2 2 d o w n i n g s t r e e t.

[1]

The streetcar is crowded today, and Nerftu has to stand in the aisle, her small suitcase wedged between her legs. But she doesn't mind. She is free, and, in a way, she is going home. The car clangs to a stop. She glances at her reflection in a grocer's window. Her hair is tied in a bun. There are deep shadows and wrinkles under her eyes. The faded yellow dress the orderly laid out on her bed this morning doesn't help.

At Church Street, a seat becomes available, and Nerftu unfolds her copy of the Gazette and, glancing at the classifieds, hopes she isn't too late. What luck finding the ad so close to her release?

The past eight years are a blur. Her short stay at Hudson County, then the transfer to Pinehurst. Dr. Philby telling her she'd snapped like a twig on a cold morning. Her husband's disturbing letter: "I'm taking Janie away. Don't try to find us!" Such a contrast to Matron's lovely letter: Nerftu has shown such devotion to our younger patients. The driver announces her stop. She rises and walks to the back exit. Walking the neighborhood, Nerftu shivers as a familiar vision returns.

Early winter. A woman sits on the steps of an old brownstone dressed in a light cotton blouse and black woolen skirt. A small child stands beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. The sun hits the limbs of a bare maple, casting shadows on the pavement below while the woman rocks an empty baby carriage to some inner sound only she can hear, a rhythm only she can feel.

Nerftu checks the address in the paper against the black numbers painted on the transom: 22 Downing Street. Yes, this is it.

She goes up the stairs and rings the bell. A well-dressed woman opens the door. "Yes?" And then, after no response, "Can I help you?" Nerftu returns the woman's smile and holds up the newspaper, the words, full-time Nanny, circled in red. "I've come about your ad."

The woman standing in front of her was of a hag-like appearance, with permanent frown lines on her faces-much like the lines her students use to draw as the sea. Her clothes stank of designer, and although her smile was almost about to swallow her face, it didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, you're the help Maude recommended. My name is Agatha Bulburn. Please, come in." She had a narrow, oblong face with angular cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her slit-like eyes were a clouded hazel, and her thinly plucked eyebrows were shaped into a deceivingly perfect arch that followed the slight curve of her eye.

A long nose hooked over continually pursed lips, which were painted a bright red in an unsuccessful effort to mask their natural thinness. Bleached blonde hair, made thin from too many years of hair dye, hung straight down into an angular cut at her jaw.

The sharp features of her face were merely a reflection of her entire body structure, and everything-from her skeletal arms to her paper-thin waist-screamed of unnatural skinniness.

She walked in long strides, her shoulders back and face held forward, wearing tall stiletto heels and a bold leopard-print mini-dress. Nerftu skidded ungracefully in an attempt to copy her supermodel strut. She thrust her legs forward with every calf-twisting step and Nerftu silently wondered if it hurt her.

The house was garishly grand; as if the designer had a lot of money, very little time and no sense of taste. There were about 3 chandeliers in the dining room, aligned to cast light upon the Viking-sized table. The room was covered in gold wreaths, flower bunches and other over-the-top pieces that cast the room in a warm, golden glow.

"Here's the dining room-a bit noveau riche for my taste, but Desmond likes it. Pity, as he seems to like anything with price tags over a thousand." She chuckled to herself, and craned her vein-like neck, silently urging Nerftu to laugh as well.

So she did. She let out a quick, unladylike bark and watched as Mrs. Bulburn face grimaced in disgust. "Hmm, we'll work on that later," she whispered, not knowing that Nerftu could hear her.

The ringing in her ears came back. Calm down, she willed herself. Over the years, her sense of control had strengthened, but there was always the occasional moment when she...lost it, if you will.

"Your work would be very simple; obviously the house is clean enough without any fuss," Mrs. Bulburn stated, her eyes challenging her to contradict. She didn't, focusing on her wavering panic. "The old housekeeper had a list of the entire thing required for her work in the attic. Maude was full of glowing praise, I'm sure you'll find it in no time."

Nerftu nodded submissively, picking up the sound of tires squealing. Mrs. Bulburn craned her vein-like neck towards the double door, a disdainful tone in her voice. "Oh, the children are home."

The front door slams and in walks a girl of about 16 years, and prettier than Nerftu could ever wish to be. She has a glossy sheet of raven hair, cascading to the tips of her waspish waist. Her skin was the colour of roasted coffee and her eyes were the colour of a clear sky, giving her an ethereal look.

She was built like a gazelle, long and graceful, like poetry in motion. The only thing puzzling was the look of absolute scorn plastered across her lovely face. "Mother," she said her voice not unlike wind chimes, "please tell me that Jon's lying."

A boy-who she thought to be the one named Jon-strolled in with a sort of lazy swagger; adapted by those used to luxury. He was a beautiful as his sister, and around the same age with a mop of chocolate curls, caramel skin and eyes so dark they were almost black.

"It's true, Em, and Agatha knows it. If you didn't spend all your time with your stupid friends, then may-"

"Your girlfriend is one of my stupid friends, stupid!" 'Em spat.

"Language, dearest sister of mine. If you didn't want to go for summer school, you should have studied. You know, what most people do to have a summer?"

The 'Em' girl thus proceeded to hurl her rucksack at 'Jon'. This must have been a common occurrence, as he swiftly ducked, smirking as he lifted himself up. "Emina, Emina. Hasn't anyone told you, you sweet Somalian you, that violence is never the answer?"

Agatha put up her heavily jeweled hand, commanding silence. "Children, don't you see anyone new?" she spat, pointing at me. They sobered up at once, becoming the respectable children they were raised to be. "Good afternoon." They chorused.

"Where's Jane, children?" In that second, a mousy girl walked in. She shared none of her sister's beauty; her spotty, ruddy, moon face, her pointy nose, her watery, prudent blue eyes. She was short and stout, in comparison to her sister's slender curves. On her face was a scowl, that in a certain light made her resemble Agatha.

"Who's this?" The girl Nerftu assumed to be Jane barked, without any of the groomed politeness or manners of her siblings. Agatha, unscathed at her tone, retorts, "This is Nerftu, the new au pair. She will be replacing Samantha's position in the house." Emina and Jon both spin abruptly at their mother's words. "Nanny?!"

If it was even possible, Jane's scowl gets even deeper and uglier. "Agatha, how many times do we have to say this: We. Don't. Need.A.Nanny. We're all 17!" Agatha, who again seemed completely unbothered about the blunt and almost disrespectful way her daughter spoke to her or the terrible impression she was setting, sighed calmly and said, "Jane Downing, why do you continue to assume that every decision I make is to spite you? Miss Nerftu--as you will refer to her--is simply here to keep the house neat and running. She's not here to report on you, or make sure you eat your vegetables. You're not her concern."

The ugly girl huffs and mutters scathingly, "When am I ever anyone's concern?" And on that note, Jane stomps upstairs; the sound of beaten combat boots on sleek mahogany flooring. Looking down, Nerftu sees a slender brown hand in her line of sight. "Emina Downing. It's lovely to meet you." The sight of her bright white smile is enough to lower Nerftu's self esteem by a good inch, as her own damp tongue slides across plaque-ridden teeth.

With a slight shove, the Elvin looking boy known as Jon pushes his sister away and bows respectfully. "Jon Downing--always a pleasure to make the acquaintance of stunning women." Nerftu does not take his flattery to heart as she knows the misplaced freckles and knobby knees she was gifted at birth were not boasted features of a beauty. Just to be polite, she smiles and returns his handshake. First rule, Matron's husky voice rings in her head, always agree with the wealthy and influential.