I pressed the off button and tried again. This time I selected Good morning, Holly at random and waited, teeth gritted, for the result.

Bingo. Holly’s setting turned out to be set to a kind of hot drenching rain from the grid overhead, which was . . . well, it was glorious. There was no other word for it. The water gushed out with an almost absurd abundance, soaking me with warmth. I felt the hot water drumming on the top of my skull, driving out the last remnants of my sleepiness and last night’s red wine. Holly, whoever she was, had clearly been a woman after my own heart. I shampooed my hair, conditioned, and then rinsed, and then stood, my eyes closed, simply enjoying the feel of the water on my naked skin.

The temptation to stay there, reveling in the luxury, was very strong, but it had taken me probably ten minutes to even figure out the bathroom. If I wasted any more time, I would render that early alarm pointless. There was no point in forcing myself out of bed at the crack of dawn if I didn’t make an appearance and ram my enthusiasm home to Sandra.

With a sense of resignation, I pressed the off button on the panel, reached out for the fluffy white towel warming on the heated rail, and reminded myself that if I pulled this off, it wouldn’t be the last time I got to enjoy that shower. Very far from it.

* * *

Venturing downstairs, the first thing that greeted me was the smell of toast and the sound of children laughing. When I rounded the corner of the bottom of the stairs, I was met by a very small tartan dressing gown abandoned on the bottom step and a single slipper in the middle of the hall. Picking both up, I made my way through to the kitchen, where Sandra was standing in front of a huge gleaming chrome toaster, holding a piece of brown bread and waving it at the two little girls in bright red pajamas sitting at the metal breakfast bar. Their curly heads, one dark, the other white-blond, were tousled with sleep, and they were both giggling helplessly.

“Don’t encourage her! She’ll only do it again.”

“Do what again?” I said, and Sandra turned.

“Oh, Rowan! Gosh, you’re up early. I hope the girls didn’t wake you. We’re still trying to train certain members of the family to stay in bed past six a.m. . . .” She nodded pointedly at the younger of the two girls, the one with white-blond hair.

“It’s fine,” I said truthfully, adding, slightly less accurately, “I’m a naturally early riser.”

“Well, that’s certainly a good talent to have in this house,” Sandra said with a sigh. She was wearing a dressing gown and looked more than a little harassed.

“Petra threw her porridge,” said the girl, with a gurgling laugh, pointing at the pink-cheeked baby sitting in the high chair at the corner, and I saw that she was right. There was a dollop of porridge the size of an egg sliding down the front of the stove to plop onto the concrete floor, and Petra was crowing with delight and scooping up another spoonful, ready to throw it again.

“Peta frow!” she said, and took aim.

“Uh-uh,” I said with a smile, and held out my hand for the spoon. “Petra, give it here, please!”

The baby looked at me uncertainly for a moment, sizing me up, her faint blond brows drawn into an adorable frown, and then her chubby face split in a grin and she repeated, “Peta frow!” and launched the porridge towards me.

I dodged, but not quick enough, and it hit me full in the chest.

At first I just gasped, and then a wave of absolute fury rose up inside me when I realized what she had done. Stupidly I hadn’t brought a spare outfit, and yesterday’s top was crumpled and had a red-wine stain on the top that I didn’t remember making but must have done so.

I had literally no clean clothes left. I was going to be covered in porridge for the rest of the day. The little shit.

It was the younger of the two girls who saved me. She burst out giggling and then clapped her hands over her mouth, as if horrified.

I remembered who I was, where I was, why I was here.

I forced a smile.

“It’s okay,” I said to the little girl. “Ellie, isn’t it? You can laugh. It is pretty funny.”

She took her hands away and gave a cautious grin.

“Oh my God,” Sandra said with a kind of weary resignation. “Rowan, I am so sorry. They talk about the terrible twos, but I swear, Petra’s been auditioning for them for six months. Is your top okay?”

“Sandra, don’t give it a second thought,” I said. The top was not going to be okay, at least not until I could wash it, and possibly not even then. It was a silk blouse, dry-clean only, a stupid choice for a nannying interview, but I hadn’t thought about the fact that I would be interacting with the kids. Maybe I could get a small moral advantage from the situation. “Honestly, these things happen when you have kids, right? It’s only porridge! However—” I leaned over and took the bowl of porridge away from Petra before she realized what was happening and put it out of her reach. “I think you’ve had enough, little Miss Petra, so maybe I’ll take charge of that while I clean up. Where’s your mop, Sandra, and I’ll clean up that blob on the floor before one of the girls slips on it.”

“It’s in the utility room, that door there,” Sandra said, with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Rowan. I honestly wasn’t expecting you to start pitching in unpaid, this is beyond the call of duty.”

“I’m glad to help,” I said firmly. I ruffled Petra’s hair as I passed with an affection I didn’t entirely feel, and gave Ellie a little wink. Maddie was not looking at me; she was staring down at her plate as though the whole thing had passed her by. Maybe she was ashamed at her earlier role, egging Petra on.

The utility room turned out to be in the older part of the house—probably the original scullery judging by the Victorian sink and stone-flagged floor—but I wasn’t in the mood to appreciate architectural details. Instead, I shut the door behind me and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to rid myself of the last of my irritation, and then set to work trying to rescue my top. The worst of the porridge flicked off into the sink, but I was going to have to sponge the rest. After several tries that only succeeded in getting porridgy water onto my skirt, I pushed a mop against the handle of the kitchen door and peeled off my top.

I was standing there in my bra and skirt, dabbing at the porridgy patch under the tap and trying not to get the rest of the shirt wetter than necessary, when I heard a sound from the other side of the utility room and turned to see the door to the yard open and Jack Grant come in, wiping his hands on his overall trousers.

“Mower’s going, San—” he called, and then broke off, his eyes widening in shock. A vivid blush spread across his broad cheekbones.

I gave a yelp of surprise and clutched my wet top to my breasts, trying my best to preserve my modesty.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Jack said. He was covering his eyes, looking at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but me. His cheeks were flaming. “I’ll—I’ll be—so sorry—”

And then he turned and fled, slamming the yard door behind him, leaving me gasping and not sure whether to laugh or cry.

There was not much point in either, so I hastily dried my wet top with a towel hanging over the radiator, filled up the mop bucket, and then made my way back to the kitchen with my cheeks almost as pink as Jack’s.