8     a little rum… with some hot tea

It’s the next morning at about seven AM. I never really am one to sleep in past eight, I guess. But I set my alarm early to pack all my things and hit the road before traffic. Hadley’s home but heading out soon. She has to go to the Watson’s to nanny the twins. She’s even better at her job than I am: and we all know how skilled I am.

It takes a long time to get this good.

I shove my fifth and final shirt into my bag. I have enough clothes in this duffel to last me about a week and a half without washing. That’s pretty good considering most everything I own is currently in my cottage at the Gallows’ mansion.

“Did you remember to pack a pair of heels, love?” Hadley calls from her bedroom. She’s doing her makeup, I think.

“Why would I remember something I didn’t even know about in the first place?” I call back. “Why the heck would I bring heels?”

“Ms. Gallows’ throws dinner parties all the time, honey. He’ll want his staff to look good,” She says.

“Well this staff doesn’t like to look good. I’m a nanny not a prostitute. I don’t want him getting any ideas otherwise,” I say. “I’ll put on those things when I see his butler strut down the stairs wearing a pair as well.”

I walk over to my closet. In the back behind all my glass candles is a stash of books. Not just any books. My word game books of course!

I throw a couple of those in the bag. Who knows? I might need something fun to do in order to distract myself from the hell I’m living.

Excuse the language, please. I’m very distraught.

“Do you think I should bring my lacy panties too?” I shout. “Because you know the ex-mister. He likes his staff to look good, if you know what I mean.”

Hadley lets out a giggle, “Behave yourself!”

“Umm, I could say the same thing to Mister Hands on Buttocks. He can’t seem to keep his eyes off my chest,” I say.

Hadley appears in the doorway. Her long pink hair is let down over her shoulders. She’s wearing her favorite white shirt and jeans. I especially love the sparkly pink shoes: very Madonna.

She reaches up to clip a white bow in her hair. “So you won’t be back this weekend, dear?” She asks.

I shake my head. “Nope. I want to be there as long as the kids are,” I stop and change my wording. “Scratch that- I don’t want to be there at all. I HAVE to be there. I have to be there for Abby, Ben, and Cade.”

Hadley puckers her lip, deep in thought. “Do you think…? You’ll see him again?”

“Him?” I repeat. I turn around to see her bob her head up and down.

Yep.

She’s talking about Harry Styles.

I spin back to my open closet. I busy myself with finding my swimsuit. “No. The feeling is mutual and we’ll keep our distance.”

“What about the other boys?”

I smile. “Don’t worry your pretty head- I’ll introduce.”

Hadley giggles.

“But since when are you a Directioner?” I ask.

“Since forever,” Hadley tells me. She walks up beside me, leaning up against the bedroom wall. She’s a whole ten inches shorter than my 5’ 9’’. “Remember? I took Abby and her friend Miranda to the concert back in February.”

“Oh right,” I say. Duh-uh. She’s got the fever almost as bad as Abigail. “You fancy Niall Horan.”

Hadley grows red in the face. “Do not!”

I laugh, “Of course you do! Blonde hair is so your turn on.”

“Okay… but you have to admit: we would make cute kids,” Hadley laughs with me.

I glance at the wall clock behind her head. “Looks like someone’s shift starts in about ten minutes,” I say.

“Oh!” Hadley jumps up and rushes out of the room. She hates to be late. But before she can leave she skips back to me. “Good luck dear,” She says.

“Don’t need luck,” I say. “Just a little rum and some hot tea.”

Hadley sighs and leaves again. “Don’t kill the man, please! I don’t want to visit you in jail!”

“No promises!” I shout after her. She giggles then I hear the door open and close.

I finish packing my things by grabbing my tooth brush and retainer. I check my hair in the mirror: it’s just as long and wavy as always. I put on an oversized black shirt and a tight pair of military green shorts. It’s boring, I know. But this is my style: very understated and very un-chic. I think I even bought this outfit on clearance. I don’t own anything fancy or name brand. It’s just how I roll.

I’m so posh.

I slip on my ankle high boots before I head out the front door. I’ve left my purse at home because I’m not a big fan of it. Instead I grab my small leather backpack. There are thirty or so plastic buttons stuck on the front. This isn’t even half of them. They’re all from the kids: I told them I collected the buttons and every year since I receive about a dozen different ones on Christmas. My favorites are from the places we have all been together: the London Zoo, the aquarium, Madame Tussauds, and the London Dungeon.

I throw my backpack in the passenger seat of my car and put the keys in the ignition. It’s a very cliché minivan with Barney stickers stuck on the windows.

They see me rolling and they most certainly hating.

I rummage around the mess in the front seat to find my sunglasses. I know they’re here somewhere… Of course. Under Ben’s baseball cap. I put the shades on my eyes and then start on my short journey to the Gallows house. I’ve promised to take the Miss to the airport and drive the kids with me to the dad’s house.

This is going to be a very long month.

I click the sound system on. The CD that Ben and his sister burned for me is still in. I turn the volume up, happy to hear the sound of the classics: the 80’s and the 90’s, baby! Doesn’t get any sicker than that.

I tap my fingers to NSYNC and stare out at the empty road.

What should I do if the ex-mister tries to pull something with me? I doubt he will- there are other women around much more suitable than me. But he’s very desperate… he might just. But remember what Flora said, Lena? You just have to suck it up and work around his creepiness: it’s part of the job. She dealt with the same thing as the maid for years.

I’m thinking all this over in my head when I realize I’m at the mansion already. I pull up the wrought iron gate and push my key. The gates open up for me like I’m the Queen.

Nope. This isn’t my castle.

I just work at the castle.

The mansion is exposed brick and crawling vines. It’s jaw dropping, really. But it’s old news to even me. I’ve been here almost every day for five straight years.

The front door is swinging open.

I’m stepping out of the van at the same time all three kids are climbing in.

“I call SHOTGUN!” Ben screams.

“NO,” I shout just as loud. “Mum automatically gets front seat.”

“Darn,” Ben mumbles and then crawls back with his older sister and younger bro.

I help the miss get all her things in the trunk. We drive about twenty minutes to the airport, the kids arguing about who will get what room the entire time. We bid their mum goodbye at the terminal and she tries not to cry. I reassure her multiple times that everything will be fine: they have me with them, don’t they? We’re on the road to ex-misters place by nine. It’s slowly getting hotter outside. The sun is peaking behind the hills where the trees are taller.

“Are we goin home now?” Cade asks me.

“Erm,” I say. I peak at the four year old in the mirror. He’s holding his favorite stuffed elephant to his mouth and sucking on the furry ear. “We’re going to daddy’s house. That’s where we’ll be sleeping.”

“I don’t wanna go there,” Cade says.

“Dad doesn’t want you there either,” Ben says.

“Benjamin Harriet Gallows!” I warn. “Don’t say things that you know aren’t true.”

Ben rolls his eyes, a classic bratty seven year old move. He can be so ornery when he wants to be, that’s for sure.

I shake my head and put my eyes back where they should be.

“HEY!” I hear Abigail screech.

“Why are we screaming?” I ask; half interested.

“Ben pinched me!”

I groan.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

“Can we go home now, Lena? I wanna go home berry much now.”

“I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you.”

I rub my temples.

Kill me now.

PLEASE.