Au-Pair In America

When I was young and far from home

Me in Central Park, New York aged 16-17

The New York cop pinned me against the boot of his car, his breath hot on my neck. Getting too close, closer than he should. I was tipsy on Long Island Iced Teas, and suddenly very aware I was alone with two New York officers right outside my host family home, a night that started with harmless drinks but ended with me learning how quickly things could turn dark.

Just a few months earlier, I’d left London, dodging IRA bomb threats and the simmering racial tensions in the streets, following the Brixton and Tottenham riots.¹ I thought I was trading danger for adventure.

At 16, I’d boarded a plane to become an au pair in America. It was 1987, I was to be an au pair to two little girls, aged 3 and 8. I’d just returned from a trip to Russia, where I met fellow travellers on the overnight train from Moscow to the then, Leningrad.

That trip sparked my desire to explore the world. So when the chance to be an au pair in the USA came up, I jumped at it.

New York felt both exciting and dangerous. Ronald Reagan was president, and the city was in the grip of a crime wave and crack cocaine epidemic, leaving entire neighbourhoods devastated (think Snowfall).².

Gary, the dad of family, met me at the airport, standing at 6’4 late 40’s with grey hair. He picked me up in a Chevy Chevelle, the kind of car I had only ever seen in films. As we drove, he played 50s music on the radio, it felt surreal, like I was in an old American movie.

The air felt dense and dry, it was hard to breath. The roads were vast and buildings high.

We headed out to Long Island and eventually pulled into the drive of a single-storey, medium-sized house at the end of a quiet street, that had an open field next to it. It felt huge compared to the council flat I’d grown up in, crammed in with my mum, brother and sister in Wembley.

It had a garden, a back yard, something I’d longed for as a kid but never had.

I met the wife, Shirly, she was in her 30’s with long dark hair. The kids were gorgeous with blonde curls and appeared very well behaved.

I was shown to my room, which was huge, filled with heavy old-fashioned dark wooden furniture. The cherry on top was my own private bathroom.

When I first arrived in New York, I was working under the radar. It was a trial period for three months, so I didn’t have the proper visa and hadn’t signed up with an au pair agency, so had no friends in the area.

Shirly had a brother called Robert, he was in his twenties, she thought it would be a good idea for him to take me out. He was a tall skinny man with bright red hair, with lots of bouncing energy and It wasn’t long before I discovered he had a taste for cocaine.

The first time, he took me for dinner, he ordered me a Long Island Iced Tea, my first, I had more than one, they are delicious but deceptive drinks and as I stood up, I felt my head spin.

On another night, he took me to a 50’s club. I spent most of the night leaning against the railings, watching everyone, while Robert disappeared off to the toilets for what felt like half the night, sniffing coke.

Soon after I met a local women called Nancy, in her late 20’s from Ireland, she had married Frank, an American serviceman. They introduced me to their friends, and weekends were soon spent hanging out with them all.

Frank introduced me to Wayne, a long-haired, moustached guy in a leather coat. He took me under his wing, he wanted a relationship with me, though I had no romantic feelings for him, but we hung out as mates and he introduced me to his friends.

I spent a lot of time with Donna, and we celebrated my 17th birthday with all their mates, including, Wild Man Willy.

Wild Man Willy’s loft conversion in Manhattan was incredible, with high ceilings and huge windows overlooking the city.

They introduced me to a world of clubbing, dining, and fun. The group was tight-knit, treating me like one of their own, though cocaine was always present, lined up on marble surfaces in the beautiful apartments.

One night, they took me to The Tunnel nightclub. I had a fake ID, which I used without hesitation. The queue was long, and the staff picked people based on looks and style to create a certain image or vibe inside. I felt nervous each time they passed by, wondering if I’d be chosen.

Each time, I was. I wondered what it would have done to my ego if I hadn’t been picked, and how others felt when they weren’t. I’d never experienced anything like this in London, and it left me both sickened and curious.

I’d float around the club on many occasions, chatting to people and soaking in their stories. I remember telling my mum I’d met Harry Belafonte’s nephew, which freaked her out. She thought I was being lied to for a quick romantic connection, but of course, that didn’t happen.

I later found out some of my friends had ties with the mafia. One night at a club, we were told to run, we had guns pointed at us from across the room. I didn’t stick around to find out if that was true.

My days were spent looking after the daughters, taking them to school, collecting them after school, cleaning, tidying, ironing, and cooking.

My trial period soon came to an end, and I returned to the States a few months later, armed with a directory of au pair phone numbers.

However, not everything was golden.
One night, an au pair friend introduced me to two New York cops. They took us to the Hamptons for drinks, but things turned dark.

After dropping us off, they strangely dropped my friend first, even though we’d passed my street. I didn’t understand why until the car stopped, and the bigger guy pinned me to the boot.

He got too close, closer than he should. After that, my distrust of 80s New York cops grew.

The cop harassed me for a while, trying to take me out. He was delusional. I never saw him again, I think he got the message. I was really scared and considered reporting him, but I didn’t think anyone would believe me.

But life moved on and I quickly made loads of new au-pair friends from all over the world. We spent our time at Jones Beach, Long Beach, and Fire Island, our skin salty and Sunkissed.

One night in a bar, I got chatting with a woman who was sitting alone, her name was Tina. We clicked instantly. She was a couple of years older than me, but it wasn’t long before I was spending days at her massive mansion on Great South Bay, taking her family boat out to Fire Island.

Her house was like nothing I had ever seen. I’d grown up in a council flat with crooked wallpaper hung by my mum and carpets nailed down on the stairs, where I'd constantly catch my toes or heels on the loose tacks that would sneak up through the threads.

At Tina’s the floors beneath my feet were smooth and cold marble, the ceilings high, the rooms vast, with giant gold-gilded mirrors and bathrooms that gleamed with gold taps.

She had piranhas as pets, and I was horrified to discover she fed them live goldfish, the same kind of little pets I had adored as a kid and bought home from the fairground soon to be covered in fungus.

I was now 18 years of age, and things had shifted for me. Gary lost his job, and suddenly he was home all day, pacing around, filling the house with an uncomfortable tension.

The easy going atmosphere I had come to enjoy vanished, and I found myself feeling torn. I had grown so attached to the girls and felt guilty for wanting to leave. But I knew deep down it was time to go.

With a heavy heart, I said my goodbyes and packed my things. I boarded a flight to Canada, my mind filled with mixed emotions, relief, guilt, and the promise of something new. And that, as they say, is another story.

Me, white water rafting on the Cheat River, West Virginia

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1. I had a mate who went to prison for his part in the Tottenham riots. When he got out, he had nowhere to go and nothing to wear. My mum had known his mum, but she’d died, so we let him sleep on our sofa for a while and found some clothes for him. I still wonder what ever became of him.

2. A crime drama series that explores the rise of the crack cocaine epidemic in 1980s Los Angeles.