I’m just about to hang up when I hear him speak again.
‘Mac?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I forgot to say, it gets easier, you know. Parenthood. Welcome to the club.’
I hang up and return to my library of papers, trying hard to block out the thoughts of Fin. She’s back from her surprise honeymoon now, and she lives in the same city. I don’t know what I would do if I saw her here.Probably the same as always. Pretend.Despite working my way through a mountain of mail, quotes, and accounts, I still can’t get the lingering thoughts of her out of my head. So much so, I’m almost relieved when I hear a quick rap of knuckles against the door.
‘It’s only me.’ Jax, Jacqueline, Mrs. Alesci’s sleek ponytailed head pops around the door, trout pout slicked in bright lipstick. Anna must’ve gone for lunch, leaving Carly, the works experience girl, in charge.The same one who never looks up from her phone.She probably didn’t even notice her pass.
‘Hi, Jacqu-Jax. How can I help you?’ As much as my instincts tell me to get up from behind my desk and bundle her back through the door before she steps over the threshold, I decide it’s probably safer to stay on this side of the room.
‘I was thinking I could maybe help you.’
If this were aScooby-Dooepisode, this would probably be the moment when Scooby says,Ruh-roh.Incidentally, who knewScooby-Doowas no longer appropriate for three-year-olds? According to my sister, it isn’t, even though we were raised on that shit.
‘Ask not what your personal trainer can do for you, but what you can do for your personal trainer,’ she sort of sings.
‘Jax, I’ve told you. I don’t do personal training, but I can give you the number of someone else . . .’You can harass. I don’t really say the last three words. Just think them. Customer service and all that.
She laughs like it’s an inside joke before stepping into my office and closing the door at her back. And I suppose it is a sort of joke. For her, at least; subtle flirting and hints. It’s not a joke I want to be involved in. I can’t afford to—she’d probably take it as encouragement.
A joke that’s easily borderline harassment.
‘Can’t blame a girl for trying. Anyway,’ she adds in a change of direction, her eyes tracking the room. I’m not sure if she’s casing the joint or maybe memorising the layout and contents for a surprise ‘spot the difference’ quiz. ‘Anyway... ’ Her undressing gaze falls to me again. ‘I couldn’t help but hear you were having childcare problems.’
No. Hell no, and fuck no. Please don’t offer to step in. I can’t be that desperate yet. Strangely, Hansel and Gretel spring to mind, me as the woodcutter coming to free Louis from her candy bejewelled house. She’d probably insist I wear leather lederhosen and swing a massive phallic axe. And she’d have her usual red-painted talons and dress in a tiny frock and cape while wearing her hair in pigtails. This weirdly erotic scenario tells me I probably need to get laid.
But no. Still no. Hell no, and fuck no. I’m not letting her look after Louis, and I’m not paying her with gratitude sex. Though, after my month-long abstinence, I’m not sure which of us would be more grateful.
‘I’m sorry, what?’ Watching her mouth move, I’d totally zoned out. Was I watching her mouth or her cleavage?Mouth, I think in relief as words begin to rotate around my brain.Help. Au pair.
Jax folds her arms under her amply enhanced cleavage. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, babe, you look like total shit.’
‘Thanks,’ I deliver with a rueful chuckle.
‘You weren’t even following what I was saying, were you?’ Like a bunny in a pair of high beams, I’m caught, though offer a weak shrug. ‘It’s okay. I remember those days. The lack of sleep really is a killer. You know, I once made Mr Alescio’s morning porridge with breast milk, I was so knackeredall of the time. And of course, hedidn’t help. Not one bit. But I bet you’re not like that. I bet you’re a great dad.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ I reply, rubbing a hand across the back of my head.
‘You just need some help, that’s all.’
‘Look, Jax. I appreciate . . .’ I shake my head as though it might reenergise my brain. How to sayno chance but thankswithout offending her.
‘And my Raphaela would be a godsend for you and the poor little mite.’
Her what? I think I’m getting a headache. Too much caffeine, maybe. And exposure to certain types of people. ‘I’m sorry, Jax, but my brain is pure mush just now. I’ve no idea what you’re saying.’
She pushes away from the door, feeding her hand into her huge purse and pulling out a slim folder.
‘Here, these are her details . . . her whaddaya call it? Her resumé? There are references and stuff at the back,’ she says, placing itandone cheek of her arse on my paper-strewn desk. ‘You’re lucky she hasn’t been snapped up yet, what with her just returning from a year in France and all.’ Her tone turns sultry, her eyes doing that slow blink thing. Not so muchcome-to-bedeyes asfuck-me-over-the-deskeyes. ‘She speaks the language, too. The language of love, they call it. What about you, Mac? Do you speak the language of love?’
‘Ah, no, hen. I barely speak English.’
She giggles girlishly. ‘I think you’ve got a lovely speaking voice. Alldeepandmanly.’ Not subtle. Not subtle at all.
‘So Raphaela has just come back from France, you say?’ Picking up a sheaf of papers, I lean back in my chair and feign supreme interest in her words. ‘And she’s your...current au pair?’And if so, why are you trying to foist her off on me?
‘No, she’s my daughter, silly. And she was in Paris,’ she says standing, hopefully realising I’m—politely—not interested. ‘I’m not sure why she came back.’ She shrugs in a quick aggressive motion. ‘But I do know you can’t always get what you want, can you, Mac?’
No Jax, you really can’t.
