The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

‘Shh.’

I close the door behind me, wipe my feet on the doormat, and drop my bag. Then I reach for him, ruffling his blond mop and pulling him in for a hug.

‘Where is your sister? In her room?’ I ask, and he nods, his head buried in my tummy.

‘OK, well we’ll go up and see her in a minute, but you need to learn to ask nicely, OK? You don’t get anywhere if you’re a grumpy little pup all the time, do you? Come on, I need to let Robin go first.’

I drop a kiss onto the top of his head and release him, and he follows, still muttering darkly, as I head into the kitchen where Robin is at the sink, wiping down the draining board. The room is warm with a delicious smell of cooked sausages in the air. She turns and smiles.

‘Hi Beth. Sorry about the grump. He was fine until he decided he wanted to play that panda game he’s obsessed with and Eloise told him she needed the iPad for her homework.’

‘Oh gosh, don’t worry, I’ll sort him out in a minute. Go, Robin. Sorry I’m a bit late, I had to call in to see Dad and the traffic is dreadful. Not that that will bother you today, of course, you crazy woman.’

She’s folding the dishcloth neatly, her grin widening.

‘Nope. Running today. I know it’s a bit damp but hey, there’s no such thing as bad weather, right? Just the wrong clothes.’

She’s a bit mad, Robin. She’s my ‘cleaner slash childminder’, and she’s definitely a bit of a funny one. Nice, obviously, and super capable and reliable or I wouldn’t have hired her; the kids love her, but she’s a bit … a bit stand-offish sometimes, I suppose. Never reveals much about her private life, or her past. I mean, that’s fine; she doesn’t have to tell me everything, but I don’t even know if she’s in a relationship, has kids (I don’t think so, as she’s never mentioned any), or exactly how old she is, for example. Mid-fifties probably, lean and fit, with short, dark-blonde hair, and her skin is always pink and healthy and make-up free. And – and this is why I think she’s a bit mad, because I’m slightly exercise-phobic myself – even though she lives a good five miles away, right across town, she quite often runs to and from work. If the weather’s really terrible, or she’s short of time, she’ll drive her little yellow Smart car which delights Finley, who, at seven years old, has recently started reading Enid Blyton and thinks she’s borrowed it from Noddy. But at least twice a week she’ll turn up at 8am, red-faced and happy in her running gear, a backpack of fresh clothes slung over her shoulders, having spent an hour bounding across town and out to our place in Prestbury. Mad, right?

She’s retrieved her backpack from its usual spot by the patio doors now and is heading for the downstairs loo to change out of the jeans, ankle boots, and jumper she’s been wearing during the day.

‘Oh, and Jacob popped in for a minute to drop off Eloise’s trainers, the ones she left at his on Tuesday,’ she calls over her shoulder. ‘She needs them for school in the morning, I think. He said he’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘OK, great. Thanks, Robin.’

‘Muuuum …’

Finley is still at my elbow, pulling at my sleeve now.

‘Darling, please, just give me one minute. Run up to your room and choose a book for your bedtime story later. I promise I’ll be straight up as soon as I’ve made a cup of tea, and then we’ll go and see your sister and see if we can borrow that iPad for half an hour, OK?’

He pauses for a moment, squinting up at me, considering my proposal. Then:

‘OK!’

He scampers off and I give a small sigh of relief, yawn, and cross the room to put the kettle on. Robin’s left the place spotless as usual, and for the umpteenth time I thank my lucky stars – or guardian angel or whatever other celestial being might just be out there looking after me – that it was she who answered the rather desperate plea I stuck on the noticeboard in the shop down the road about six months after Jacob and I split up.

Cleaner/childcare help needed for busy single mother.

School runs, after-school care, and light housekeeping duties Monday to Friday.

Please call Beth on the number below.

Days later, Robin was sitting in my kitchen, and twenty-four hours after that I’d hired her. It had been a miracle she’d seen the notice at all, living as she did across town, but she’d been in Prestbury visiting a friend and had popped into the village shop on her way home. She’d recently left her previous employer in The Park after the twins she’d been caring for had gone off to secondary school and didn’t need her anymore. The reference she’d brought with her had been glowing, and when I called later to double check, the children’s mother had urged me to snap her up.

‘Honestly, I miss her so much,’ she said. ‘You’ll have happy kids and a sparkling home. I’m jealous!’

She’d been right, and having Robin there every day to take them to and collect them from school, then feed them and supervise homework until I get in from work has given Finley and Eloise back some of the stability they lost when their father and I split. Eighteen months on, I do indeed (iPad-sharing dramas aside) have happy kids and a sparkling home, and although I couldn’t exactly say we’re close friends, Robin’s certainly become someone I like, trust, and rely on. OK, so there have been, if I’m honest, one or two little … well, I’ll call them incidents, but I’ve let those go. They were minor, and not worth losing her over, and anyway, they were a while ago now. People like Robin are hard to find