Urgently wanted: night-time nanny! Generous pay!

Once again, I was half-heartedly skimming through the job adverts, letting myself be distracted by the hustle and bustle in the tiny standing-room-only kitchenette that passes itself off as a café, casually raising my hand here and there to symbolise something like a wave. This place is a veritable death sentence for any coffee aroma, and an absolute disgrace, but at least it's reasonably warm and cheap. That's why you find lots of students here, myself included.

Completely exhausted that day, I slumped over one of the faux bistro tables, trying not to slip into a waking coma. This is because I finance my studies almost entirely myself. At the time, I had three part-time jobs, but not a single permanent one with decent pay. There aren't many opportunities for us anyway, and if you're a female student – with the emphasis on 'female' – that rules out quite a few more. It's not my fault, but it's just a fact.

Advert after advert was looking for 'field sales staff' to sell things to people. That's not for me. I'm no good at selling. I can't even convince myself to buy things, because I have to watch every penny. Then there were lots of adverts for childminders. That's not for me, either. I needed jobs that ran in short blocks, or involved night work, so that I could somehow keep on top of my studies. All the rushing around from one dodgy shop to another, to do stand-in shifts, on top of the magazine delivery job, was slowly but surely driving me mad. I never got enough sleep to be even remotely clear-headed. I'd forgotten what it felt like to have a well-rested body.

Then I realised that I was staring at an advert at the bottom of the column. I'd probably zoned out a bit. That happened to me quite often. Anyway, I opened my eyes wide and read: 'Urgently wanted: night-time nanny!' What on earth was a night-time nanny? It could be a sort of concierge for a brothel, I thought. I was just about to put the paper down when I read the small print again: 'Generous pay!', it said. Goodness me! Who on earth phrases things in such a bizarrely old-fashioned way? Besides, it was a coded advert. You hardly ever saw that sort of thing anymore. You didn't write to people directly, but via the newspaper as an intermediary.

For some reason, I was in the mood for pointless escapades that afternoon. I rummaged through my rucksack, which I use as a book bag, for paper and a pen. I was probably just bored, or perhaps I wanted to avoid rushing to the laundrette, where I worked three times a week. Anyway, I wrote an application, mentioning that I was a student interested in the position. Blah, blah, blah. I added my mobile number and took it to the editorial office. It was just around the corner.

About a week later, when I'd already forgotten all about the night-time nanny advert, I received a letter. I hadn't seen stationery like that very often. It was stiff and quite thick – an expensive, handmade paper. The handwriting blew me away – probably written with a fountain pen. It was incredibly precise, with flourishes and all that. Only someone with plenty of spare time could write like that, not to mention having the money to afford such a luxurious indulgence.

Anyway, I was invited to a job interview. Although I hadn't lived in this town for very long, I realised that the address was in an area I hardly ever saw, except when delivering newspapers. The timing struck me as odd because it was already dark by eight o'clock in December. But then again, they were looking for a 'night-time nanny'. So it made sense.

I set off the following Friday. The tram was too expensive, so I walked to meet my potential employers. As I mentioned earlier, the house was one of those old villas with a turret and at least two bay windows, as well as a wrought-iron gate. There were plenty of similar houses in the neighbourhood, some of which had signs advertising doctors' surgeries, tax advisers or solicitors. The signs were ornate and made of polished brass, and the atmosphere was enhanced by lots of old trees. If a horse-drawn carriage had rolled past, it wouldn't have looked out of place. However, whatever was parked outside the houses on wheels had far more horsepower and was just as immaculately polished. When I opened the gate, which didn't squeak at all, a lamp flared to life. 'Ah', I thought. 'A motion sensor. So no time travel after all.' I can be a bit silly at times – I love science fiction stories! Unfortunately, I hardly ever get round to reading much these days.

What I really loved was the old-fashioned door knocker. I'd only ever seen one like it in films: a lion's head with a ring in its mouth. Just as I was about to reach for it, though, someone opened the door. 'What a shame', I thought, grinning. Standing before me was a friendly lady with a smile on her face, black hair, and a slim figure. She was probably about thirty years old and looked stunning. She greeted me warmly, took me by the arm, and led me into the house. As she did so, she talked non-stop, but it wasn't idle chatter. She had an impressive, well-modulated voice, and didn't utter a single platitude.

'I'm really glad you responded to our advert', she said. 'You're a student, aren't you? That's perfect, absolutely perfect.' Then we sat in a salon – the word 'living room' wouldn't do it justice. Everything looked stunning, like something out of an old film. But it wasn't overly decorated. It was really tasteful.

There was already a tray of tea on the table. I thought that was a very nice touch, and besides, I do like tea. When I finally had the chance to speak, I asked what sort of job it was. Just then, one of the drawing room doors opened and an attractive gentleman entered the room with three children. 'Ah', I thought to myself. 'The husband and his lovely little ones.' As it turned out, that was indeed the case. For once, I felt slightly self-conscious about my clothes. They were completely out of place, and my short, tousled hairstyle with the green streak probably wasn't fitting either.

The man gave a brief bow and smiled at me like one of those men in tailcoats you see in the films my granny used to love. The children took it to a whole new level: There were two girls, aged around ten, and a boy who was about five. I had never encountered such politeness before – they had clearly been brought up like royalty. Even better, they were genuinely friendly.

After all, it was all about the children. 'You see, my dear, we're usually out at night. At least for most of the night. That's where you'd come in.' After saying this, the man glanced at his wife for help. She picked up the thread dutifully. 'Our children are active at night, too. It's in their nature, and we see no reason to change that. Besides, we couldn't even if we wanted to.'

I said nothing, simply looking at the family expectantly. By now, I'd realised that these kids needed looking after while their parents were out at night. Okay, that suited me fine. In fact, I'd been looking for a job like this. If the pay was right, that would be brilliant. I took the opportunity of a pause in the conversation to ask about it. The sum the man of the house quoted left me speechless at first, which doesn't happen very often. This job would free me from the other slave drivers. I'd just have to show up here every evening at around nine o'clock. I would then spend the night with the children, helping them with their schoolwork (the lady said they teach the children themselves), playing with them, and acting as a kind of friend to them. A 'point of contact', as the father put it. It would all be finished about an hour before sunrise. This would give me with plenty of time to sleep, run a few errands, and, above all, study. I was really afraid that I might be dreaming all this, because when does it ever happen that almost all your problems can be solved at once?

The children looked at me expectantly. They were lovely and clever – I'd already worked that out. It would be fun to spend time with them. The whole family was very nice, even if they were as pale as me. When I finally agreed, Mum clapped her hands, and the children threw their arms around her neck. Dad leaned forward with a smile and pulled an employment contract out of his jacket.

I was just about to sign it when I spotted a beautiful mirror above the fireplace. I couldn't resist looking into it. Suddenly, my movement froze – probably my pulse, too. The fountain pen remained suspended two centimetres above the paper. In the mirror, I was alone. There was no mum, no dad. and no children. Then I looked back at my future employers. They had followed my gaze. 'Antoinette, I did ask you to take the mirror down, my dear.' These words came out softly and almost desperately. The children looked at me in horror, and Mum was on the verge of tears.

'Now you know why we need a night-time nanny', the lady whispered. Her husband said: 'Rest assured that you will carry out your duties without any harm coming to you. We need someone who doesn't share our peculiarity. We want our children to have contact with the outside world, even if it's just through one of its representatives. Naturally, we would have to ask you to keep this confidential.'

I have the useful ability to think things through very quickly. I had noticed the children's well-formed canines while they were showing me their friendliest smiles – something I hadn't noticed before. I lowered the fountain pen onto the paper and signed. A sigh was heard, and I began my work at the Olsens' house (you will understand that I do not wish to reveal the family's real name).

I have never regretted a single day, and even now that I run my own law firm, I still look forward to spending my holidays in the Carpathians. This has been the case every year since the family left their old house to live in the land of their forefathers once more, as they did a few hundred years ago. One might say that we are a family, even though we are as different as night and day.

© 'Urgently wanted: night-time nanny! Generous pay!': A short story by Ilona E. Schwartz (translated by Izabel Comati), 09/2026. The illustration shows a detail from the painting 'Family Celebration' by Niko Pirosmani (about 1900) and is in the Public Domain.