She's younger than I expected, and given the less-than-warm reaction she's given me, I reckon I'm not quite her cup of tea. Not sure how I've surprised her, but I understand it's not in my best interests to give her a chance to cancel our agreement. Maybe I look a bit different than she expected too.
My flat is gone, and all my things are scattered around me. To pay my debts, I emptied my account. We've passed the point of no return.
For the last week, I've been doing some proper preparation. A bit of cooking. A bit of cleaning. Toss in some laundry. Even still, pleasing myself is a lot different than satisfying someone else, and I've learned that the hard way.
Last night, I almost backed out, moved into Tejinder's spare room, and tried to find an alternate solution. Perhaps naked sex toy parties would be a winner after all.
The shock of having been hired for this job finally hit me, and I realized what a Hail Mary this is. There's no safety net if I fail, not that there was much in place before now.
But crouched in front of this little gaffer, the tightness in my chest loosens. With his mess of blond hair, hazel eyes, and tiny statue, it's hard to believe he'll give me any trouble. We'll be partners in crime. Not real crime, mind you. Sort of the opposite of that. Whatever that is.
"You've got somewhere for me and Chloe to hang our hats?" I ask as I rise to a standing position again. My employer is petite, but everything from her bleach blonde hair to her full face of makeup to her wide dark blue eyes bellows high maintenance. Immy was like that too with the nails and the lashes and all the girly things scattered around the flat.
"Oh, um." Paige stares at me with wide eyes.
If this is the part where she tells me I'm not hired after all, I might go a bit mental on her doorstep. While I'm not exactly the best candidate for the job, I reckon I'm better than someone who's never looked after a kid before. I've managed to keep Chloe alive for the last six months, and that's no small accomplishment.
"Yes," she says with a nod, and she's clearly holding something back. "Upstairs. The last bedroom. Do you want help with your things?"
"Nah," I say, stepping past her and Joey with a bag in each hand. "I've got it. Just a few trips."
Even though I've said that, she reaches out the door and grabs two bags to sling over her shoulders. It's not worth a fight, though, when she still seems on the knife edge of giving me the sack.
"I help. I help." Joey calls to his mother when she follows me.
In the end bedroom, I stare at the large four poster bed, and the space near a door where I'll have to wedge Chloe's crib. Not loads of space, but better than our flat. At least here I'm not paying the rent. I take the bags in, and I stack them near the far white wall. Out of curiosity, I open the door and find an oversize closet.
"All the bedrooms have closets," Paige says from behind me. "There's also the chest of drawers and the two nightstands for storage. But if you need more space, there seem to be other closets downstairs that I won't have a use for. A whole mudroom at the back that's empty of furniture too."
I nod, and then I head for the doorway where Paige is still standing to take the bags from her and stack them near the others. When I go to squeeze past her, she flattens herself against the door, and I'm aware again of how tiny she is. Ever since I grew a few extra inches in Upper School and began towering over women, I've felt this tightening in my chest whenever a woman seems afraid of me. On a building site or in a fight down at the pub, my size is a good thing. But it's not good for much else.
Instead of trying to get past her, I reverse course back into the bedroom. She skitters out the door, and Joey clings to her leg again in the corridor. Then I'm clear to proceed back down the stairs. I take them slowly so Chloe keeps sleeping. Nap time is almost over, but it's more convenient for me if she's asleep. Not sure why I didn't consider how awkward weekends living here might be. Am I to be out of my room looking after Joey even when she's home or will that be her job?
After four more trips where Paige tries to keep Joey from 'helping' too much, I have all our things in the bedroom. Perhaps I can avoid her tonight by unpacking some of this. Didn't enjoy packing all of it, and I suspect I'll hate organizing it here just as much.
Chloe wakes up while I'm digging through bags looking for the bottles and supplies I put somewhere I'd remember and have now promptly forgotten. Once I've located them, I decide I'll have to grasp the nettle. Gotta get comfortable today with Paige here. Tomorrow will be better. Joey and I get do bloke things around the house. Watch some footy, eat some crisps.
In the kitchen, Paige appears to have decided to go ahead with our situation. On the top of the wooden island in the middle of the kitchen is a series of lists. Should have known. From our text exchanges, she seemed like the type of woman to have checklists. Not that I mind. If she's organized, I don't have to be.
"Right," I say, as I try to locate everything I need to make a bottle for Chloe while keeping her in my arms. "What have you got there?"
"We didn't really go over my expectations, and so I thought I would lay them out so we didn't have any misunderstandings."
While the water in the sink warms for Chloe's bottle, I peer over Paige's shoulder to examine her lists. The dreaded laundry is there, but so is something I hadn't considered. Beside iron everything is a note to tell me that 'socks and underwear are included.' Bloody hell. The woman expects me to iron her knickers? Since I've never ironed anything, a hint of panic spreads across my chest. What sort of monster irons all their clothes? Even Imogen wasn't that fussed.
"I made this before you arrived," she says.
When I glance from the list to her, there's a pink sheen to her pale cheeks, and she doesn't meet my gaze. So she wants her knickers ironed, but she doesn't want to discuss it. If she wasn't my employer, I'd think she was having a laugh at my expense.
"I like to be organized." This time her tone is indignant.
Whenever Immy got that tone, I knew better than to engage. Keep my head down and carry on. I grab the bottle off the counter, and I fill it with the right amount of water, and then I scoop the powder into it. With my finger over the nipple, I shake it up, and Chloe is grinning from ear-to-ear making the milk hand sign.
"Did you teach her baby sign language or did her mother?"
"Wasn't her mother," I say as I pass Chloe the bottle and tip her into the crook of my arm so she's lying down to drink it.
"Do you share custody with her mother?" Paige tilts her head, and her blonde hair sways, not quite touching her shoulder.
"No, I don't." I'm trying hard to keep my temper in check, but Immy is the one subject that everyone else in my life understands is off limits. We don't talk about her. It makes me angry and sad and really fucking confused that I still love someone who could do this to us.
"Is that because—"
"Does knowing all this impact whether you're keeping me on?"
Paige flushes a deeper pink than before. "Just curious. It's not—you don't have to tell me."
"Right. I think it's best if we focus on your little lists there." My tone comes out harsher than I intend, and Chloe's brow is furrowed when I glance down at her. "I didn't mean to be short with you. Chloe's mum's a sore subject."
Paige bites her lip, and if I knew her better, I might be able to determine what that means. Not sure if I've offended her or what. Might as well set clear parameters from day one. Imogen isn't idle chit-chat.
She raises her lists on the island, and I go to her shoulder to see what other horrors await me. My footy and crisps is looking less likely.
"I couldn't figure out the washing machine, and is it weird that it's in the kitchen?"
"That's bog standard."
She stares at me.
"What?"
"Bog standard?"
"Normal?" I shrug. "You've never heard bog standard?"
"That's not something we say at home. Why bog?"
"Don't know, really. Bog roll is what you'd call toilet paper. Just what we say."
"Okay, then." She surveys the kitchen and the cupboards below where the fridge and washing machine are tucked in. "I wasn't able to locate the dryer. Should I purchase one or would it be somewhere I haven't discovered yet?"
"A dryer?" I hint of a smile touches my lips. "You just hang your washing out. That's what the clothesline is for."
"You can't do that in the winter."
"Drying rack inside. Near the radiators." Seems funny that someone so uptight hasn't searched these things on the internet. Joey is playing with a toy car on the brown tile floor and making soft car noises. I pick up one of her lists. "You reckon I should be able to do all this in twenty-four hours? Should I be calling HR about my hours of work?"
She blushes again, and I decide that throwing her off balance might be my favorite part of the job so far. When her cheeks heat, she appears equal parts mortified and angry.
"Not all in a single day. You're allowed five hours of sleep."
"Five hours?" I set the sheet on the island and lean on my hand while Chloe keeps drinking her bottle in the crook of my arm. "Seems a tad generous. Chloe here has made sure I can function on three. I've been in training for this."
A hint of a smile threatens at the corners of her lips.
"To be clear, though. You're talking bollocks, right? You're not actually scheduling my sleep."
"I am not actually scheduling your sleep, no." She runs a finger down her lengthy list. "But I would like all of this completed every week."
"Right, so I get to pick which ones on which days."
"Keep receipts of anything you buy—groceries, supplies, and so forth. If you're shopping and want to pick up a toy or something for Joey, it has to be educational."
I cock my head and stare at the car he's vrooming around the floor.
"He's learning about transportation," she says, as though it's obvious.
"Of course." I decide this must mean her educational claim is to make her look good and not because she means it.
"Do you have any questions about the list?" she asks.
"Not a one." Looks as though she's laid things out in excessive detail with several sheets of notes and lists. No way I'm getting it all right, but I'll forge ahead regardless. I've worked for all sorts on building sites, and I preferred the blokes who set clear expectations of the crew. Even if I didn't or couldn't meet them, I understood where I was aiming.
She checks the watch on her wrist. "Should we order dinner? Or did you want to cook?"
"A takeaway," I say, jumping on the offer. The thought of cooking in front of her on the first night is a tad terrifying. She'll sack me for sure. "The pub in the village does a nice curry."
"A curry?" Paige scrunches up her nose. "Will Joey like that?"
"Butter chicken. Some chana masala. Bit of garlic naan. Can't go wrong." It's a diet I plan to raise Chloe on. Nothing better than a curry take away. Chloe drains her bottle, and I take it from her before she can suck too much air. As I sit her up in my arms, I set the bottle beside the sink. She grins at Paige and then sticks her fist in her mouth.
"Teething?" Paige asks, and her expression softens.
I nod and smooth Chloe's flyaway hair.
"Your parents really named you Ashley?" Paige asks, and when I glance at her, there's a curious emotion on her face that I can't read.
"That's what my birth certificate says. Why?"
"In America, Ashley is a girl's name or a woman's name. It's female." That glow rises to her cheeks again.
At first I shrug, and then the other shoe drops, and I think I might actually gape at her. Blimey. That must mean... "You thought you were hiring a bird?"
She splays her hands out and shrugs her shoulders, and the look she gives me has a touch of bewilderment. "I thought I was hiring a single mother."
I stare at her for a beat, not sure what to say in response. Each email is flashing across my mind. In our exchanges, I did leave out that I was a bricklayer up until a week ago. That wouldn't have gone in my favor, but otherwise, I was honest. A parent with not much experience. Now that I think about it, did I ever refer to myself as a dad?
Bloody hell. I don't think I did.
Before you go, hit the star.
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