‘Does she have a good track record?’
‘She’s newly qualified, so not yet. But she sounds lovely.’ I realise I’m making excuses for our new tutor.
‘Not being funny,’ Rebecca says, ‘but you’re crazy to hire someone with no experience.’
It’s no surprise that she isn’t over the moon we’ve found someone, but I still can’t work out whether she’s annoyed we’ve managed to hire a tutor for Eva, or if she’s genuinely worried that we’ve got someone who won’t be any good. ‘Surely it’s better than having no one,’ I say.
She purses her lips and widens her eyes like I’ve said something that doesn’t even warrant an answer. Her attitude makes me want to forget the whole tutor thing completely and just see what happens. But another part of me is terrified that Eva won’t get into the grammar and her life will be ruined, all because I didn’t take my child’s schooling seriously enough.
‘I feel terrible that I didn’t sort this out months ago,’ I say. ‘I feel like… I feel like a really bad mother.’ As I say those last two words, I watch Rebecca’s expression like a hawk. If it really was her who arranged for someone to vandalise my car, surely her eyes will widen at the phrase. But instead, they soften.
‘You’re not a bad mother, Gemma. We’re all just trying our best.’ And then she ruins it by saying, ‘I know how important your work is to you. It’s just a case of different priorities.’
‘Actually,’ I say, gritting my teeth, trying to ignore her passive-aggressive bullshit, ‘my mother-in-law says she’s found someone…’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. She’s been given the name of a highly sought-after tutor, who’s also a nanny. So I’d have to hire her to look after the kids.’
‘Your mother-in-law? You mean, Diane?’
‘You know her?’
‘Everyone knows Diane.’
Of course they do.
Rebecca fixes me with a serious stare. ‘Listen, Gemma. I’m telling you as a friend. You’d be mad not to go for the best tutor – as long as you can afford it. If Diane’s suggested this person then you know she’ll be amazing.’ Her lips tighten, and I know the competitive part of her is regretting encouraging me along these lines.
‘Do you really think so?’
‘It’s up to you.’ She shrugs. ‘Of course, if you do hire the nanny, you better make sure she’s not too pretty.’ Rebecca laughs, and I still can’t work out if she’s simply being a competitive mother, or whether she has darker motives.
Eighteen
I park my car almost opposite the house so I’m afforded a clear view of the driveway and front door. My navy Corsa is an inconspicuous vehicle; five years old, it’s well maintained but not flashy. Almost invisible. I realise the husband will be harder to glimpse than the wife. He doesn’t have a set routine, so I’ll just have to sit here and wait. I know he’s a fitness instructor; I’ve already examined his website forensically. It’s professionally done with an up-to-date blog about healthy eating and various fitness tips, gushing testimonials – all the usual bollocks. I’ve dressed in my running gear, just in case.
After more than two hours of waiting, my backside going numb, I’m rewarded. A woman in a blue Mercedes SLK drives up to the house and pulls into the drive. She gets out of the car, goes up to the front door and rings the bell. She’s wearing designer workout clothes, her sleek hair pulled back into a high pony. It’s easy to deduce that this petite, dark-haired woman is a client. But is that all she is?
Using my long-lens camera, I study Ballantine’s face as he and the woman leave the house, deep in conversation. He appears more laid-back than his wife was. He’s handsome in real life, thank goodness. I smile. This might actually be fun.
They stretch together in the driveway and then jog out and off down the tree-lined road. I get out of the car and follow at a distance. Thankfully, I’m reasonably fit, due to my daily runs. There’s probably no need to trail him as I have all I need for now, but I could do with the exercise after sitting around in my car for so long.
And I would also like to see just how flirty Robert Ballantine is with his clients.
Nineteen
This is the second day in a row that I’m doing the school pickup. Yesterday was Mount Vesuvius with Rebecca and Lauren, and today Robert has to work again. I’m beginning to think a nanny might not be such a bad idea. It’s not that I don’t enjoy picking up my kids from school; I do. I love watching their faces light up when they see me in the playground. I love hearing their chattering excitement as they relay the day’s news. It’s just, I’m spreading myself too thin. My phone is constantly ringing and buzzing with questions to answer, problems to resolve, clients to mollify. I’m still no closer to hiring a new manager at work – the northern applicant has potential, but I’m in two minds as she doesn’t quite have the experience needed. If I could just get some help at home as a stop-gap measure until I can sort out a new manager at work, then that would free up my time overall.
I’m about to step out of the car to walk to school when my mobile rings. I don’t recognise the number, but that’s not unusual. It might be a new client.
‘Hello, this is Gemma Ballantine.’
The line is quiet.
‘Hello?’
I’m sure I can hear someone breathing on the other end. Maybe someone’s accidentally butt-dialled me. I end the call and slip the phone back into my bag, but as I do so, it rings again.
