Clusterf*ck Read online

  With the mess cleared up, the butter’s burning in the pan, and I’m just starting over when I get a glimpse of the cereal bowl.

  “What’s in there, babe?” I ask, because it looks like the aftermath of a tsunami.

  “Cereal for My Ginger. Oats, blueberries, two after-dinner mints which I broke into little pieces like the sprinkles you have on ice cream. Ginger loves after-dinner mints. Peanuts and peaches. Marshmallow, strawberry yoghurt and salted camel sauce.”

  “What sort of sauce?” I’m trying not to laugh.

  “Salted camel. We made some last night to go on our ice cream. Ginger said it was more yummy than what you were eating at the Lodge.”

  “I think it’s salted caramel sauce.”

  Her hands fly into the air again. “I am the chef, Luther. I know what it’s called.”

  “Fair enough. I’m sure Ginger’s going to love that. I can’t wait to watch her eat it. Do you want to come and help me cook the pancakes now?”

  We manage to make the pancakes without any further drama. We share the first one out of the pan, then the second one, before we finally get down to creating a massive stack. I’m desperate for coffee, but struggle, as usual, with the machine. Just as I discover it’s not working because it’s not switched on at the power point, Ginger appears in the kitchen.

  I’m not prepared for the jolt of longing I experience when I see her, and it’s torture not to take her in my arms and kiss her. Employing a nanny is not supposed to be such an unsettling experience.

  “Hide your eyes, Ginger. This is a surprise,” Rachel shouts. She grabs the cereal bowl and hands it to me. “Don’t let her see,” she hisses at me.

  I take the bowl from her and hide it in a cupboard.

  “Good morning,” Ginger says. “It doesn’t look as though I’m needed around here. This looks…industrious.”

  I glance around the kitchen. It’s a bloody mess. “We’ll clean up,” I assure her.

  Rachel tugs on her hand. “We were bringing you breakfast in bed. But you’re here, so we’ll pretend it’s our restaurant. Sit down. Here’s a menu.”

  “Can I make Luther coffee first?” Ginger asks, and I want to kiss her all over again.

  “Yes. But can we just pretend I made it?” Rachel asks.

  “Of course.”

  While Ginger’s making coffee I suggest to Rachel she might want to set the places for us around the island. “Knives, forks, napkins—”

  “I know how to do it, Luther.”

  “Good girl.” Damn, she’s becoming bossy.

  Ginger brings me coffee which I throw back in one hit.

  “A second one?” she asks.

  “In a minute.”

  While Rachel’s distracted trying to decide which side the knives and forks should be placed I take the opportunity to back Ginger into the pantry.

  “Fuck, you look sexy this morning. You’re wearing my T-shirt. It looks great on you. I have more. You can wear them all.”

  She giggles and I kiss her. She tastes of mint and smells like a perfect sunrise.

  “Thank you for the massage last night. I had the most wonderful sleep.”

  “I can do that for you every night.”

  “You should add that to the perks on the nanny app—”

  “Come out of the pantry. I know you’re hiding in there.” Rachel’s knocking on the door.

  “She’s very alert in the mornings, isn’t she?” I say.

  Ginger kisses me again quickly before opening the door. “Do not ever think you can put one across her,” she warns.

  “Got it.”

  “Sit down, please, Ginger. Here is your menu,” Rachel says.

  “Officious, too,” I mutter.

  Watching Ginger try to eat the cereal is one of the funniest things I’ve seen. Rachel asks for updates, and Ginger offers to share the dish, but Rachel pulls a face.

  “Ick. Oats,” she says.

  “You’re on your own, Ginge,” I say. “Another pancake, Rachel?”

  “Yes, please, Luther. These are dah-lush-us.” Her arm swings through the air, emphasizing her words.

  “Keep the fork low, babe. Ginger nearly lost an eye there.”

  Rachel giggles and her fork clatters to the countertop. “Whoops. Naughty fork,” she says, picking it up and shaking her finger at it.

  “School starts Monday. I think we should look into drama classes,” Ginger says.

  “I think we shouldn’t. This doesn’t need encouragement.”

  “What are you two doing today?” Ginger asks.

  Rachel reels off a list of activities that would take a week to accomplish.

  “That’s us sorted,” I say. “What about you?”

  “I’m meeting Maraea for coffee. Have to take Mom grocery shopping.” She puts on a fake smile.

  “Can I come?” Rachel asks.

  “No, sweetheart,” I say quickly, before the girls hatch other ideas. “It’s Ginger’s day off, so you and I are going to do stuff together for a while, then you have Matilda’s birthday party.”

  “But I want to go with Ginger.” A whine I haven’t heard before creeps into Rachel’s voice.

  “I know, but we have to let Ginger have some time to herself.”

  “I want to meet Ginger’s Mommy.” The whine’s growing to siren pitch.

  Crap on a cracker. “I’m sorry, Rachel, that’s not going to work.” There’s a different sort of edge in my voice. One I don’t like.

  “I don’t have a Mommy. I want to see Ginger’s Mommy.” The fork is dropped. Her elbows land on the counter, and two fists go up to her temples to support her head. Her bottom lip wobbles as she stares at her plate.

  “Rachel,” Ginger cuts in.

  Rachel keeps her head down.

  “Look at me, darling.” Ginger takes hold of her chin gently and turns her head. “No tears, okay? My Mommy isn’t very well, and she doesn’t like having visitors.”

  “Why not?”

  “Have you ever been sick?”

  “I had a sore tummy last year.”

  “Did you want visitors when you had a sore tummy?”

  Rachel shakes her head.

  “Well, my Mommy isn’t very well, and she only wants to see me today.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you going to finish that pancake?”

  She shakes her head. “My tummy’s full. And I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Off you go, then. Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

  We wait while Rachel leaves the kitchen. “You rescued that well, thank you,” I say.

  “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have mentioned my mother in front of her. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s cool.” I go around the island to her and to rub the tension from her shoulders.

  “Any advance on the nanny search?” she asks.

  “Not yet.” I can’t tell her that I haven’t done a thing.

  “Let me rephrase. Any attempt at a nanny search?”

  “Sorry, no, I’ve been busy. Are you in that much of a hurry to leave us?”

  Ginger sighs. “I don’t know, Luther. I’m confused, about us and everything. And that little incident that just took place suggests I’m really not the person for this job.”

  “Let me sort something out. Are you going out tonight?” I hold my breath while I wait for her answer.

  “No. I didn’t get around to organizing anything. Darcy is away, and Maraea has some dance thing on.”

  It’s wrong how relieved I am that she’s not hitting the town’s bars tonight. “I’ve got a pizza oven outside, and I promised Rachel we could make pizzas. Have pizza with us. I promise you won’t have to do any cooking.”

  “I’d like that. And I don’t mind about cooking. I enjoy it. Anyway, after the cereal, I’m kinda nervous about Rachel’s ideas for pizza toppings.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve told her I’ll take her shopping today to buy a couple of DVDs. I think she’ll be keen to be
in front of the television.”

  “In that case, definitely yes.”

  I sidle up to her intending to get some more morning kissing dealt with before the rascal returns. I find the little place at the back of her neck that’s guaranteed to send shivers through her body.

  “You do realize that nannying by television is a criminal offense,” she says as my tongue finds the perfect spot on her neck.

  “I’m pleading extenuating circumstances, Your Honor—”

  “What are you doing to Ginger?”

  Spell broken. God help me, this punishment is torture. “You know I have to check to see if she’s washed behind her ears. Ginger can be very forgetful.”

  Rachel giggles. “It looked like you were kissing.”

  “Silly girl,” I say, ruffling her hair.

  It hits me again. This is so simple. In the kitchen with Ginger and Rachel, and I’m relaxed and happy.

  28 ~ GINGER

  Luther insisted I take the car for the day, which is great, but Mom is going to be suspicious about me driving around in a brand-new SUV. I arrive at her house and, of course, that downpipe is dangling free from the guttering again. I have some money now, so I’ll arrange for a plumber or roofer to fix it.

  She greets me in the hallway. My stomach shouldn’t churn the way it does when I’m in her presence but I feel as though I have to be even more cautious than usual today.

  “Hi, Mom, you’re looking nice today.” It’s true. She’s actually a very good-looking woman. We hug briefly.

  “So do you, dear. I have my shopping list ready. I know how busy you are.”

  I have to stop myself from looking for the trap in everything she says.

  “Thanks. Where would you like to go today? I thought we could have lunch at the new cafe at the garden center. After we could get some flowers for the front garden.”

  “It’s too early to plant there. And with my back, I can’t garden anymore.”

  The back complaint is new. Last week it was her knee.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your back. I’m happy to dig the garden over and do the planting for you.” Our conversation always starts out so stilted, and I have to force myself not to overcompensate with nervous chatter.

  “Maybe in spring. I’ll get my bag.”

  She stops at the front door when she sees the car. “Very nice, Ginger. Whose car is that?”

  “It comes with the job, so it’s not mine, but I get to use it.” I open the door for her and wait until she’s settled.

  “This is luxurious. Especially after your old car.” She chuckles. “Whose child is it again, that you’re looking after?”

  She knows the answer because we’ve discussed it already. I press the console button and the engine purrs to life. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do it without cringing about that first day when I couldn’t work out how to start the car. “The child is Rachel. Luther Angstrom is her guardian.”

  “How Victorian of him. He always was a showman. Even as a child. All of the Angstroms have airs.”

  As far as Mom’s insults go, that was pretty mild so I don’t leap to Luther’s defense. He’s quite capable of taking care of his reputation and with Mom, you pick your battles. She also seems to be in a good mood so I’m not jeopardizing that. I’ll apologize to Luther when I get home.

  We start off at the clothes shops because Mom needs a new dress. The shop assistant fawns over her because here’s the thing ... Mom’s very good at getting people to like her. She’s manipulative, but unless you’re in her close circle, she won’t harm you. Half the residents of Waitapu think the sun rises and sets when she gives the nod.

  I leave her with the assistant who will certainly earn her commission before she makes the sale, and head along the road to find Maraea. The strip is lively for a Saturday morning. The cafes are filling and there seem to be a lot of visitors in town. Maraea’s waiting for me, coffees in hand, and we walk down to the river to drink them. For winter, it’s sunny and warm.

  “So, Nanny Hough, how’s the job?”

  “It’s surprisingly fun.”

  “What about the sexy boss?”

  The small ferry that runs across the river mouth is just leaving the dock. I recall Rachel putting a ferry trip on her list of things to do today. I don’t know what to tell Maraea about Luther. She’s my friend, and I want to be honest with her.

  “Luther is wonderful.”

  Maraea laughs.

  “I’m not joking. He’s generous, and he’s fantastic with Rachel. It’s weird, Maraea, we’re like this little family, and we have fun.”

  “And the sex?”

  “What makes you think we’re having sex?” I consider denying it but maybe it really is that obvious.

  “Because you’re so relaxed and happy. Somebody’s having their needs taken care of.”

  Maraea and I have always gossiped about the guys. Oliver, Luther, Cole and anyone else who crosses our path. We’re women, it’s expected. Now it feels wrong to talk about Luther, even though he hasn’t asked that I keep our relationship secret.

  “Ginger, you’re not censoring before you speak, are you? I know the two of you are having wild sex. Luther was almost human the other night when he came up to the Lodge meeting.”

  “Is it possible to hide anything from you?” I ask.

  “Absolutely not. These eyes see everything. Come on, girlfriend, spill.”

  I glance around to make sure we don’t have anyone listening. We don’t. The small park where we’ve stopped is empty.

  “What can I say? It’s amazing. But we have to keep everything hidden from Rachel, which is tricky. So, no sleeping the night together.” I’ve finished my coffee and I take the lid off the cup and scoop some foam up to my mouth with my finger. “I suppose you think I’m stupid, sleeping with Luther. I mean, he’s always known how I’ve felt about him and he’s completely ignored me. Now I’m in his house taking care of Rachel and I’m suddenly good enough for his bed. Don’t worry, I’m puzzled, too.”

  Maraea slips her arm through mine and we start walking again along the edge of the river. “I don’t think Luther’s using you. Despite his failings, and being so cranky and quick-tempered, he’s loyal. He’s not the guy who takes advantage of a woman just because of proximity. I don’t know why he avoided you all that time, but I don’t think he’s using you now. He won’t shit in his nest.”

  I snort. “Pleased to hear that.”

  “You know what I mean. His Waitapu life is so restrained. He’s worked hard protecting that, so he will have weighed up the consequences of starting something with you. He thinks you’re worth it, Ginger. I say run with it, enjoy yourself and see where it leads.”

  “I keep looking for his ulterior motive.”

  “Not everyone operates like your mother. You have to remember that.”

  “I know, but being suspicious is my default mode.” We’ve completed the full circle back to the shopping precinct. “Speaking of my mother, there she is.”

  “Right. While you’re shopping with your mother, I’m taking a coach load of eleven and twelve-year-olds on an overnight stay to a marae in Waikato. I know which one I’d prefer.”

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  Maraea hugs me goodbye. “Enjoy your lovely man, and stop second-guessing everything. He’s genuine.”

  Maybe it’s Maraea’s pep talk, or maybe it’s because I’m—as Maraea puts it—having my needs taken care of, but lunch with Mom is almost enjoyable. She gets a couple of minor digs in that don’t even affect me. When we’ve finished, we take a small walk around the garden center and discuss some flowers for the front of the house.

  “Yes, these are very nice, Virginia, but I can’t possibly care for a garden with my back. And you’re too busy now to be bothered helping me with things like gardening.”

  Ah, she’s back. “I said I’d do it for you, Mom. All I want you to do is think about which flowers you’d like. Let’s go and do your grocery shopping while you
r knee’s still good.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my knee. I don’t know why you’re writing me off as some sort of cripple.”

  Yep, she’s definitely back.

  “I’m glad your knee’s better, Mom. Let’s hope your back makes a similar recovery.”

  She’s just climbed into the car and I shut the door on her response.

  There’s a type of person who uses grocery shopping as a social event, and my mother’s one of them. Most of the people in the store are local so she stops and chats to anyone she knows. By the time we reach the bread section I’ve memorized the serving suggestions on every packaged product. Most of them are unappetizing.

  Going through the checkout is a fresh ordeal. They’ve got one of those screens where the shopper can see the cost of every item that’s been scanned, and three times Mom has the poor girl do a price check because she’s sure they’ve scanned incorrectly. Three times, she’s wrong. By the time we reach the exit, I’m ready to run to the car. It’s in my sights, I can grab Mom’s shopping cart and sprint, and I’ll have the groceries loaded in the back by the time she gets there. Then, all I have to do is drive her home and I’m free for another week.

  I’m reaching for the cart when I hear my name being called.

  “My Ginger!”

  I close my eyes and contemplate the cart dash to the car when Rachel breaks from Luther’s grip and sprints towards me. She’s bouncing on a pair of shoes that light up every time she hits the ground.

  “Hi, Rachel.” I don’t know how I speak. I can hardly breathe.

  “Is this your Mom? She doesn’t look sick.”

  “Yes, it is.” I look at Mom, and she looks astonished. “Mom, this is Rachel, the little girl I nanny for.”

  “I see. Hello, Rachel.”

  Rachel suddenly looks uncertain.

  “This is my mother, Mrs. Hough,” I say to Rachel.

  “Hello,” Rachel mutters.

  “Why don’t you go over to the car, Mom, and I’ll take Rachel back.”

  I grab Rachel’s hand and walk her swiftly over to Luther. His face is stony and he mouths his favorite expletive at me. I transfer Rachel’s grasp from my hand to Luther’s.