The girl shuffled in her seat.

"I'd look for a rash."

Vanessa and d.i.c.k nodded, staring at the girl.

"Ask the child how they felt..." continued the girl, "and if they felt bad, phone the doctor. Or-" she gave them a big smile, "I'd phone my boyfriend. He's a doctor. At King's. We'd be looking for a place together, but he has to live in for now."

Vanessa put down the CV, and d.i.c.k took over quickly.

"Do you smoke?" he asked.

"Only outside," she said keenly, her big green eyes fixed on him.

"Only outside? What? You mean you..."

"Well, I check that the child is busy, watching telly or something, and nip outside. I don't think it's good for them to see me smoke."

"Well, thank you-" started Vanessa.

"So," said d.i.c.k quickly. "What do you like cooking for a child?"

"The same things I like, really. I feel children should start eating adult food as soon as possible. I don't always think it's healthy for them to eat children's food. It makes them spoiled."

Aha. They both leaned forward.

"And what sort of food do you like?" asked Vanessa.

"Fish fingers. Burgers. I love chips. And of course Tommy K."

"Thank you so much for coming," said Vanessa. "I don't think there are further-"

"Do you have any questions?" d.i.c.k asked the girl.

"Ooh yes, actually," she said. "What brand of mobile phone would I have?"

Ten minutes later, they sat waiting for the next nanny to turn up.

"That's two full weeks and ten girls we've seen," said d.i.c.k. "This is ridiculous."

"It's two full weeks and ten girls I've seen," said Vanessa. "You've seen three. And I'm not doing another Sat.u.r.day on my own, I'm telling you now."

"Fine," said d.i.c.k. "But we're getting nowhere."

"Well what do you suggest?" asked Vanessa.

"I just think maybe we're being a bit harsh."

"Harsh? This is the person who'll be bringing up our children! Of course we're harsh!"

"Well, I just think perhaps you're-we're not being realistic."

"Of course I'm not being realistic!" cried Vanessa. "I'm emotional, subjective, demanding, and full of hope." She slumped. "Why do you think it's so depressing?"

"Maybe the pick of the crop is just out of our financial range."

"Noo," moaned Vanessa. "It can't be. We work so hard. We deserve the best."

"But they're only human, Ness."

"I know." Vanessa sighed. "The person who patents a robot nanny will die rich."

"Is that what we're looking for?" asked d.i.c.k. "A robot?"

"No, I'll tell you what we're looking for." Vanessa sat up straight. "We're looking for a nice youngish girl from a nice, stable family background who has absolutely no social life, a boyfriend who lives a long way away, no hobbies, and definitely no phobias. She mustn't smoke, she mustn't watch daytime TV. She must be able to drive and be obsessed with our children-they must be her life-until we come home and then she must back off and sit in her room all evening, watching her walls. She must be health-conscious for them, but not for herself. She must be soft-spoken but firm, NNEB trained, bright and full of common sense, she must be selfless, tidy, warm, good at art, imaginative, and clean, with a high boredom threshold. And she must look worse than me in a bikini."

There was a pause.

"Well," ventured d.i.c.k. "I think maybe you're being a tad unreasonable."

"Of course I'm being unreasonable!" Vanessa cried. "I'm a mother! Honestly, d.i.c.k, sometimes I wonder if you've been listening at all."

"Ah, dear," breathed d.i.c.k. "No wonder this process takes so long. Any other requirements I need to know about? Is there an ideal shoe size?"

"And I must like her," remembered Vanessa. "Not as a friend, I don't want a friend, I want an employee. But she'll be living in my house-"

"Our house-"

"And she'll be someone I have to want to talk to every evening while you're watching television."

There was a long pause, during which d.i.c.k poured them each a stiff drink. "Why are they all so young?" he wondered aloud. "In the olden days they were buxom ladies with starched pinnies and faces who ruled the roost while the parents had a life."

"Yes, dear, and they were secretly in love with the butler."

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get that, darling," said d.i.c.k. "Just see if there's a miracle waiting for us."

He opened the front door. Standing in front of him was a woman in her midfifties wearing a type of checked two-piece suit that he didn't know still existed. She had a bosom like a barrier and a face like a frog. He was actually frightened.

"Come in," he said warily. She followed him down the hall and by the time he got into the kitchen he was almost running. Introductions were made, and the interview began.

"What do you like cooking for a child?" asked Vanessa.

"They must eat fresh fruit and vegetables twice a day," said the woman firmly. "I would check my weekly diary with you and then get them used to a routine. It gives children stability and teaches them that they are not the ones in control, you are, via me."

"Thank you," said d.i.c.k, beginning to stand. "I don't think there are any-"

"Do you have family of your own?" asked Vanessa. d.i.c.k sat down.

"Both my daughters live abroad," said the woman. "I was widowed in '79. I'd be delighted to baby-sit any night. And at weekends."

"I think that's everything; isn't it, darling?" d.i.c.k turned to Vanessa, who ignored him.

"What are your hobbies?" she asked.

"Knitting and cooking."

"Do you smoke?"

"No. Disgusting habit."

"Would you like to see our children?" asked Vanessa, ignoring the tiny rocking movement coming from d.i.c.k.

"No," said the lady. "I like children whoever they are."

Vanessa didn't answer immediately.

"Oh," she said. "I see."

"Right!" said d.i.c.k, almost jumping up. "Thank you so much for coming, awfully good of you, I love that suit..." He saw off their last interview that week as Vanessa stared miserably into s.p.a.ce.

Monday in Niblet-upon-Avon was a fresh, bright day, so the park was fairly full-full enough for Jo and her nanny friend Edwina to be forced to share their bench with an old woman who sported an old man's coat and a young man's moustache.

They sat down while keeping their eyes firmly on their charges, who were, naturally enough, charging around. Three-year-old Davey was Jo's latest little boy. His sister was already in big school, and it wouldn't be long before he'd be going to nursery for three hours every morning. He couldn't wait, which Jo and Davey's mother tried not to take personally. Jo had been Davey's nanny since he was six months old, and she adored him. Once he was in nursery, what job satisfaction she did get would be significantly reduced.

She turned and watched Edwina, who was scouring The Lady for a new job. Edwina's charge, Nancy, was a needy little sweetheart thanks to the fact that her parents were quite the opposite. Edwina had finally reached her tolerance level with the mother and, like so many of Nancy's nannies before her, spent most of her time with the little girl desperately searching for other jobs.

Jo turned to find the children. After a few moments, she found them sitting together by the tree in the far corner.

"Hmm," she said to Edwina. "Should Nancy be doing that?"

"Probably not," muttered Edwina, without looking up.

Eventually, Edwina glanced over to her charge. Nancy was taking off her knickers and showing Davey where Barbie had personally autographed them in pink.

"Oh not again." Edwina put down her magazine, got up off the bench, and wandered reluctantly toward Nancy.

Jo watched the two children place the Barbie knickers over both of their heads, blissfully unaware that their quality a.s.surance test was soon to be seriously curtailed. Then a shadow fell across them and four innocent eyes looked up at Edwina through lace-frilled leg holes.

Jo looked at her watch. Another half an hour of playing before pickup time. A welcoming warm breeze suddenly tickled the air, and she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back on the bench. She was calmed by the sound of children giggling and dogs barking. Live for the moment, she told herself. Just live for the moment.

She must have fallen asleep, because the tender ripple of glossy pages turning in the breeze feathered into her consciousness, rousing her from a daydream of Hugh Jackman wearing a pinny at her mother's kitchen sink. She opened her eyes and looked down at the magazine Edwina had left on the bench beside her. She had never had any interest in The Lady before-all of her jobs had somehow found her-but something made her pick it up. She thought of Alice in Wonderland picking up the bottle marked drink me.

She skim-read pages of ads for nannies and became aware of herself as a much-needed commodity. She started to turn the pages, feeling as if she'd just discovered a new layer of chocolates after thinking there had only been orange marzipan left. Finally, her eyes lighted upon one in particular. It had a very nice black frame.

Kind and loving nanny wanted for busy professional household in Highgate Village, London. Clean driving license, nonsmoker essential. Sole charge of eight-year-old, six-year-old, and four-year-old. Sole use of Renault Clio, suite of rooms with television and DVD.

She thought at first that the weekly salary was the PO box number. She read it again, slower. Then she read it once more.

Highgate Village. It was a pretty, quaint-sounding name, yet it was in London. She hadn't been to London since her midteens when a crowd of friends had gone clubbing there. She remembered the exhilaration at how alive with possibilities it had felt, even in the middle of the night. She looked back at the ad.

Three children-she'd never looked after three children before, but she knew as sure as she knew her own name that she desperately needed a challenge. And the car...And the suite of rooms.

After reading it a couple of times, she could feel her heart beating. New and dazzling thoughts began to starburst into her mind. With that much money, she could actually put some aside-maybe even save for the first time in her life. Come back home and put a deposit on a little flat. Or use it to pay for a college course...she was still young. She could start again; her parents would understand- She suddenly pulled in the reins-she could never leave Mum and Dad. It wouldn't be fair-they needed her now more than ever.

"You can keep it," came Edwina's voice. "There's sod all in there for me."

Jo looked up at her.

"Oh no-"

"Here," said Edwina. "Take it." And she lifted it from Jo's hands, folded it roughly, and squeezed it into Jo's bag between Davey's beloved Thunderbirds companions Scot and Virgil.

That night, Hilda and Bill weren't talking. Bill had had his tea at the pub-steak and chips-instead of waiting till he got home for steamed greens and cod. They were furious with each other, and the television became that night's weapon of choice.

"You're not watching this c.r.a.p, are you?" said Hilda, every time Bill zapped the channels over to the program he wanted to watch.

Jo didn't particularly want to look at the screen, but neither did she want to catch her mother's eye. For want of anywhere else to look, she looked at the door into the hall.

"What's up?" asked her mother.

"I'm going to make a call," she heard herself say.

"Alright, love. No need to ask permission."

And with that, Jo went into the hall and phoned the Fitzgeralds in Highgate, London.