Why we should stay hidden

Chris

I look at the brunette sitting in front of me, the Au Pair the agency has sent, Greta, is a young Danish girl who has been in London less than a year. Her English isn’t great, and it is an initial worry for me, especially with Muna just becoming conversational. But demure and diminutive, she is nothing like the buxom Astrid, which could be a good thing as there’s a lower chance of me stumbling on any strange people in my house.

Or is there?

Last minute, I decide that is a risk I can’t take.

“It’s not a live-in position,” I tell her. “Will that be a problem?”

“I live Belsize Park,” she beams as she raises a finger. “Only one bus.”

Perfect.

We finalise plans for her to come in the mornings, early enough to prepare and take Muna to day care, and leave when I get back from the hospital at 9pm. On nights I have social events, she’ll sleep in, but only on those.Everything is sorted.

She starts work the next day, arriving nice and early at 7:30am. She is effective enough, except her culinary skills are abysmal. I end up having to trash the supposed soggy oatmeal she made for Muna’s breakfast and make a quick sandwich for her lunch box instead. But as she giggles with my daughter, I decide it is a flaw I’m happy to ignore. All I need is for her to take care of my child. Any other thing is a plus.

That Friday night, I am comfortable enough to ask her to watch Muna while I meet up with my friends for drinks. Journeying to the West End bar with Josie is surreal, and I can’t believe how long it has been since I’ve been out and about.

“Ah, there he is! Mr. Parents himself!” Eli teases, as we walk up to where he and Malone are seated at the bar. “I was actually getting ready to hear you call to complain about not having a sitter.”

“He not only has a sitter now, but an Au Pair!” Josie declares, proud of himself for whatever way he might have influenced my decision.

Eli raises a bemused brow. “Another Au Pair? You didn't learn your lesson the last time?”

“Not all Au Pairs are like that,He was just unlucky.”

“Josie, maybe we could hear the man speak?.”

“She’s not living in the house, so won’t be able to harbour any strange men,” I say in my defence.

“It’s not even wise, considering the way women accuse guys of all sorts these days,” Eli says. “You don't need that, bruv”

“Exactly why this arrangement works for us. Besides, she’s great with Muna”

“Besides , it’s about time you had a life, man!” Josie cuts in, throwing his arm around myneck. “It’s been too long, mate!”

That it sure has.

We are soon drinking shots and talking and laughing a little too loud. But then again, so is everyone else in the bar. Loosened by alcohol for the first time in forever, everything my friends say sounds funny and everything around me looks that much better. A woman walks in, and Eli beckons her over. I realise her being there is probably no accident, but I’m too happy to care.

“This is Laura’s friend, Ada,” Eli says as loudly as he can over the loud house music now playing. Laura is his wife. “Ada, this is Chris.”

I smile at the beautiful, willowy woman who has a striking resemblance with Luna. I have always liked my women taller and seeing her at 5 feet 11 or even 6 feet, I'm impressed. She has the same large eyes, angular cheekbones, and small lips as Luna, but her honey-coloured skin is a few shades lighter than Luna’s rich dark colouring. On another day, I would have balked at any kind of set up, lest of all with my dead wife’s doppelgänger. But as a slow, dimpled smile forms on her face, I decide a short chat won’t be that bad.

“Hi, Ada,” I say, shaking her supple soft hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

“He’s a doctor!” Eli declares, before winking at me and shuffling away.

I smile and shake my head. He’s lucky I’m too inebriated to take offense.

“Eli is such a funny guy,” she giggles.

“He’s a muppet, that’s what he is,” I chuckle along with her.

“He’s my friend’s husband, so watch it,” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“And he’s my friend of almost twenty years,” I counter, enjoying the verbal exchange.

“Oh, wow. That’s a long time. You don't look old enough to have had a friendship that long.”

I laugh and cock my head to the side. “Oh yeah? I’m a lot older than you think.”

“Well, I look forward to learning a whole lot more about you,” she says, holding my gaze.

I might have been out of the game for a long time, but not long enough not to know when a woman is interested… and she’s definitely interested. I smile at her, not breaking our gaze. There just might be something here.

“So, what do you do?” I ask.

“I’m a Visual Merchandiser,” she answers, the mischievous glint still in her eyes.

I stare back, not having the slightest clue what that is, and she laughs, a nice sound that sounds like dainty bells ringing.

“I conceptualize and design store displays,” she answers, still smiling. “Basically, it’s my job to ensure store displays are aesthetically appealing enough to entice customers to check out and ultimately buy the store’s products.”

I nod, surprised there’s a whole ass job for that. “Just any store or any one in particular?”

“I’ve worked with several brands, but I’ve been with Gucci for the last four.” Then leaning in, her smile turns coy. “I was a model in my early twenties though.”

“No shit!” I answer in feigned surprise. Of course, that doesn't surprise me. With her looks, I’m surprised she isn’t still one.

“I still do model on occasion though,” she answers, as if reading my mind. “Just no longer as often.”

“How long have you lived in London?” I ask as, though almost imperceptible, I can hear a faint foreign accent.

“About four years. I moved here when I got the job at Gucci . I was in Manchester before that.”When I frown in my confusion, she shrugs. “I moved here from Lagos, Nigeria thirteen years ago as a teenager.” She giggles and covers her face with well-manicured hands. “Oh dear, I’ve disclosed my age!”

“Not really,” I chuckle back. “You’ve only given me the assurance that you’re old enough for this discussion.”

“What about you?” she asks, leaning closer. “From your accent, you were probably born here. Or…?”

“Born here,” I answer. “Although my parents are from the Nanauvt.”

“And where's that”

“It's in the north of Canada “

“Have you been to the north in Canada before?” she says with the expression of where's the north in Canada.

The smile on my face wanes. “A few times.”

“Well, from different cultures are we right. we have to do something about that,” is her coy response. “I might need to take you back to my apartment to school you a little more about my homeland.”

I’m about to respond that I’ll be too happy to be schooled, when I make eye contact with a woman sitting at the other end of the bar. I look away but turn to look again when I realise she, and another woman sitting next to her, are not only still staring at me, but glaring.

Suddenly, recognition sets in… and I know I need to be as far away from that bar as I can get.

“It was great meeting you, Ada,” I say, dropping my glass on the counter and motioning to Josie that I’ll reimburse him later. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”Her mouth parts in her surprise, but I don't even tarry long enough to offer any further explanation. I turn around and struggle through the teeming crowd, which seems to have multiplied in the couple of hours I’ve been there.

As I walk briskly towards my car, I am reminded why I no longer do things like this. Being out on the town has resurrected things I need long dead.