Both boys looked excited by the prospect of live animals in the vicinity of their bedroom and broke into a run as they scrambled upstairs, Joe in their wake with a suitcase under each arm.
‘Come in,’ I said to Jaqueline. ‘Have you got time for a cup of tea before you set off?’
‘Sorry, Hattie,’ said Richard. ‘We can’t stop.’ He had a printed document in his hand, which he thrust in my direction. ‘Itinerary,’ he said.
‘What, for your holiday?’ I said, wondering why on earth I needed a detailed account of their luxury accommodation and activities. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Non. It is for the children,’ said Jaqueline, throwing Richard a withering look. ‘The timings of their school activities, the after-school clubs, Nativity rehearsals, music practice…’ She leaned forward to point to the itinerary with a perfectly BIAB manicured nail. ‘You will see here. Hugo has brought his violin, he should be doing forty minutes a day, Lawrence only thirty on the miniature clarinet –’ she smiled at the indulgence of allowing her four-year-old son ten minutes less practice time than his brother – ‘and on Thursday they do extra because of music class at school on the Friday. There is half an hour allocated each day for spellings and handwriting practice, but you can be flexible about this –’ another indulgent smile before her face turned stern – ‘and, Harriet, they arenotto have television or screens.’ She turned towards the stairs. ‘We will say goodbye now, Richard.’
‘No TV?’ I mouthed silently at my brother, eyes wide as we followed his wife. ‘No TV at all?’
‘We allow it when we’re both home,’ he said quietly, ‘but Jaqueline doesn’t trust the nanny not to just park them in front of a screen to make her own life easier.’
‘Heaven forbid,’ I muttered.
‘And this,’ he said, indicating the itinerary in my hand, ‘is a copy of what we would usually give Magdalena, so,’ he shrugged, ‘I guess same rules apply.’
‘Good to know that I’ve been given the same instructions as your hired help,’ I said as we reached the landing, enjoying the brief flicker of discomfiture on my brother’s face. ‘How very organised.’
‘My assistant, Amandine, prints out the copies,’ said Jaqueline over her shoulder, oblivious to my tone. ‘She is extremely efficient. We like to have a printout in the kitchen so that the boys can refer to it if needed.’
I studied the itinerary in front of me, wondering whether Lawrence at the age of four could actually read that he had Conversational Mandarin on Wednesdays or whether Hugo had to inform him, presumably in Mandarin.
Jaqueline glanced around the spare bedroom, taking in the two foldout beds and their duvet covers, one in pink gingham and one with a floral design, each with one of Layla’s teddies perched on top of the pillows and a small suitcase carefully stashed beside it.
‘Sorry, boys,’ I said cheerily. ‘The only single duvet covers I had were Layla’s old ones. They’re a bit girly but I didn’t think you’d mind.’
Hugo and Lawrence were in the act of peering under the furthest bed and trying to coax out a dubious Margaret. I could just make out her narrowed eyes gleaming at them through the shadows.
‘We do not ascribe gender to colours in our house, Harriet,’ Jaqueline said dismissively. ‘My sons like pink as much as any of the pastel shades and both appreciate flowers and horticulture just as they would football or racing cars or…’ She shrugged as if unable to even think of another designated ‘small boy hobby’, such was her indifference to narrow stereotypes.
‘Well, that is excellent news,’ I said, unsure of how to follow that comment. I turned back to my nephews. ‘Okay chaps, how about we say bye-bye to Mummy and Daddy and then we can unpack before dinner.’
‘Do we have our book bags and Lawrence’s clarinet?’ Hugo asked Richard, a worried expression on his face.
Rich nodded and lifted his son into a hug. ‘All downstairs and good to go, buddy. Got your violin?’
Hugo nodded back and wrapped his arms around Richard’s neck. ‘Goodbye Daddy,’ he said quietly.
‘Daddy!’ thundered Lawrence holding out his arms for a cuddle.
Jaqueline crouched down to her youngest son’s level. ‘Lawrence,’ she said firmly. ‘You will be a good boy for Aunty Harriet and Uncle Joe, yes?’
He nodded seriously.
‘And you will be kind to their cats and respectful of their rules, yes?’
Another nod.
‘And you know that Maman and Daddy love you both very much?’ She pulled him into a brief hug and kissed his forehead.
‘Yes, Maman. I love you too.’
I could have sworn there was a glassy sheen to Jaqueline’s eye as she relinquished the one son and turned to bestow her embrace on the other, but it may have been her mild allergy to cat dander flaring up (the mild allergy she denies at all times,probably because she’s French and doesn’t believe in anything as ridiculous as allergies).
‘And Hugo, my big boy,’ she said, drawing him onto her lap. ‘You will look after Lawrence for me? And be good at school.’
The same solemn nod replicated from his brother.
