The Mum-Minder (5 page)

Sara was very annoyed about this. It's our buggy and she decided she ought to be sitting in it. Vincent started struggling to get out of the buggy once we got on the platform, so Vincent's mum plucked him out and
popped Sara in his place. This wasn't as sensible as it seemed. Vincent shot off like a rocket up the platform to look for trains. Vincent's dad fielded him niftily but then handed him over firmly to Vincent's mum. She tried taking Clive out of the buggy this time and strapped Vincent back in beside Sara. Vincent yelled furiously and kicked out, trying to escape. He kicked Sara by accident and she screamed. Baby Clive cried too, just to be companionable.

Vincent's dad moved a few paces away and got out his newspaper.

‘Aren't the babies being naughty,' said Gemma, squeezing Vincent's mum's hand.

Vincent's mum looked as if she were about to cry too.

‘I can't have them creating this sort of chaos in my office,' she said anxiously.

‘Don't worry. They were ever so good at the police station yesterday,' I said, trying to reassure her.

‘Well, I don't know what on earth you were all up to, but my Vincent came home absolutely filthy. He left the most terrible fingermarks all over my cream upholstery. Vincent! Vincent, will you
stop
that silly screaming. And you, Sara. Is she always like this, Sadie? And why is the baby screeching his head off?' She held Clive as if he was a ticking bomb.

‘Can't you stop him making such a noise?' Vincent's dad muttered from behind his newspaper.

‘Honestly, what do you expect me to do?' said Vincent's mum crossly. ‘Babies don't have volume control, you know.'

‘He likes it if you jiggle him about a bit,' I said helpfully.

Vincent's mum jiggled Clive. Perhaps she jiggled him a jot too much. He was sick all down his front. He was sick down quite a lot of Vincent's mum's front too.

‘Oh no,' said Vincent's mum, dabbing at the damp bits with a tissue.

‘Pooh, he smells now,' said Gemma.

Clive revved up his crying, obviously insulted. Vincent and Sara were feeling ignored and so they yelled louder. Then the train rushed into the station and Gemma got startled and she started crying too.

All the other people on the platform scrambled to get into other carriages. Nobody seemed to want to sit with us. Vincent's dad looked as if he might get into another carriage too, but he manoeuvred the buggy on to the train while Vincent's mum and I hauled in all the babies. They all shut up when the train started, except Gemma. She decided she was
very seriously scared of trains. She had to sit on Vincent's mum's lap. Vincent's mum's skirt got very seriously creased.

‘I must be mad,' she muttered distractedly. ‘Why did I ever say I'd do this?'

‘Because us girls have got to stick together,' I said brightly.

‘That's all very well. But how can I be taken seriously as a professional working woman when I've got five frightful kids fighting in my office?' Vincent's mum wailed.

‘
Four
kids,' I said indignantly. ‘I'm here to help you.'

‘Quite right, Sadie,' said Vincent's dad, twinkling at me over the top of his newspaper.

‘You can shut up for a start,' said Vincent's mum.

‘Now now. Temper temper. I don't know why you're getting in such a state. You've only got to look after the children for one measly little day,' said Vincent's dad. ‘I'm sure you
can fit them into a corner of your office, give them some paper to crayon on, let them make necklaces out of paperclips— When you think about it, the average office is a wonderful playland for kids. You've just got to use your initiative.'

Vincent's mum squared her shoulders inside her smart suit.

‘Well, I'm going to use my initiative right now,' she said, as the train drew into the station. ‘If you think it's such a doddle then
you
look after the children.'

She opened the carriage door and was off down the platform, her high heels twinkling. We all peered after her, our mouths open. Vincent's dad's jaw was positively sagging.

‘Mummy gone,' Vincent announced, in case we hadn't quite grasped the situation.

‘Oh dear,' said Gemma. ‘I liked that lady.'

‘I don't like her at all,' said Vincent's dad. ‘I can't believe this. How can she do this to me?'

‘Maybe she'll be back in a minute,' I said helpfully. ‘Maybe she's just giving you a little fright.'

She was succeeding too. Vincent's dad had gone pale and lost all his twinkle.

‘What am I going to do?' he murmured wretchedly after I'd unloaded everyone and the buggy on to the platform and we'd stood around waiting for five or ten minutes. It was getting obvious that Vincent's mum really had scarpered.

‘We'll have to go to your office,' I said. ‘We'll fit into a corner, like you said. And we can crayon and I can make them all the paperclip necklaces and it'll be like a playland.'

‘Playland! I want to go to playland!' said Gemma.

‘Playland, playland,' said Vincent.

‘Play!' said Sara.

‘Pa-pa-pa,' said Clive.

‘I wish I'd kept my big mouth shut,' said Vincent's dad.

He wouldn't attempt to take us to his office on the tube. He bundled us into a taxi.

‘Are you a new kind of nanny, Gov?' said the taxi driver.

‘Certainly not,' said Vincent's dad, struggling to keep control of his son while our Sara tore his newspaper into shreds and baby Clive yelled because he didn't know where he was going.

Gemma and I sat up straight and looked out of the windows, as good as gold.

‘Is Playland nice, Sadie?' Gemma asked.

‘I hope so,' I said.

Vincent's dad worked in a great glass building. His office was right at the top so we had to go up in a big lift. It went fast and we all held our tummies and sucked in air through our teeth. Even Clive stopped squawking and hissed in astonishment, not sure whether he liked this new sensation or not.

Vincent's dad worked in a great big room with huge windows.

‘They don't open easily, do they?' I said. I am very responsible about child safety. Vincent's dad didn't seem to appreciate this at all.

‘If they did open then I think I'd throw myself out,' he said. ‘Look at them!'

Gemma and Vincent and Sara and Clive had instantly made themselves at home. They'd taken Vincent's dad at his word. It really was Playland.

Gemma had recognized the computer on the desk and was stabbing happily and haphazardly at the buttons.

Vincent had found a fat felt-tip pen and was decorating a pile of official papers with yellow scribble.

Sara had overturned a big pot plant and was making a mud pie on the carpet.

Clive was lying on his back exercising his lungs, as he was still too little to play properly.

Vincent's dad groaned and called feebly for his secretary.

‘I am prepared to pay you a double wage today, Karen, so long as you take these dreadful children off my hands,' he said weakly.

Karen giggled. ‘Ah yes. Your wife's just sent a fax to see if the children are all right.'

‘The children are fine, as you can see. I'm the one who is suffering. I'd like a black coffee and two aspirin, please.'

I helped Karen round everyone up. She took us to the typing pool. Gemma got disappointed because she thought she'd be able to paddle in this new pool, but she soon perked up when she saw all the word processors. She climbed on and off the typists' laps, playing with these lovely new machines.

All the typists made a great fuss of Vincent too. He ordered them about just like his dad. They sat him up on a desk with a pen and a memo pad and called him Sir.

They found a special job for Sara. The office paper-shredder was on the blink so they sat Sara down with all the unwanted paper and Sara tore and tore and tore it all into shreds. You could soon barely spot her under a great mound of scrumpled paper.