridiculous.

  He smirks back at me, his eyes anything but amused. He’s pissed off that I’ve called him out. ‘Perhaps when I learn to trust you more, I won’t be so full on and involved. But heaven help me if I don’t think it strange you want to take my children out into the garden for a picnic in November on your first day. I don’t want them getting ill just before the holidays.’

  I hate how he’s looking at me, like I’m some sort of uninformed idiot who didn’t think twice about endangering his children.

  ‘They were fully wrapped up and studies have proved that exposure to outside, regardless of the season, is good for a child’s development. It builds confidence, promotes stimulation through creativity and imagination and also reduces stress and fatigue.’

  His eyes widen. Obviously he’s not got me down as someone who can read. He must think I’m some thick blonde bimbo who couldn’t get a real career so instead decided to look after children. Quite the opposite. Ha, take that.

  I always knew I wanted to work with children. I’ve taken every course available and even done an open university degree in childcare. After losing my own dad I realised how important a stable home is.

  He ignores me and hands over a piece of paper. ‘Here is the children’s itinerary, which I expect you to stick to.’

  I glance down at it. Wow, this guy is proper anal. He’s got their movements planned for every hour; gymnastics, swimming, keyboard, tap dance, ballet. You name it, they’re doing it.

  He hands over a white box. ‘This is your new phone. My PA has synced my diary up with yours so you can see my whereabouts.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, but I already have a phone.’ I mean, sure it’s not as swanky as this new model, but it’s fine for what I need.

  He glares back at me; his eyes like red hot pokers burning through my skull. ‘I expect you to carry this phone with you at all times and be available to take my calls checking in.’

  Jesus, why doesn’t he just put a tracker in my neck?

  ‘Okay,’ I shrug. It’s better than my phone anyway.

  He leans back in his chair; his anger having dissipated slightly. ‘The holidays are a very stressful time for me, what with work and events.’

  Mrs Dumfy did mention that he was in events planning. Plus, when you’ve lost someone the holidays are always hard.

  ‘I’d appreciate it if I don’t have to worry about you too.’ He narrows his dark brown eyes. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  No. Me dumb dumb. You speak slow, easy words for me to understand.

  I sarcastically salute him. ‘Yes, sir.’ You complete jackass.

  Turning on my heel, I go to walk out.

  ‘Oh, and Miss Campbell?’ he calls from over my shoulder

  I turn to face him, plastering on a fake smile. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Try not to let any of that sass rub off onto my daughters.’

  Chapter 3

  Monday 2nd December

  Ruby

  The man is impossible. It’s as simple as that. It’s only been one week, but any fool can see that these girls are missing some fun and spontaneity in their lives. In the first week of looking after them I’ve managed to stay within his rigid routine, while also injecting a bit of fun and love into their lives.

  I started with asking Marge, their cook, if I could make Jessica’s school lunch. She refused, so I asked her if she’d ever made a bento lunch. She looked at me like I’d grown another head, so I introduced her to my pack of goodies, meaning Jessica’s sandwiches and cucumber are now cut into stars and flowers. Her cheese and grapes now sit in brightly coloured silicone cups and I make sure to include a different note every day telling her how fabulous I think she is.

  She likes to pretend that she’s very confident, but it doesn’t take an expert to see that she’s a bit insecure. The poor girl lost her mother when she was just three years old and has since been subjected to a revolving door of nannies. She needs someone to build her up and I’ve decided I’m the perfect person for the job. Seeing her smile when I pick her up from her posh prep school down the road is already making it all worth it.

  Lottie goes to nursery every morning from nine until midday. I’ve volunteered to help with their reading and Lottie seems to love the idea of me being in there. She really is a bit of a clinger, but again, she’s not had a mother’s touch from six months old. Luckily, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how bad Mr Rothchester is; I’m here for the girls and I intend to stay and be their stability.

  They need someone. Their dad doesn’t seem to be in the picture much. Some days he hasn’t seen them at all. Others, it’s a phone call or brief half hour spent with them while he’s distractedly checking his phone. It makes me wonder if the guy cares at all.

  When I pick up Jessica from school, I ask her how school was, wondering what else I can do for her to prove how special she is.

  ‘It was okay,’ she says, kicking a stone on the floor, her face glum.

  I stop and kneel
down to her level. ‘What happened, honey?’

  She shrugs, her eyes dropped to the pavement. ‘Nothing.’

  I raise my eyebrows, as if to say pull the other one. The idea of her sad has me feeling sick to my stomach.

  She sighs, as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders. Life shouldn’t be this hard at six-years-old. ‘It’s just that I want to be on the float.’

  What the hell is she going on about?

  ‘What float, sweetheart? Remember, you’re going to have to be specific. I’m not used to this school yet.’

  Her glassy eyes meet mine. I’ll do anything to put a smile back on her face.

  ‘There’s a local parade just before Christmas. Our school has a float, but the only kids that get to be on it are the PTA kids.’

  ‘PTA kids? What, so they get preferential treatment just because their mums are on the PTA?’ That can’t be bloody right.

  ‘Yep.’ She nods wistfully. ‘And it looks so much fun. You get to dress up as Santa’s elves and learn a dance.’ The slutty dance from Mean Girls flashes through my head and I bite my tongue to stop from giggling.

  Well, I have to put this right immediately.

  ‘Do you know who the head of the PTA is, sweetie?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nods. ‘It’s Clementine.’

  Of course, it is.

  She points towards an immaculate blonde woman walking out of the gates with a young boy I recognise from Jessica’s class.

  ‘Right, well, let’s go then.’

  I march on over to her, dragging a resistant Jessica and a bemused Lottie with me.

  ‘Clementine!’ I shout, stopping her in her tracks. Oops, maybe it came out a bit more aggressive than I’d planned.

  She turns around, a candy sweet, utterly insincere smile on her filler-full lips. ‘Yes?’ She does a quick disapproving glance over my clothes. Today had to be the day I’m wearing dungarees under my leopard print faux fur coat. I smile confidently regardless, imagining I’m in designer and this is so next season.

  ‘Hi, I’m Ruby. I’m interested in joining the PTA.’

  She blinks rapidly. I guess people don’t normally dare talking directly to her.

  ‘Sorry, you want to join the PTA?’

  I look behind myself jokingly. ‘Yep. Me.’ You stuck up bitch.

  She purses her trout pout. How women think that’s attractive I’ll never know.

  ‘I’m afraid that nannies aren’t allowed to join the PTA. It does, after all, stand for Parent, Teacher Association.’ She smiles, as if I’m slow. ‘Sorry.’ She turns to walk away, but I’m quicker.

  ‘I’m sure you’d be understanding to our situation.’ I notion with my eyes towards the girls. She obviously knows they’re motherless. ‘Jessica would just love to go on the float with her friends.’

  She snorts an unattractive laugh. Reminds me of a horse.

  ‘I’m so sick of mothers suddenly wanting to join the PTA when there’s a perk for their child. Us active mothers put in a lot of work throughout the year.’

  What the fuck ever, bitch. Grow a heart.

  ‘Well, I’d be more than willing to put in the work.’ I beam back at her, refusing to back down.

  She looks me over, her lips twisted in concentration, assessing me. I’m desperate to roll my eyes and lean on one hip but I force myself to appear friendly, even if it is through gritted teeth.

  ‘Look, I’d really like to give you a chance...’ She looks like she’d like to do anything but. ‘But the official rules state that you must be a mother. Sorry.’

  This bitch. She turns to walk away.

  ‘You will be sorry,’ I say loud enough for her to hear me.

  She scoffs, hand to her chest, as she spins to face me. ‘I beg your pardon?’ Her eyes shoot lasers, warning me not to cross her. She might as well have said, “what the fuck did you say?”

  This isn’t the first stuck up PTA mother I’ve had to deal with. They’re at every school.

  I fake a sad smile. ‘It’s just that I’m sure the headmistress will be very sad when I inform her that you’ve refused to let me join the PTA. After all, it is about us all working together for the good of the children.’ I smile back at her, just as insincerely.

  She glares at me, arms crossed over her medically enhanced chest. She must have a very rich husband.

  ‘Especially when she finds out that only the children of those parents are selected to ride the float. Seems a bit unfair to me.’

  Her nostrils flare with rage. Ha! Take that bitch. I’ve had my fair bit of practise with bitchy mothers. I’m a veteran.

  ‘Fine,’ she snaps. ‘You can join. First meeting is Friday 6th December. Bring a notebook. You’ll have a lot of work to do.’ She turns, flicking her long blonde locks in my face. The bitch smells of baby prostitute.

  I just hope Jessica appreciates going on the float, because I have a feeling I might regret this.

  Chapter 4

  Ruby

  As soon as we’re home after gymnastics, I tell the girls it’s time to write their letters to Santa. Anything to distract us from that heinous bitch Clementine and her vapid existence.

  ‘Aren’t we too late?’ Jessica asks, her nose scrunched up.

  ‘Of course not, honey.’ I smooth her hair down her neck.

  She shrugs. ‘It’s just that the girls at school sent them months ago.’ I’m sure they did. Spoilt little madams.

  ‘And you didn’t?’ I can’t help but ask. Whatever Nanny was looking after her should be ashamed of herself. Probably too busy being shit scared of Mr Rothchester. I can imagine them scuttling around whenever he was near.

  She smiles, but it’s small and pulls at my heartstrings. ‘What’s the point? I never get what I want.’

  I find it shocking that someone as anal as Mr Rothchester fails to get her the right present. What the hell is up with that?

  ‘Well, have you ever sent a letter before?’ I ask her, hands on my hip.

  She looks to Lottie, already scribbling out a list in crayons. She pulls me to the side so she can’t overhear.

  ‘Ruby, you don’t have to lie to me. Daddy’s already told me Santa isn’t real.’

  I clutch my stomach, as if I’ve been shot. My heart nearly stops. The guy told her Santa isn’t real? What kind of monster are we dealing with here?

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I gasp, finding it difficult to get my words out. ‘Santa is one hundred percent real,’ I state with certainty.

  She sighs. ‘I used to think that when Mummy was alive, but since then I never got what I wanted at Christmas. I asked Daddy about it last year and he told me it was because Santa isn’t real.’

  ‘Well, your daddy is wrong.’ And an insensitive dickhead. Never before have I wanted to head-butt someone so strongly.

  She balks, obviously shocked. ‘Daddy’s never wrong.’

  I scoff a laugh. Yeah, he’d like her to think that.

  ‘Well he’s wrong about this. I don’t know what kind of twisted information your father got, but Santa is real.’

  Her little forehead wrinkles. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’ve always got what I wanted from Santa,’ I say firmly. ‘So, have all the boys and girls I’ve looked after, and do you know why?’

  She looks up at me, chewing on her lip, as if not sure to believe me. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we all wrote letters. I bet since your mummy passed you stopped writing letters and that’s where Santa has got confused.’

  ‘Really?’ she asks, her eyes glancing from side to side if she’s trying to figure it out. ‘I suppose we did stop writing letters. We were all too sad. Daddy doesn’t like Christmas anymore.’

  ‘Yes,’ I nod encouragingly. ‘Santa needs to hear from you, hear that you’ve been a good girl. He probably just assumes you’ve been too busy being naughty.’ She gasps at the very idea.

  ‘So why doesn’t Daddy believe in him?’ she asks, chewing on her bottom lip.

 
‘Well... I bet your daddy wasn’t a good boy when he was little and...’

  Her blue eyes nearly burst out of her skull. ‘He was on the naughty list?’ she shrieks in horror.

  I nod my head, stifling a giggle. ‘I mean, that’s what I’m guessing. But your daddy probably didn’t want to admit that to you, or even himself. That’s why he’s convinced Santa isn’t real.’

  ‘That makes sense.’ She nods. Yeah it does, especially with him being so rude all the time. ‘Wow, so Santa is real! That’s so cool.’

  She hugs me and runs off to join her sister who’s still writing her list.

  I can’t believe Mr Rothchester told her that. What kind of devil spirited man is he? Jesus, trust me to move into Scrooge’s house. I don’t care what I have to do, but these girls are going to have a magical Christmas one way or the other. I make a silent vow to the girls and send a wish up to the Christmas fairies.

  I’ve bathed the girls, Jessica’s read us her story book, put them to bed and am just cleaning up the playroom when I sense a presence behind me. I turn, hoping to god it’s not the ghost of Mrs Rothchester, to instead find Mr Rothchester leaning against the doorframe, his tie pulled down in that way he seems to like. It’s annoying how sexy it makes him look. Sexy idiot that doesn’t believe in Santa.

  ‘I’ve missed the girls again?’ he asks in defeat, as if already knowing the answer. It’s nice to know he actually wants to see them. I haven’t been sure up until now.

  ‘Yep.’ I smile sadly. ‘Can’t be loosening up their very tight schedule, I’m afraid. The boss would kill me.’ I chance a cheeky smile.

  His face softens, just slightly, and I can’t help but notice the darkness around his eyes.

  ‘I’ve heard he’s a real dick,’ he says, with an almost smile.

  I burst out a laugh. Wow, turns out he does have a sense of humour. ‘Oh, he’s not that bad. I don’t even see him much.’

  He sighs as his phone goes off in his pocket. ‘Right, well I’ll try and make it back for them tomorrow.’ He turns to check his phone and walk away.