‘She might call me a witch but the kids really love our nanny’

I’m still on maternity leave – a concept that only really works for a single mum if you borrow money off somebody. Otherwise, I would have been back at work before the baby had even realised who I was. I live on the borders of the rich, on the road next to David Cameron, and the poor, the Grenfell Tower-end of north Kensington, along with Muggles, the Golden Retriever and the children’s Filipino nanny, Rosalee.

Rosalee is constantly connected to her family in the Philippines by way of an earpiece or video link. She definitely loves the kids, which is a huge bonus, and they love her. But why did I choose a Filipino nanny – like the rest of the well-heeled Notting Hill set who are always on the look out for a bargain? Because, unlike European or American nannies, they do all the cleaning on top of the childcare.

I might have a flat that looks like it has been spray-painted with bleach but it’s not all plain sailing. For one, I have been concerned about the amount of TV the kids watch when I am not there.

One morning, in an attempt to catch her out, I flicked the channel to Sky Sports. When I returned from the shops it was on Nickelodeon, but Rosalee denied Lola had been watching TV. Next, I hid the remote controls, but I soon realised her phone (or phones) could just as easily be used as the TV, so I gave up.

These minor irritations aside, it was all going fairly well until I noticed my name was in her phone contacts under ‘Bura’ which, when I googled it, meant ‘witch’ in her native language, Tagilog. I was shocked to the core – horrified – how could I let somebody look after my children if they think I’m a witch? But it was around Halloween so I just let it go.

By this time she had been with me for nearly two-and-half-years so I chose to interpret it as a teacher would who is given a secret nickname in class.

But then she announced that her son had gone missing in the Philippines and she would have to leave in the next few days and fly home. Are you coming back? I asked hesitantly, half-wanting her to as I had to return to work and the kids loved her. “If I am not coming back in two weeks, my mum will call you,” she said cryptically.

I ran the scenario past a few people to get some perspective. “Has her son been kidnapped? Was there going be a ransom?” my neighbour asked – and would I have to contribute to the ransom?

It didn’t help that I had heard it all before with the first Filipino nanny – Lucy, her cousin – who told me her son, now 18, had been born with no eyes. She was brought in by my dad to help me when I came back from the hospital after having Lola.

She had worked for a very wealthy family in Wimbledon but wanted something more low-key. Nevertheless, she wore a white maid’s apron – which looked somewhat out of place in my small 2 bedroom flat. I didn’t really know what was going on having just given birth to my first baby – but two days into the job, as she made me a spinach omelette and fresh orange juice, she announced that she wanted to borrow £20,000 to pay for hospital treatment in the Philippines.

At least Rosalee had never done that, I reassured myself. But why will she let me know in two weeks? Has she got another job she is trying out? I had no idea if I needed to be sympathetic or annoyed.

I decided to interview some other nannies – there is a big Filipino community of nannies at my local park. By the end of the dog walk I had about six or seven lined up. Nobody is indispensable was my new motto – but by this point, I wasn’t asking the questions most mums ask – I was more concerned with the OCD levels of cleaning I was used to, and whether she would scrub the skirting boards.

I made a snap decision and settled on hiring Edwina, and Rosalee fled leaving the key. She was older than the others and was not so suspiciously over-the-top enthusiastic with the kids. But when she arrived and started hoovering the baby’s sheet in the cot and left the front door open so the dog ran out, I was beside myself with grief at Rosalee’s departure.

I couldn’t even call Edwina because she had accidentally blocked my number; and then I caught her trying to wash Lola’s hair with shampoo before wetting it. I realised that she must be going senile, and then I got the call from Rosalee’s mum.

“She’s coming back Charlotte! She says she misses the kids. She’ll be back on Monday morning. I get her to call you,” her mum said. ”Yes she found her son two days after arriving home.”

“Oh wonderful,” I said. “Tell her we miss her too. Thank god she is coming back.” I burst into tears – of joy and relief. Finally, I can think about going back to work again. Surely nothing can be as challenging as being at home with two kids, or can it?