Oxana stares at her blankly. ‘I think the best means of defence is attack,’ she says.
‘And what do you mean by that, exactly?’
‘Hurt them before they hurt you?’
The ensuing silence is broken by the sound of Milly sniggering. ‘Remind me of your name,’ Miss Scott murmurs.
‘Oxana, miss.’
‘Oxana, have you listened to a word I’ve said? Because I have no real idea what you’re doing in this graduation class. My question was, how do we protect ourselves, as nannies, from emotional harm?’
‘I don’t know, miss.’
And I don’t. I absolutely do not know. It’s been five days now since Eve walked out of our meeting with Johnny Fernandes. Since then I’ve rung her number countless times in the hope that she’ll switch her phone on again. Nothing, and I’m distraught, because this has gone far beyond any fight we’ve ever had. It gives me a sick, empty feeling that I can’t put into words except to say that it feels like an ending.
I know that I’m everything that’s bad in a lover. I know that I’m vicious and greedy and selfish. But she seemed content and even happy to live with that. She seemed to see something that transcended my cruelty, which in a sense wasn’t cruelty at all, but our own private, elaborate game. Because what we have – call it love, call it what the fuck you like – exists so far outside the conventional boundaries that everyday language simply doesn’t apply. Was this just too much for her? Have I forced her to face her authentic self? Has she been turned to stone?
‘All right, girls,’ Miss Scott says. ‘Please go and collect the baby assigned to you, and prepare for a stroller outing.’
With the others, Oxana moves to the far side of the classroom, where twenty babies are lying in rows on a long table.They’re not living babies, at least not quite. These are Stoolman babies, described by their German manufacturer as ‘fully vocalised, self-soiling manikins.’ Weirdly lifelike and covered in soft plastic skin in a variety of tones, the babies are programmed to cry, scream and enact a variety of bodily functions.
Oxana locates the baby assigned to her, a stolid-looking creature named Konrad. ‘What do I do?’ Oxana whispers to Georgie.
‘First, you have to load it,’ Georgie says, showing her how to unzip Konrad’s skin and prise open his chest cavity. ‘You put the brown pellets in the stomach, the yellow ones in the bladder, and the multicoloured ones in the stomach, like so. Then you add water to the pellets, taking care not to get any in the lungs, click the chest shut and seal the skin. Voilà! All done.’
‘What’s that gurgling noise?’
‘That’s the pellets being converted to wee, poo and sick inside him. Scotty activates the functions from an app on her phone.’
Oxana regards Konrad suspiciously. ‘Can we swap babies?’
Georgie cradles her own baby, Irma, which is a bluish colour and barely the size of a guinea pig. ‘Why?’
‘Yours is nice. Mine’s hideous.’
‘It’s just a baby, Ox.’
‘I don’t like the way it’s looking at me.’
‘We’re not allowed to swap. Besides, Irma’s premature, I asked for her specially.’
Oxana regards Konrad resignedly. ‘I suppose I should dress it.’
‘Yes, and don’t forget to put a nappy on. If he craps his Babygro, Scotty’ll make you wash it.’
‘Oh God.’
‘I know, right?’
Oxana prepares Konrad for the outside world. Pampers, Babygro, travelling jacket and bootees. Miss Scott, prowlingfrom student to student, watches the process without expression.
Oxana pulls on Konrad’s sun hat. ‘That woman hates me.’
Georgie looks at her. ‘You’re just not really the Ruffley Royal type.’
‘I think Ox’ll make a brilliant nanny,’ Charlotte protests. ‘Scotty’s just a miserable old cow.’
‘Scotty’s what we’ll all be in thirty years’ time,’ says Milly, hoisting her baby to her shoulder. ‘If we don’t find a rich husband, that is. Or steal someone else’s.’