My name's Billy, and I'm a male nanny.

Get this; my first job was to take care of a doll.

Yep. That's right, a grown nineteen-year-old fella's first job as a manny was to take care of a life sized boy doll, called Elliot.

Elliot belonged to an old couple, Mr and Mrs Milton. How they came to bestow love and care on a mannequin is their story.

This is my story – and it begins on the day I broke the one and only rule pertaining to Elliot's care.

"Do not ever cover my son's face!" Stressed Mrs Milton, with an unnerving malevolence. Her unnecessary tone surprised me, but I reacted professionally, "I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing," I replied, sincerely.

......

I didn't purposely break her rule. I'm a respectful guy, a responsible nanny.

It just happened, accidently.

Elliot was dressed for bed and nestling on my hip as we waved the Miltons away for a night out.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I shut the door, turned to the doll and said, "You know what, I'm going to have a snoop around your manor, Elliot."

When I chuckled at the thought of myself talking to a doll, he slipped off my hip. I managed to grab his pajama top before he hit the floor. But as I hiked him back up, the top covered his face – oops!

'No one need know,' I thought.

Disappointingly, I found nothing untoward on my snoop: no secret stairwells, no bookcases that concealed long forgotten rooms, no mummified bodies. No evidence that the Miltons were anything but what they were: wealthy and indulged, grieving parents.

But en route to Elliots' bedroom I was assailed by an ear splitting scream: WAH-WAH-WAH!

It was an alarm.

Instinctively holding tight to Elliot, I ran onto the landing and scanned round for signs of fire and smells of smoke.

None.

I took the stairs two by two with a desperate desire to escape the deafening siren.

My holding onto Elliot meant I could only cover one ear. I should have put the doll down, but I had this innate feeling of care for him.

The siren began to increase in volume and switched from uncomfortable to dangerous, I felt an eardrum might bust. Yet still I held tight to the doll with just one hand on my right ear, leaving the left vulnerable and vibrating.

Relentlessly it screamed its incessant wail, forcing me to seek a place in the vast house that would offer some defense from the violence of its attack.

In the drawing room, I noticed the heavy velvet curtains had fallen to the floor. Realizing they may have triggered the alarm, I continued my flee from its roar.

Swinging Elliot from hip to hip, to give each ear respite from the searing sound, I shouted for anyone who might be in the house. But my shout was futile: silenced by the siren.

Fearing my ears would explode if I remained in the house any longer, I ran for the door.

Grappling with the multiple locks, Elliot slipped from my grasp again. This time he hit the ground and the back of his head smacked the stone floor, bouncing twice before I grabbed him. I pulled him back up by his arm, and continued battling with the locks.

The alarm and concern for the doll hindered my ability to focus on the job in hand. I glanced from locks to Elliots' head, hoping I hadn't cracked it.

WAH-WAH-WAH – I eventually succumbed, dropped to my knees, cradled Elliot, and covered my ears.

My relief was profound when the door suddenly popped open.

Hiking Elliot over my shoulder, I stood up and ran like a dog out of a trap.

When my distance from the manor lessened the sound to tolerable levels, I slowed and checked Elliots' head, fearful of what I might find.

Phew! I saw no signs of any cracks or damage, which would have been beyond disaster.

Placing the doll back on my hip, I composed myself, "That wasn't cool, was it, Elliot?" I said, looking back at the manor. 

The alarm continued its crescendo.

'Should I phone the Emergency Services?' I wondered. But I wasn't sure this was an emergency; and I was mindful not to upset the Miltons by having them return to a home surrounded by firemen, on my first evening of employment.

"You covered his face!" The words made me yelp and I jumped around, defensively.

Mrs Milton's face was like fire: raging. She stood with her husband Henry; his hand caressed her shoulder in an effort to cool her rising rage.

Taken off guard I gabbled, "It was a mistake, for no more than a couple of seconds, that's all," I floundered and tripped over my words, making me sound silly and guilty as hell.

Henry silently took Elliot from me as his wife's shaking began to abate. They walked past and continued stoically towards the manor, seemingly unaffected by the sound.

I trailed behind, head bowed, like a scolded dog.

......

Henry immediately dealt with the alarm, "You may leave Elliot in the sitting room and return to your room," he said, closing the alarm panel by the door.

He turned to me and smiled, "You're dismissed."

"Really?" I said, with disbelief and disappointment.

His face was soft and sorry, but his tone, assertive, "You may leave Monday morning when the rail service resumes. Your pay will be left on the post table for you." He offered me his hand, "Thank you for your service, Billy."

Taking his hand, I asked, "I take it Mrs Milton doesn't believe in second chances?"

He squeezed my hand, "Correct."

Placing Elliot back in the room in which I'd met him, I patted his head and whispered, "It was short and sweet, but I guess my playing with dolls wasn't meant to be."

......

It was with a heavy heart that I climbed the stairs. Truth is, I enjoyed my first day at the manor and was gutted to be fired.

Grabbing my coat, I decided on a walk down to the village to soften the blow of my premature dismissal.

I contemplated a glass of wine, but decided against it as I entered a small pub on the corner of a quaint street.

Walking in was like a horror movie scene cliché – four locals, three men and one woman all stopped talking and looked at me, suspiciously. I smiled, courteously and ordered an orange juice from the friendly looking barman, "You look like you could do with something stronger," he said, eyeing me questioningly as he poured my drink.

"The juice is fine," I said, aware the four customers were listening in.

He lifted an eyebrow, "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said.

I laughed and decided to get it off my chest, "I've been fired, from my first job. Not the best start to my career," I explained.

The gossipy glare of the customer's eyes focused on me. I wasn't bothered, I was used to small town folk and their love of local scandal.

The bar man looked surprised, "Where from? I didn't think anyone in town was employing," he asked.

"The Miltons."

He almost choked on nothing, "They employed a man as a nanny, to look after that doll," he spluttered.

His reaction made me see the absurdity of my firing, "Yep." I took a glug of juice and asked outright, "Did you know the real Elliot?" Aware that I knew nothing of the kid the doll represented.

"Of course I did, I went to school with him, he'd be my age if he'd lived," he said, wiping down the bar. He looked at me with a bemused look, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but looking after a doll isn't a difficult job, how'd you get fired?"

"I accidently covered his face."

A gasp alerted me, I turned to its source and locked eyes with the middle-aged woman in the group, "That makes sense. Elliot had severe phigerophobia," she said, wistfully.

The bar man winked at me, and shouted over at her, "That's a jaw-breaker Grace, what's that in plain English, please?"

She stood up, "A fear of suffocating. Poor little Elliot, all his jumpers and shirts had to have buttons on the back, because he wouldn't let anything go over his head," she explained, with a sincere sadness in her delivery, and a somewhat withering look at me.

The bar man chuckled, "That's right, I remember. The poor little sod was a nervy lad, frightened of everything."

Grace continued, "Yes. Such a shame he suffocated and was fired," she said, shooting me an accusatorial glance.

The bar man, noting my confusion, leaned in and explained, "One of the heavy velvet curtains fell on him, covering his face and bringing a lit candle down with it. He didn't stand a chance, fired to a cinder he was. His death turned the Miltons bonkers, as you well know," he said, conspiratorially.

Draining my glass, the bar man added, "But you know, God works in mysterious ways. He would have had no life with that pair, they're far too possessive and controlling, as you've discovered." He reached his hand out to me, "Put it down to experience and move on," he said, with a firm and friendly hand shake.

As I made to leave, I noted Grace standing by the door. She stopped me, "Do you have any fears or phobias?" She asked, blocking my exit and making it clear she wasn't going to move, without an answer, "I'm not a fan of being hemmed in, trapped. I think it's called claustrophobia," I said, with obvious sirony.

Still she didn't budge. Instead she moved in, uncomfortably close, "I suggest you stop by Elliots' grave on the way back, and pay a little respect." Pissed off by the implication in her words, I said, "Are you suggesting I've been dis-respectful?" Her face was so close I could smell her last meal, "He's buried under the lavender tree on the front lawn." Her voice lowered to a barely audible whisper, "You owe Elliot a prayer."

......

She actually made me shudder, or rather her hammy breath did – not pleasant. I shook off her accusatorial tone, and put the 'curtain fall' down to coincidence; then made my way back to the Milton's manor for my first and final night.

......

A melancholy enveloped me when I let myself back into the gated grounds. Looking up at the sweeping lawns my eyes fixed on the lone lavender tree and I found myself compelled towards it.

The jangle of keys in my pocket suggested that the Miltons still had an element of trust in me and I vowed to talk with them in the morning, to see if a night's sleep would change their minds.

The strong smell of lavender was soothing, and words spilled from my heart with a sincerity that moved me, "I'm sorry if I let you down little fella, that wasn't my intention." Then a jolt of rational hit me and I thought, 'Elliot, you're talking to a dead kid: get real, get out, and move on.'

......

My mind was in pro-active mode as I put the key in the door. 'Get straight back to the agency, Manny Poppins, on Monday, and get a proper nannying job,' I told myself, as I snuck stealth like back into the manor.

"AAAAH!" I yelped, "Mrs Milton, you frightened the living daylights out of me.

I had the distinct impression she'd been purposely waiting for my return.

She spoke with her authoritative manner, "My husband and I have changed our minds." I smiled, somewhat relieved and said, "Thank you, I appreciate the second chance." She thrust her outstretched hand towards me, "Keys please!"

When I gave them to her, she hissed, "We want you to leave at daybreak."

Perplexed and pissed off, I said, "But there's no trains back to London until Monday morning. We agreed I'd leave then."

Her face was resolute and inflexible, "A cab has been ordered at considerable expense. It will collect you at daybreak. Be ready, don't delay."

She turned on her heals, "Goodbye."

Little did I know then, that her Goodbye would be the ultimate Badbye.