Mini Shopaholic

Well, not here. No way.

I look around the kitchen, just checking everything is in place. I’ve put up a massive gold-star chart on the fridge, and I’ve labelled the bottom step of the stairs the Naughty Step and there’s a stack of educational toys on the table. But with any luck my first salvo will work and she won’t even get this far.

What you can’t do with Nanny Sue is say, ‘My child doesn’t have any problems,’ because then she catches you out and finds some. So I’m going to be even cleverer than that.

The doorbell rings and I stiffen.

‘Come on, Min,’ I murmur. ‘Let’s go and get rid of the nasty child expert.’

I open the door – and there she is. Nanny Sue herself, with her trademark blonde bob and neat little features and pink lipstick. She looks smaller in real life and is wearing jeans, a striped shirt and a padded jacket like horse-riders wear. I thought she’d be in her blue uniform and hat, like she wears on the telly. In fact, I’m half-expecting the theme music to begin and a voice-over to say ‘Today Nanny Sue has been called to the house of the Brandons …’

‘Rebecca? I’m Nanny Sue,’ she says in her familiar West Country burr.

‘Nanny Sue! Thank God! I’m so glad to see you!’ I say dramatically. ‘We’re at our wits’ end! You have to help us, right here, right now!’

‘Really?’ Nanny Sue looks taken aback.

‘Yes! Didn’t my husband explain how desperate we are? This is our two-year-old, Minnie.’

‘Hello, Minnie. How are you?’ Nanny Sue crouches down to chat to Minnie and I wait impatiently till she rises again.

‘You won’t believe the problems we’ve had with her. It’s shameful. It’s mortifying. I can hardly admit it.’ I let my voice wobble slightly. ‘She refuses to learn how to tie up her shoe laces. I’ve tried … my husband’s tried … everyone’s tried. But she won’t!’

There’s a pause, during which I keep my anxious-mother look perfectly intact. Nanny Sue looks a little perplexed. Ha.

‘Rebecca,’ she says. ‘Minnie’s still very young. I wouldn’t expect any child of two to be able to tie her own laces.’

‘Oh!’ I instantly brighten. ‘Oh, I see. Well, that’s all right then! We don’t have any other problems with her. Thank you so much, Nanny Sue, please do invoice my husband, I mustn’t keep you any longer, goodbye.’

And I slam the front door before she can reply.

Result! I high-five Minnie and am about to head to the kitchen for a celebratory KitKat when the doorbell rings again.

Hasn’t she gone?

I peep through the spy-hole and there she is, waiting patiently on the doorstep.

What does she want? She’s solved our problems. She can go.

‘Rebecca?’ Her voice comes through the door. ‘Are you there?’

‘Hello!’ calls Minnie.

‘Sssh!’ I hiss. ‘Be quiet!’

‘Rebecca, your husband asked if I could assess your daughter and report my findings to both of you. I can hardly do that on a one-minute acquaintance.’

‘She doesn’t need assessing!’ I call back through the door.

Nanny Sue doesn’t react, just waits with the same patient smile. Doesn’t she want a day off?

I’m feeling a bit thrown, to be honest. I thought she’d just hoof off. What if she tells Luke I wouldn’t let her in? What if we end up having another big row?

Oh God. Maybe it’ll be simpler if I just let her in, let her do her so-called ‘assessing’ and get rid of her.

‘Fine.’ I throw open the door. ‘Come in. But my daughter doesn’t have any problems. And I know exactly what you’re going to do and what you’re going to say. And we already have a Naughty Step.’

‘Goodness.’ Nanny Sue’s eyes spark a little. ‘Well, you’re ahead of the game, aren’t you?’ She steps in and beams at Minnie, then at me. ‘Please don’t be apprehensive or worried. All I’d really like to observe is a normal day for both of you. Just act naturally and do what you would usually do. I want to see who the Brandons really are.’

I knew it! She’s set us our first trap. On telly, either the family haven’t got a plan for the day or their child refuses to turn off the TV and they all start fighting. But I am so ahead of her. I prepared for this moment, just in case – in fact, I’ve even rehearsed it with Minnie.

‘Gosh, I don’t know,’ I say in musing tones. ‘What do you think, Minnie? Some home-baking?’ I click my tongue. ‘But I’ve just remembered, we’re out of organic stone-ground flour. Maybe we could make houses out of cardboard boxes, and you could paint them with non-leaded paint.’ ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">