Thoughts.com Blogs - The gorgeous guy, the nanny and me

The house seems strangely quiet as I stand in the hall and look in the mirror. I am wearing a short, yellow skirt, a black bouse with a colourful yellow print, black strappy shoes. My hair sits on my shoulders, dark and smooth, my fringe falls over my eyes. I am very slender, some would say too thin. I reach for my bag and my keys and, taking one last look in the mirror, I make my way to the door, glad to be leaving the silence.

I get into my car and make my way through the familiar road and streets that are my home. My car is fast, but I drive slowly, my mind deep in thought. I allow myself to think over the past few months, but I do not shed a tear. The tears have stopped and I thank God for that. I think of how fortunate I am in so many ways and I feel proud of what I have come through, knowing that I have found a new inner strength. It is May and the road I am driving looks down over the city. It is a beautiful evening, the sun still warm and the light hazy. I think about what I am about to do. I cannot quite believe I am doing it, going to interview a man about a job which has nothing to do with me. Am I mad? But I assure myself I'm not. Susan is young and not worldly wise. She is an innocent in a fast changing world she does not know. He is a married man with two children. Ok, he is separated, but he is, by all accounts sophisticated, a man of the world. I cannot let her go for the job without knowing I am doing the right thing by her. I drive across the bridge, over the River Lagan, east meets south, I leave familiar territory and enter his world.

I check the piece of paper on my knee and follow the landmark signs he has given me. I turn right and drive down a tree lined avenue. This is old Belfast, the houses tall, huge, each one different, each one beautiful. I count the bumps on the road and after the third one I turn to the right. I drive up a bumpy lane and looking up at the house I think momentarily of how this might have been a hundred years ago. I drive past two, large, victorian greenhouses, the glass turning gold in the low, evening sun. I drive to the front of the house and park my car. I check my face in the mirror and, as I always do when I'm nervous, press my lips tightly together. My feet crunch in the gravel as I reach the steps which lead to the huge, imposing door. I turn to look out at the garden as I ring the doorbell. I see the familiar signs of childhood, a swing, a tiny wheelbarrow, a tricycle. The door opens and I swing round to see a tall, dark man looking down at me quizzically. 'Elaine?' he asks and reaches out his hand. He motions for me to come in and I step into the hall and wait while he closes the door. He asks me if I mind sitting in the kitchen and I assure him it is fine. The hall twists and turns before we arrive into the enormous kitchen. It seems to me as I look around that time has stood still. The kitchen is Victorian, almost as it would have been all those years ago. In place of a range, there is a large Aga. In front of it are a sofa and an armchair. He motions for me to sit on the sofa and offers me a drink. I am hesitant but seeing him pour himself a gin and tonic, I agree to a small sherry. For once I feel as though I need it. He is older than I thought, 36, 37? youthful looking with black curly hair and dark, swarthy skin. He is lean and angular, at home in his skin. I accept the sherry and he sits opposite me, preparing himself to be interviewed.

He tells me how his wife has left him, is living in England now with her new partner, how his nanny who he has had for the last four years is now also leaving to follow her rugby playing boyfriend and how he needs someone to live in. I tell him about Susan, how she is thinking of becoming a nanny, having become bored with the job she does. I ask him to tell me what he does. He runs his own company he tells me and his hours are often erratic, although the most important thing for him nowadays is to be home for his two young sons. As if on cue, two little boys walk in, both dressed in pyjamas and little towelling dressing gowns. They are both dark, like their father, and the younger boy has huge, dark eyes. He shows me his latest toy, a car he got for his birthday some weeks ago. He talks to me like he has always known me and I find myself smiling broadly. Being 5 is very important, I agree with him. The older boy tells me he is 7, in P3 at school and so much older than his brother. Their father tells them it is long past their bedtime, excuses himself and takes them upstairs to bed. The little one comes to me and kisses me before leaving. I marvel at how any mother could leave behind such beautiful boys.

I use the time to look around the room. The high ceiling above has pulleys hanging over the Aga, draped with children's clothes. There is an enormous table int he centre of the room and a big, Belfast sink at the end, which I reckon to be the original. There are rooms leading off, a scullery and a butler's pantry. The back window looks over a courtyard and I walk over to look out, my curiosity getting to me. At the back there is a huge loft which must, at one time, have been the coach house. Vines run over the old walls and the ground is cobbled. 'I'm sorry about that, may I get you another drink?' His smile is warm and inviting but I decline, knowing that I have had too much already and must drive home soon. We sit down again and I find myself telling him how I, too, am now on my own with 3 children, the eldest 18, the youngest 10, hence my thinking he must be much younger than me. He looks amazed and assures me I must have started very young. I tell him I did but I have no regrets. They are my life, what keeps me going. He tells me about his life, his job, his friends and soon we are talking as though we cannot get information fast enough. We discover a friend in common, my first boyfriend and his associate at university. We laugh at the discovery we were so many places together but had never met. He makes me tea, urges me to tell him more and we share so much together, that first evening. I look at the clock, it is almost 11, time to go home to my kids. I feel guilty I am not there for their bedtime, I explain and he laughs at the thought of putting my 18 year old to bed. We make arrangements for Susan to see him the following evening. He leaves me to my car, I reach out my hand and he takes it. He bends over me and gently kisses my head. He looks at me for a while before opening my car door for me and stands waving as I drive away.

I drive down the driveway and onto the road and allow my thoughts to flow. I feel strange, different as though something huge has happened to me. I can't explain it but it was like a new life had started that night. 'I will marry that man,' I thought. And I did. One year later and 20 years ago.