Page 2 of Clever Little Thing

“Maybe Stella needs a snack,” Emmy suggested. “How about a piece of your mom’s homemade banana bread, sweetheart? Or I’ve got some carrots somewhere.”

With her hands still glued to her ears, Stella shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“She might be getting a bit hot in that sunsuit,” Emmy said to me.

“With our Irish coloring, you can’t be too careful,” I said. Stella had inherited my pale complexion, along with my hair, the dark red of saffron threads.

Emmy’s daughter Lulu attempted a cartwheel at the edge of the sea, her flaxen hair twisted into a pretty crown braid. Emmy herself had a fashionably messy side plait. I’d looked at videos on how to do both, but Stella hated me touching her hair. I wished that Stella would go and play too. Year four started in a few days, and Stella still struggled to fit in. I organized this end-of-summer trip to a beach in Kent so Stella could spend time with another kid in her class. Instead, Stella sat in her self-imposed bubble of silence.

Lulu finally turned a perfect cartwheel and then did one after another. My chest felt tight. Lulu looked so joyful and free. Stellahad never done a cartwheel in her life. But I reminded myself that other mothers had trouble getting their kids to read, whereas Stella read happily for hours. I tapped her shoulder and made sure she could see my lips. “I love you,” I said. Her gaze met mine, but I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

Emmy attached her baby to her breast, though thanks to a clever opening in her dress, you couldn’t see a thing. She managed to look chic even when breastfeeding. She caught me looking at her, and I turned away and folded my arms over my own chest, clad in a nondescript white T-shirt. My breasts were swollen, and Emmy didn’t know I was pregnant. I was hopeful this time, but I’d lost pregnancies before, and I didn’t want to jinx this one by making it public. Not yet. Luckily, I was barely showing.

Emmy placed a hand on my arm and murmured, “I’m so sorry about Blanka. I only found out this morning, or I would have messaged you.”

I murmured back, “It’s fine. Stella liked her, but she actually wasn’t very good at babysitting.”

Emmy looked reproachful. “Well, she’s gone now.”

“She moved?” I laid a palm over the back of my neck. I’d recently had my hair cut short, a practical bob, and it felt like the sun was burning the newly exposed skin.

Now Emmy was staring at me too. “Oh my god, you haven’t heard?” She looked at Stella, who still had her hands clapped over her ears, then leaned closer to me and whispered, “Are you sure Stella can’t hear?”

I wasn’t. Then I had an idea. I took a tissue from my tote, tore it down the middle, and folded each half until I had two tiny wads. Iwet the wads and squeezed them out. I pulled Stella’s hands away from her ears. “Ta-da! Earplugs.” Once I got them in, her whole body relaxed. “Now you can go and have fun,” I said. Stella clambered to her feet and ran to join Lulu.

“Genius,” said Emmy. I smiled. It seemed like we were going to have an actual, real conversation, instead of just administering sunscreen and snacks. Best of all, Stella was at last playing happily with Lulu.

“Blanka’s dead,” Emmy said.

I shook my head. The surf rushed into my ears, smashing, pummeling, grinding. Stella was right: the noisewasunbearable. Emmy’s mouth kept moving. When the noise finally retreated, I thought I had the gist: an accident of some kind. Emmy didn’t know the details.

“But I just saw her,” I said absurdly, as if the fact that she’d just been alive could disprove her death. “When did this happen?”

“On Thursday. Just before the weekend. Look, I’m so sorry you’re finding it out from me. I can’t believe you didn’t know.”

“How doyouknow?”

“I ran into my friend who lives on the same street,” Emmy said. “She saw them taking her away.”

Blanka had died just before the weekend, a few days after she quit. If she hadn’t stopped babysitting for us, would she still be alive?

I closed my eyes and saw Blanka shuffling along the pavement in her long black skirt and grey hoodie, shoulders drooping as if she carried all her worldly belongings on her back. She’d only been in her thirties, and had a round, girlish face, but she had moved like an old woman.

“Was it a car accident?” I asked, feeling sick.

Emmy shook her head. “My friend didn’t know.”

“Her poor mother,” I said. I had never met her mother—Blanka was a very private person—but I knew they lived together. I wondered if the accident had happened at home.

“Blanka was with you for a long time, wasn’t she? I’m so sorry, Charlotte. This must be awful for you.”

I nodded, although in fact Blanka was never one of those babysitters where people say, “She’s part of the family.” Stella liked her, but Pete and I never quite understood why. We used to joke that she was the nondairy creamer of babysitters: the only good thing you could say about her was that she was better than nothing.

Now I felt terrible for every bad thought I’d ever had about her.

A shriek tore the air. Lulu charged towards us, face crumpled. She threw herself on the blanket, wailing, and Emmy set her baby down and squeezed Lulu tight. Stella stood at a safe distance, clutching something behind her back. My heart sank.

“Stella, what is that?” I called. She shook her head and pointed to her earplugs.

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