Читать книгу Worlds Apart - Ber Carroll - Страница 6

Laura consulted her list of questions, not to remind herself what she wanted to ask but to centre her thoughts and her sense of being. She liked lists – rather a lot, really – and at any one time she had a number of them on the go: work lists, home lists, shopping lists; lists for Esteban and Olivia; short-term lists that could be satisfyingly scrunched into a ball once each task was ticked; longer-term ones which attempted to pin down and overlay some goals on the slippery future. The lists gave her a sense of structure, an illusion of control, and she hung onto them for dear life.

Finally, Laura raised her head to assess the young woman sitting on the other side of her desk. According to her CV, Kasia Kaminski came from a small village outside Legnica, in south-west Poland. She didn’t look particularly Polish, Laura thought. Her skin was pallid, almost unhealthily so, and her hair had a long fringe cut at an angle to her face, making it difficult to see her eyes. She wore a black skirt and jacket, the fabric shiny under the spotlights in the ceiling. An off-white shirt, faux-pearl earrings and pink lipstick, too bright for her skin tone, completed the image.

‘How long have you been in Ireland, Kasia?’

‘Five months.’

‘And have you been working during that time?’

‘I babysit for my cousin, who I stay with.’

‘Any other work?’

‘No. It has not been easy to get a job with the economy as it is.’

Each of the five candidates Laura had interviewed so far had mentioned the economy, implying that they would not be interviewing for this role had the job market been stronger and other work opportunities available.

‘What kind of work would you seek if you had the choice?’ Laura asked in a casual tone, hoping to draw out an honest answer.

‘I would like to work in an office – like this one.’ Kasia lifted one hand from her lap to motion to the hub of workstations visible through the floor-to-ceiling window. Her gesture drew Laura’s attention to her long, bony fingers. She tried to imagine those fleshless fingers curled around Olivia’s plump little hand, and had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat.

‘I started this company with my husband five years ago,’ she said quietly, redirecting her gaze from Kasia’s hands to the workstations on the other side of the glass. Dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts and busily tapping their keyboards, the staff within the cubicles managed to look both relaxed and energetic. Most wore headphones, which made them appear younger than they were, and their eyes were trained on huge, state-of-the-art computer screens.

‘So you own all of this?’ Kasia looked impressed.

‘Yes.’

‘What does the business do?’

‘We’re a translation services centre.’ Laura was aware that her voice held more disillusionment than pride, and this caused another – harder – lump in her throat. ‘We translate brochures, manuals and websites for businesses and government departments, both here in Ireland and overseas. We have twenty people working for us now, all different nationalities.’

Kasia smiled, for the first time in the interview, and nodded approvingly. ‘I noticed that it was very multicultural when I walked in. Yes, when the economy gets better I want to work somewhere like this!’

At least she was honest, Laura thought, unlike others who had tried to persuade her that being a nanny was their first choice when it clearly wasn’t.

‘Running this business with my husband is very demanding, which is why I need someone to help care for my daughter, Olivia. Someone to bring her to and from playschool, to ballet classes, swimming lessons and other activities, as well as perform some other chores around the house.’

‘You mean cleaning?’

Laura had to stifle a sigh. Here we go again. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Some basic cooking and cleaning, unloading the dishwasher, hanging out the washing, everyday things like that – secondary, of course, to minding Olivia. Would the household duties present a problem for you?’

Kasia took a moment to think, and then raised her thin shoulders in a shrug. ‘It is not my preference, but I will do it if it is part of the job … What age is your daughter?’

‘Olivia’s four-and-a half.’

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she pictured Olivia as she’d left her this morning: upside-down in her bed, one of her cuddly toys serving as a pillow, and sound asleep in the pure and absolute manner she approached everything in her life. Laura had manoeuvred some blankets over the curled-up body, smoothed wisps of her fairy-floss hair from her small, perfect face, kissed the warm curve of her cheek and tip-toed from the room so as not to wake her. Downstairs, Cathy, grandmother and reluctant fill-in nanny, was making herself a bolstering cup of coffee for the ordeal ahead.

‘This is an ungodly hour to start the day!’

‘It’s seven-thirty, Mum, hardly the middle of the night.’

‘By your standards, maybe.’

Her mother was not at her best in the mornings; for that matter, she was not at her best with young children either.

‘Olivia’s lunch is in the fridge – just remember to put it in her bag before you go. And I’ve laid out her clothes on the chair in her room. There are two outfits to choose from – you know how she likes to have a choice in these matters!’

‘Don’t we all!’ Cathy retorted, making it quite clear that minding Olivia was not her choice. She wasn’t even dressed for the job at hand – her frilled white shirt, skin-tight leggings and high-heeled boots were decidedly impractical.

‘Don’t be late when you pick her up from playschool – the staff get cranky even if it’s only a few minutes.’

Cathy, who was always late, and much more than a few minutes, too, looked affronted. Whether it was by the request for her punctuality or the perceived inflexibility of the playschool staff, Laura wasn’t sure.

‘I’m interviewing someone today, Mum. A Polish girl.’

‘I don’t care where she comes from once I’m off the hook!’

Though Cathy’s tone was more dry than sarcastic, Laura couldn’t help feeling a stab of hurt. She went out of her way not to ask too much of her mother, and wouldn’t have asked her to help out this week if she hadn’t been totally desperate. Cathy had very clear limits on what she was and wasn’t prepared to do. She liked to buy Olivia gifts and clothes, and take her into town to see pantomimes and other shows, but she didn’t wish to be involved in her granddaughter’s day-to-day routine – the one area where she could be, if she made herself available, infinitely useful.

‘And Olivia will start school in September?’ Kasia was asking now.

‘Yes.’

‘And what will that mean for her nanny?’

‘I don’t know just yet,’ Laura replied truthfully. ‘Olivia will still need someone to drop her to and from school, and there will be the usual household chores, so we will need help of some sort, but I’m not sure if it will be full-time help or not.’

‘So I may need to find new accommodation and a new job in six months’ time?’

‘In the worst case, yes. It should become clearer what’s needed as the time comes closer and we can plan accordingly.’

Laura still maintained a faint hope that her mum and dad would help out when Olivia – who was, after all, their only grandchild – started school, perhaps picking her up a few days a week and keeping her until Laura or Esteban got home from work. Yet she knew that Cathy would baulk at the idea of such structured assistance, and her father, Ian, would look apologetic and uncomfortable but would defer to his wife.

‘The child is your responsibility, Laura, not mine or your father’s or anyone else’s.’

Cathy liked to say this frequently, and Laura fully agreed with her mother. It wasn’t as though she expected a lot of help from Cathy. Not at all. Just a little help would be nice.

Cathy had set her boundaries right from the beginning, from the moment Laura announced she was pregnant. Laura unconsciously grimaced as she recalled her mother’s less-than-enthusiastic response to her big news.

‘What? Why? You’re only twenty-six – you could have waited at least another few years.’

‘Esteban and I want to have our family while we’re young.’

‘Esteban and you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about!’

‘Mum, you had me when you were young. You were only twenty-four, remember?’

‘That’s what we did back then. We got married and immediately had children; it was expected. But nowadays girls can wait, and figure out what they really want from life before jumping into motherhood.’

‘Esteban and I really want this baby.’

‘Who’s going to take care of the child when you go back to work?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, don’t look at me.’

‘I’m not looking at you!’

Thus Cathy had exempted herself from Olivia’s care even before Olivia came into the world. Over the years Laura had tried and tested every form of childcare there was, and by now she was, unfortunately, intimate with the pitfalls of each: long day care (a breeding ground for childhood illnesses), family day care (long waiting lists and restrictive hours), au pairs (high turnover rates), and nannies (expensive, and generally unwilling to work longer than the standard nine-to-five).

Cathy changing her mind and helping when Olivia went to school was an ideal world, the same ideal world in which she was a doting mother and granny who couldn’t do enough for her family. In the real world, Laura would probably have to keep Kasia, or whoever it was who got the job, in a complicated, part-time and unnecessarily expensive arrangement.

A knock sounded on the door and jolted Laura from her thoughts. Esteban popped his head inside. He smiled at Kasia first, and then Laura.

‘All going well in here?’

The question came across as friendly, casual even. Only Laura knew the desperation, the same as her own, running beneath Esteban’s question. They needed Kasia to be the one; they were at domestic breaking point.

‘Kasia, this is Esteban, my husband.’

Kasia stood up and extended her hand. Laura noticed again how thin she was – not just her hands and shoulders, all of her. Of course her weight didn’t have anything to do with her suitability for the job, unless she had an eating disorder or some other serious health problem. Was there a polite way of asking about her weight, or lack thereof? No, no, of course there wasn’t.

Esteban, undeterred by the long fringe, looked Kasia in the eye. His gaze was deep and probing, and often disconcerting to those who didn’t know him very well. Laura could vividly remember the first time he’d turned that gaze on her, more than ten years ago now, in the café-bar of University of Granada where she’d been an international student.

‘You are Laura?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am Esteban.’

‘Yes.’

‘It is nice to meet you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, lovely Laura, if we are to practise linguistic interaction you will have to manage more than just the one word. And perhaps you should consider saying it in Spanish, sí?’

She’d laughed and returned his intense gaze with a rather brazen one of her own, knowing straight away that she wanted more than just language practice with him.

‘My wife tells me you are from Poland,’ Esteban was saying to Kasia now.

‘Yes.’

‘How are you finding Ireland?’

‘Good.’

‘Good?’ Esteban raised both eyebrows, making it clear that he expected a more comprehensive response.

Kasia blushed, and the colour that seeped into her face suited her, made her seem less aloof, more pretty. ‘The food is good, very nice and fresh, no taste of chemicals like home. And the people here are good – most of the time. But I am finding it difficult to get on my feet and start working. Ireland would be excellent if I could get a job!’

Again, Laura was struck by her honesty, and by how competent her English was: she seemed to have no trouble understanding what was being asked, and expressing her feelings in reply.

Esteban rewarded Kasia’s more detailed response with another smile, his teeth white and even against the tan of his face, his almost-black eyes shining, inviting a reciprocal smile. A little below average height, he had a slim and boyish physique, and dark-brown hair that suited him best when it was slightly long, like now. Despite the ups and downs of the last ten years, and the stresses and demands of the business and family life, he still looked remarkably like the self-possessed young man she’d met in the café that day. She wished she could say the same for herself. Where was the flirtatious, adventurous girl who had sat across from him? The girl who’d made love with him that very afternoon, trusting her instincts and living wholly for the moment? That carefree girl never made lists, and didn’t know how to be cynical or disillusioned. Where had she gone? Who had taken her away and replaced her with this older, weighed-down, second-rate version?

‘You are a foreigner too,’ Kasia stated.

‘Yes, I come from Spain. My wife came to Granada to learn Spanish. She promptly fell in love with me and decided to stay. Now I am trying out her country.’

Esteban made it sound awfully romantic, and it had been. Five warm wonderful years in Granada before starting another new life together in Dublin. In fact, Olivia, born exactly nine months after the move to Ireland, could have been conceived in either country. That didn’t stop Esteban from claiming her as Spanish, and Laura as Irish. They both adored her.

‘I found it hard to get started over here, too,’ Esteban said to Kasia, ‘and I understand how frustrated you must feel. But I’m certain that you’ll find someone to take you on, and I know you’ll be very loyal and hardworking to repay your employer for giving you a chance.’

Laura could see that her husband had struck a chord with Kasia: the girl looked willing to clean the house from top to bottom and do anything humanly possible to demonstrate her loyalty, if only she were offered the job. Esteban had a way with people, always empathising with their particular circumstances before gently challenging them to work harder or think outside the box. All of a sudden, Laura saw herself and Esteban through Kasia’s eyes: Esteban with his exotic dark looks, genuine smile and inbuilt charisma; Laura with coffee-coloured hair, clear grey-blue eyes, winter-pale skin and a smile and manner that felt so forced these days. Did Kasia find them an odd couple? Ill-matched in personality and in looks?

Esteban, his mini-interview over, turned to his wife.

‘I brought my flight forward to eleven. It gets me into London in time for lunch. I have meetings all afternoon but I’m still hoping to make the seven o’clock home.’

Esteban did all the travelling for the business, which meant regular flights to London, Berlin, Paris and Madrid, and frequent jaunts to other more far-flung cities, too. In fact, a great deal of their conversations were centred around the minutiae of his travel itinerary.

‘Will you need dinner tonight?’

A wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. ‘Save me a few scraps if you can!’

Had Kasia not been present, he would have fondly yet somewhat absently brushed his lips against Laura’s forehead as goodbye. Instead, he turned graciously to the Polish girl and she received the tail end of his smile and attention. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Kasia. I wish you the very best of luck with everything.’

The atmosphere in the room changed once Esteban had left, and Laura felt as though she were getting a view into the future, a time when Kasia was living in her house and had observed – and formed opinions on – Esteban and her as parents, and as individual people and a couple.

Laura stared down at her list, trying to regain a sense of purpose, of authority even, from the printed questions. Where had she left off? Did it matter? Interviews were such an unreliable way of establishing someone’s suitability: if the candidate had any degree of intelligence, motivation or creativity, they could easily fool you into believing they were something they were not.

‘Do you smoke?’

‘Yes, but not around children.’

Not the answer Laura had been hoping for.

‘And have you got any references?’

‘My cousin. I can give you her phone number.’

‘Do you have anyone else? Any employer back in Poland?’

‘I can ask my teacher, if you wish.’

Again far from ideal, but explainable, as Kasia’s CV claimed that she’d left her home country straight after completing a degree in marketing and management, and without any work experience. Of course, that was presuming her CV could be relied on – Laura had heard some horror stories about fabricated experience and qualifications. It almost didn’t matter that neither marketing nor management were of much use when it came to minding a four-and-a-half-year-old child. All that mattered was that Kasia had some level of education and intelligence, and that she was honest.

‘Yes, I would like your teacher’s phone number, please.’

Laura paused to think of what else she should ask this girl before she entrusted Olivia to her care. But instead of channelling another few relevant questions, her mind began to fly through all the things she had to do after this interview: a conference call with India, a team meeting on the new immigration services website, a Spanish brochure she wanted to translate herself in order to keep her skills up to speed, and then lunchtime, when she hoped to duck out to buy a going-away present for Erin. She couldn’t believe that Erin was leaving in just a week’s time. Even though Laura had played an active role in persuading Erin to go in the first place, she really didn’t know what she was going to do without her cousin. Erin was her main babysitter, sounding board and friend. Only Erin understood Laura’s frustrations with her mother, with Esteban, with work and everything else. She was going to miss her. Terribly.

‘Well, thanks for coming in, Kasia. I’ll be in touch over the next few days.’

Laura went through the motions of shaking Kasia’s hand and giving her a brief tour of the premises before seeing her out. Later on today, when she had a spare moment, she would phone Kasia’s cousin and ex-teacher, and provided they said nothing too drastically negative she would call the girl back and offer her the job. It was clear that Kasia didn’t really want to be a nanny and that she had no direct experience with children other than her cousin’s brood, whom, it now occurred to Laura, she should have quizzed her more closely about. Other things that were clear: Kasia smoked, didn’t like cleaning, had no proper references, and in fact did not meet most of the criteria on Laura’s list. The bottom line was that Kasia was a compromise, like everything else these days.

Back in her office, staring blindly through the glass wall as though it was a portal into her own thoughts and not into the business she and her husband had built from scratch, Laura frittered away a few minutes of precious time daydreaming about jetting off on a plane, leaving the nanny problem and other drudgeries far behind, seeing new places, meeting new people and returning to a fresh, more impulsive way of life. She suddenly realised that she was jealous of Erin, jealous to such an extent that she felt rather overwhelmed, and utterly ashamed of herself. A tear trickled down her face, startling her before she roughly wiped it away. What was wrong with her today? She loved Olivia, Esteban and her job, absolutely, unquestionably. So why this sudden, mad yearning to get away from them?