Sebastian is unnaturally quiet on the drive up to his parents’ house. They live up in Macclesfield, which is almost a four-hour trip. Cami sleeps for most of the journey, lulled by the gentle vibration of the engine, so we only stop once at a service station to change her nappy. I spend most of the drive sitting in the back seat next to her, watching the countryside flash by outside the window.
“I can’t believe you grew up in Cheshire,” I say, as we pass the fiftieth sheep-filled field. The landscape here is unbelievably different to London. “Where’s your accent?”
“Never really had one,” he mutters, staring straight ahead at the road.
I glance at him. “You okay? You sound stressed.”
He nods, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles blanch. I decide to just shut up and let him drive.
Eventually, he pulls up outside a pretty stone house shaded by large, leafy trees. It’s not flashy, but it’s certainly expensive. A sudden wave of heat washes over me as I look up at the building, and I shuck off my jacket.
“Jesus. I thought it was supposed to be cold up here,” I mutter, fanning myself. “I’m boiling.”
Seb frowns, twisting in his seat to look at me. “It’s eight degrees out, Beth.” He reaches over and touches my cheek. “Your face is all pink. Are you okay?”
“Just hot.” I swallow, stroking down the skirt of my dress. My heart is pounding uncomfortably hard, and I can feel myself sweating under my clothes. He gives me a sharp, assessing look, and I smile. “I promise. If I thought I was sick, I wouldn’t go anywhere near Cami.”
“It’s not Cami I’m worried about. If you don’t feel well—”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Meeting peoples’ parents always makes me nervous. Shall we go?”
Without waiting for a response, I open my door and step out onto the road, turning to lift Cami out of her car seat. She yawns hugely, butting her head against my shoulder. I can’t help but kiss her cheek.
She looks adorable today. I put her in a little dalmatian-spotted babygrow, with pink hair clips pinning back her wild curls. I don’t care if Seb’s mum is the meanest bitch in Britain; there’s no way she’ll be able to resist her.
Seb grabs Cami’s baby bag, and we traipse up the path to the house. Seb is so tense he’s probably in danger of spraining something. He keeps glancing back at the car, like he’s thinking of packing back up and driving away.
I squeeze his elbow as we pull up by the front door. “It’ll be okay.”
He swallows, looking down at Cami. “They’re going to try and bait me,” mutters. “Will you take her away, if I get angry?”
I smile at him gently. “No.”
He blinks. “What?”
“No, I will not remove your daughter from the premises if you get angry. You’re not a bomb; you won’t just detonate and explode her to pieces.”
He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want to shout in front of her—”
“Then don’t.”
“You’re a nanny!” He says incredulously. “You wouldn’t remove a child from the room if her parents were having a screaming match?”
“Of course, I would.”
“But then—”
I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “You might not trust yourself, Seb. But I do. You’re not the Incredible Hulk. If you don’t want to shout in front of your baby, you won’t.” I nudge him with my hip. “Hey. Maybe it won’t be that bad.”
He sighs, takes a deep breath, then rings the doorbell.
The door flies open almost immediately.
“Sebastian!” His mother cries, delighted. Sebastian doesn’t even have time to open his mouth before she throws her arms around him, tugging him into the house. He stiffly returns the hug, obviously uncomfortable, while I look on in shock.
I’m not sure what I expected Sebastian’s mum to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. She’s small and round, with a sweet face and long, grey-streaked hair. Her cheeks are flushed with happiness as she pulls away from her son and turns to me. “And who is this?” She asks loudly.
I offer her my hand to shake. “I’m Beth. Thank you so much for inviting us over, Mrs Bright.”
She beams. “Please, call me Ellen.” Her eyes drop down to Cami. She gasps. “And here is the little angel! Aren’t you beautiful!”
Cami laughs, bopping around in my arms like a helium balloon. Ellen reaches to take her from me, and Sebastian frowns, stepping forward.
“Mum—”
“Oh, hush,” she orders, “let me hold my granddaughter.” She pulls Cami against her chest, smiling down at her. “Oh, she is very sweet,” she coos, tapping Cami’s pink cheeks. “Aren’t you a sweet little girl!” Cami giggles, wriggling happily into her jumper.
Seb puts his hands behind his back like a soldier, and I reach out and squeeze his palm.
“I can’t believe you didn’t bring her to us sooner!” Ellen cries. “We should’ve known as soon as you got her pregnant!”
I open my mouth to correct her, but Seb cuts me off. “Sorry. It’s all been a bit of a rollercoaster.”
I frown up at him.
Ellen rolls her eyes, turning to me. “He was always like this when he was a child, too. Never told me anything. I hoped he’d grow out of it, but he’s just become more secretive as he’s gotten older.”
I smile uncomfortably, not sure what to say.
Ellen blinks. “But why are we standing around here? You must be hungry! Dinner is all ready. I made a chicken roast.” Her forehead wrinkles. “You’re not vegetarian or anything, are you, dear? I’m sorry, I should’ve checked.”
I shake my head. “I eat everything.”
Ellen gives me a soft look, turning back to Sebastian. “Oh, she’s lovely. Where did you find such a lovely girlfriend?”
“I met Beth in our building,” Seb says, before I can answer. “She lives in the flat below mine.”
“Neighbors!” She claps her hands together excitedly. “How romantic! Well, come in, come in. No need to hang around on the doorstep.”
She turns around and bustles into the house. Seb goes to follow her.
I poke him in the hip. “What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Later,” is all he says, following his mother inside. I stare at his retreating back. What the Hell is he playing at? No one is going to believe Cami is my child; she looks nothing like me. And even if she did, I agreed to come here as Seb’s nanny, not his fake girlfriend.
Sighing, I toe off my shoes, shut the front door, and follow behind him. Ellen leads us through a long corridor and into a large, high-ceilinged dining room. There’s a table draped in a snowy-white tablecloth in the centre of the room, filled with covered dishes. A silver-haired man, probably in his sixties, is already sitting at one of the places. He sets down his wine glass and nods as we all step into the room.
“Beth, this is my husband, Steve,” Ellen introduces, bouncing Cami in her arms. “Steve, this is our son’s secret lovechild, Camilla.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell him.
He just takes another swig of his wine. “Can we eat?” He asks his wife, his voice rough.
“Of course, dear.” There’s a high chair set up at the table, and Cami coos as Ellen sets her down into it. “That’s right!” Ellen sings. “I made some food for you too, honey! Is she hungry?” She asks me.
“Oh, I was just going to give her a bottle—”
Ellen tuts. “Nonsense. She’s eating solids, right?” I nod, and she smiles. “Then I’d love for little Camilla to have some of her grandma’s food.” She lifts up one of the dish covers.
“What is it?” Sebastian asks brusquely, looking over her shoulder as she produces a plastic bowl of orange mash.
“Oh, just some mashed potato and carrots.”
“Did you put seasoning in it?” He demands.
Ellen looks bemused. “Look at you, acting like you know what’s best for a baby. Of course I didn’t, it’s nice and plain.” She waves me to one of the seats. “Sit down, please.”
I do, and she bustles around the table, serving us all chicken and potatoes. I’m confused. This isn’t how I imagined Seb’s mother at all. Ellen seems thrilled to see her son and granddaughter. I glance across at Sebastian. He’s sitting ramrod straight, not moving to take the cutlery, watching suspiciously as his mother ties a bib around Cami’s neck.
Hm.
“Please,” Ellen says, finally sitting down. “Eat.”
I reach for Cami’s spoon, but Seb shakes his head. “I’ll feed her,” he mutters.
I nod and cut into my chicken, glancing around the dining room for a topic of polite conversation. The walls are covered in pictures of Ellen and Steve, taken all over the world. I see one of them standing in front of the pyramids; the leaning tower of Pisa; the great wall of China.
“Wow,” I say, pushing potato onto my fork, “you guys travel a lot, huh?”
“Oh, yes.” Ellen beams. “Steve and I have always loved to visit new places, haven’t we, honey?” She reaches across and squeezes her husband’s hand. He doesn’t respond, dousing his plate in gravy. She points to a massive, blown-up photograph of them both standing on a boat deck, holding champagne flutes. “That was our very first trip. We’d only known each other for two weeks, but Steve decided to whisk me away on a cruise. It was so romantic.”
“That’s lovely,” I say, scanning the walls. There’s not one picture of Sebastian. Not a baby picture, or a graduation photo. Nothing. “Did you ever go with them?” I ask him.
He doesn’t say anything, offering Cami a spoonful of mash.
“Oh, Sebastian never came with us. He was always tied up in military camp.” She tosses me a sideways look, cutting into her chicken. “I suppose he never told you about that.”
“Oh, he did,” I say cheerfully.
“And it didn’t bother you?” She asks, her voice incredulous.
“Why would it? I have nothing against the military.”
“Well, it wasn’t a regular military camp, you understand. It was a behavioural correctional programme.” She leans forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Sebastian got into a lot of trouble when he was younger.”
Seb puts Cami’s bowl down with a thunk. “Mum. What are you trying to do?”
I gently take the plastic spoon off him.
“What?” Ellen blinks innocently. “If she’s your girlfriend, dear, she needs to know about your past. I’m surprised you haven’t told her already. It’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”
“Well, he must have been a star student,” I interrupt, smiling down at Cami as she waves her hand, trying to grab another bite of mash. “He’s one of the kindest, gentlest, most well-disciplined men I’ve ever met.”
Sebastian gives me a sharp look. Ellen frowns. I feed Cami another spoonful, and she makes little happy nom nom noises as she scoffs it down. “She really likes your food, Mrs Bright. She’s gobbling it up.”
Ellen smiles blandly. “She is a sweet thing,” she says distractedly. “Although, I have to say, she doesn’t really look like you, dear.” She squints at me. “If your roles were reversed, I’d be accusing my son of sleeping with the postman!”
I’ve just taken a bite of potato, and that image makes me choke on my mouthful.
“I mean, really. Do you have some… exotic heritage in your family tree?” Ellen continues delicately. “I mean, you hardly look it, but Camilla here doesn’t look… fully English, if you catch my drift. And she certainly doesn’t get it from our side. We’re Brits down to the roots.”
I look at Sebastian expectantly. I’m not about to invent a whole racial background just so he can lie to his mother. Sebastian sighs, wipes his mouth with his napkin, and reaches for his glass.
“Perhaps I should have mentioned,” he says calmly, taking a sip of water. “Beth isn’t actually the mother.”
