Unsuitable

by Ainslie Paton

  “Human climbing gym. Mia, don’t hurt Reece.”

  “Not hurty him.”

  “You don’t need to let her—”

  He looked around Mia to Audrey. She wore an expression that suggested she empathised, but that wasn’t enough.

  “I want this job. To be able to concentrate on one kid, to have the job for at least twelve months like you’ve said, with an option to stay until she goes to school. That’s what I want. I thought I wanted to build houses, but I’d rather help build people.”

  Maybe that was too much. Audrey reached for Mia and dragged her off him. But she studied him with eyes that were unguarded for the first time. “Living in when needed is not a problem?”

  “No. I still live at home. I pitch in with the girls. My baby sister, Pippa, is ten and my oldest, Etta, is sixteen so it’s her turn.”

  “Sometimes there might not be much notice.” Mia crawled from Audrey’s lap towards the TV.

  “I’d cope.” Should’ve made that ‘I’ll cope’. Should’ve spoken as if he already gotten the job because this interview was tilting, maybe he wasn’t done yet.

  “How long have you been looking for a nanny job?”

  She’d know it was four months since he finished with the Flannery’s. “This is my eleventh interview.” He lifted his hands, rough and calloused, despite using gloves and Etta’s moisturiser. Audrey could make of that what she wanted. He’d never figured the hardest part of choosing to work with kids wasn’t the mocking he got from mates, or the pay and conditions; it was the assumption he couldn’t do the job as well as a woman, and worse, that he was somehow deviant, unsafe. “I’ve been bricklaying.”

  “You’ve been unlucky.” And there it was, not so much a tilt in his favour but the whole thing had tipped over. That was sympathy, not what you wanted to elicit in an interview. Audrey was too smart to hire him because she felt sorry for him.

  He shrugged. “It’s how it goes.” What could he do, other than give it up like Sky and Polly wanted him to? This interview was definitely done now. He pressed a hand to the floor to stand.

  “I’d want to talk to the other families you’ve worked for.”

  He was halfway to his feet. “Their numbers are on—”

  “Your résumé. I know.” Audrey stood too. “I want to talk to your youngest sister as well.”

  “Flip.” That came out like a swear word, because he was still in this, and that was a surprise.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, no, we call Pippa Flip. She came out backwards.” Absolutely no need for Audrey to know Flip’s name for him was Flop. That was more embarrassing than being able to sing with the crab, or knowing all the words to Let It Go from Frozen. “Are you saying I have a chance here?”

  Audrey nodded. She looked at Mia. “I know what it’s like, Reece. Not to get the job you qualified for, for reasons you can’t control. But there are some really wonderful candidates. I need to think about this, about you and how it might work. I’m not making any promises.” She offered her hand and he took it. “Let’s move to the second stage.”

  “A play date in the park.”

  “Apple, Mum. Now.”

  Audrey smiled, her first genuine smile. It made her look younger, less like a woman who had a rocking career, owned this house, and a very cute daughter. He liked this smiling Audrey. She’d make an interesting boss.

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  He had a list of questions, from Mia’s favourite food to preferred activity to allergies and medical history, but what he most wanted to know about was her mother. What work did Audrey do that allowed her to pull the kind of salary that paid for this house, and could afford a full-time carer? Yeah, he wanted to know that, and it was partly a question of job security. But he also wanted to know how she ended up a single parent, and whether he’d meet a boyfriend over cereal at breakfast time, because Audrey Bates was attractive. She was a mix tape of hotshot, no-nonsense executive and disapproving exam supervisor; at least that’s how she sampled. He needed more of her to see her clearly.

  “I have heaps of questions about Mia.”

  “Apple, prese. I need, badly.”

  Audrey eye-rolled.

  If he’d have had an apple in his pocket she might’ve given him the job on the spot. As it was, this had turned out a whole lot better than any Reese Witherspoon movie he’d been forced to sit through.

  4: Godzilla in the Garden

  Merrill brought food and wine and Audrey put Mia to bed, twice. Once for ‘my tummy hurty’, and five minutes later for ‘there’s a scared’. The scared turned out to be a possum sitting on the fence Mia could see from her bedroom window. Uncle Joe chased the naughty possum away and sleepy Mia finally stayed put.

  If only Cameron was staying put. Audrey had all afternoon to think about her replacement. She made notes after each interview and she’d ranked the candidates in order of preference, except for Reece. She didn’t know how to rank Reece. He was beyond any ranking system she’d anticipated.

  First thing she did after he left, after tears, Mia’s, and a mandarin she ate herself, after a nap that didn’t happen, and a dozen games of Hungry Hungry Hippo, was re-read Reece’s résumé for clues to his gender. She didn’t like surprises and Reece was dry rain, the sun rising at night, Mia eating what was put in front of her.

  That he was a man who wanted to care for small children was shock enough, but he was this enormous tank of a man in a pink shirt, under which his muscle structure bulged and rippled, like he was smuggling a whole other person under his polo, and that other person was a body builder. He had these huge hands and snowshoes for feet, thighs that looked too thick to allow him to sit cross-legged, and the trapeze of his shoulder muscles was almost wider than the doorway. He could very well block out the sun and be a human shelter. He could probably lift the whole house and orient it slightly more to the north as easily as she straightened the hallway rug with a foot.

  He should’ve moved awkwardly for all his bulk, lumbered, gone through her floorboards, broken her couch, but he was graceful and moved with slow ease. Instead of being giant in all things, he kept his movements small and spoke softly, as if he was worried about alarming you. He could easily be alarming, Godzilla in the garden, and yet Mia took to him like a bee to a fruit tree.

  She considered the possibility he was gay, that unexpected softness, that consideration and self-awareness he showed, and she certainly couldn’t be sure he wasn’t, but she didn’t think so. Nothing she could point to as evidence, except a kind of twinkling regard he’d directed at her that was supernumerary to the deference he showed her as a potential employer. Not that it mattered. His sexual preference had no bearing on his ability to act as a qualified carer, it was just that he was fascinating, not only the size of him, and the way he negotiated the world of everyday midgets, but his obviously complex childhood, and his decision to buck everything his physical self shouted and take on a traditionally feminine role.

  Presumably he was safe from sticks and stones style threats to his manhood, but she wondered how he handled the more insidious swipes at his masculinity. Maybe he was oblivious to them, simply didn’t care. He had to have copped flack growing up, for the whole I need to change the baby’s nappy thing when other kids needed first cigarettes and French kisses.

  She’d expected him to terrify Mia, had braced for hysteria and that would’ve been a convenient end to it, saved the effort of making a decision about where Reece ranked. Next to the Shetland pony Mia had ridden, Reece was the biggest living thing she’d ever seen. But he’d had the magic touch and she’d reacted to him as if he was handmade for her convenience and amusement. And his résumé, since he’d left out the bricklaying, you’d have to know your spelling.

  “Where are you, Aud?” Joe waved the bottle of red.

  Merrill waggled her empty glass. “She’s mentally plotting how to prevent Cameron leaving.”

  Joe poured. “Still?”


  Audrey shook her head and put her hand over her glass. “No, I’ve moved on. Now I’m trying to imagine having one of the short list candidates hanging out here and managing Mia. Who do I want to share air-freshener and fridge rights with? It’s like picking a roommate with the added complexity of knowing they’re the single most influential thing in your kid’s life after you.” She made a strangled noise and held her glass out. “Oh God. I haven’t moved on.”

  Joe filled her glass. “Managing Mia, sounds like one of those lonely heart romantic comedies Merry goes to on her own.”

  Merrill grunted. “Which one of us cried during The Notebook?”

  “I had something in my eye.”

  “Yeah, those wet salty things that dribble,” Merrill gave a theatrical sniff,” they’re called tears, Joe.”

  Audrey swirled the wine in her glass. “Which is what my life will be made of if I don’t get this right.”

  “You said all the applicants were good,” said Merrill.

  “They are. The right qualifications, excellent experience. It’s hard to pick between them. They were all pleasant people, but this is not a ninety minute movie, this is Mia turning four and five and being healthy and happy and well cared for. I need to hire someone she’ll love and who’ll love her.” She emptied her glass in three long swallows and knew she’d regret it at 5am when Mia woke, assuming she stayed asleep that long.

  Joe gave her raised eyebrows. “Isn’t that what relatives are for, the love thing? Isn’t hiring a nanny a bit more job-like?”

  “Wait till it’s your kid.”

  Merrill tipped a slug of wine from her glass into Audrey’s. “You can’t feel guilt over this. It’s a big decision.”

  “I do though. I know it’s not my fault Cameron is going, but it’s my fault Mia needs a carer who’s not me in the first place.”

  “What are saying?”

  “When you two finally get pregnant, what’s the plan? Wait,” she sipped and looked from Merrill to Joe, who was fishing for leftover nuts in a takeaway container. “I know what it is. Merry stays home until sprog goes to kindy or day care. Then she works part time until the sprog hits high school.”

  “While Joe slums it at work,” said Merrill.

  “Right.”

  “What?” Joe popped a cashew in his mouth. “Yes. True. I’ll be earning the bacon in the traditional hunter provider model, while my wife and living sperm—”

  “Gross.” Merrill reached over him and removed the container from his reach. “You’re a gross little boy. Is it any wonder I make you wear a raincoat.”

  Joe cleared his throat and ignored the interjection. “While my wife and offspring swan about in the sunshine drinking babycinos.” He reached over Merrill and took the container back.

  “I take a little pill every day so I don’t have to suffer that attitude.”

  Audrey laughed. “You take a pill and you make him wear rubber?”

  “He won’t come to my movies, and I don’t want any mistakes happening before I’m satisfied he’s ready.”

  Joe found another cashew and scooped it up with his fork. “She loves me. She thinks I’m fantastic in bed. She’s gagging for me at the end of the day.” He ate the nut. “Twice on Sundays.”

  Merrill groaned. “He is so full of himself. Do you know what I saw him do the other night? He licked a spill off the microwave turntable. He licked it, and he put the thing back in the microwave. And I know he drinks milk straight out of the carton. And this man thinks he’s ready to have a baby. Now you see why I go for extreme protection.”

  “Oh Merry, baby, you know I take a pin to all those rubbers while they’re still in the pack.”

  “Grrr. You have no idea how clever you were going it alone, Aud. No small-minded lump of unevolved man flesh to second-guess you as they’re explaining how they’d do it better while they can’t work out how to empty the bag on the vacuum cleaner.”

  Audrey laughed. She knew they were trying hard to get pregnant. This routine was for her, so she’d stop obsessing about whether she’d done the right thing having Mia. It was a familiar riff. Her guilt, Merrill and Joe’s support, red wine and takeaway. Having Mia hadn’t changed the practice, only deepened the friendship.

  Joe stacked the empty food containers. “Vacuuming, huh; women’s work.”

  “Gagging for you, am I? You’ll be the one gagging when I hold a pillow over your face later tonight.”

  “That’s my loving wife. She’s such a dominant in the bedroom.”

  Merrill’s disapproving facade cracked. “Oh my God, Joe.” Her ears went red, she laughed. “Too much information.”

  Time for a subject change. Audrey poured herself a glass of water. “One of the applicants is a man.”

  “Not any kind of man I know,” said Joe.

  “A manny.” Merrill smacked Joe on the arm. “If I catch you slugging from the milk carton again I’m going to let your tyres down.”

  “Yes, although he was adamant about hating that word.”

  Joe shook his head. Audrey could see wickedness slide across his expression; he kept the thought to himself, though the very look earned him another smack. “What makes a man want to be a nanny?” he said.

  “That’s my problem with it.”

  “Why can’t a man be a nanny?” said Merrill.

  “They can, and he has all the right quals, in fact he has an excellent résumé. Mia was either hiding behind me or she totally ignored the other applicants, but she and Reece got on like old friends.”

  Joe screwed up his face. “A man nanny.” The whole concept was a bad taste to him.

  “How is that so different from a man father?” said Merrill.

  “Well, it’s just, hell, full-time, five days a week, out of choice. The guy wants to do this, like professionally.”

  Merrill looked at the ceiling. “Yeah, that would freak you out.”

  Audrey watched Joe. It was bad enough Reece confused her, but Joe was genuine in his puzzlement. Her own father had been hopeless, putting the farm, his dogs, his tractor above having anything to do with raising her. Might’ve been different if she’d have been a boy, but as a girl she was only good for staying out of his way. And Barrett, for all his intelligence, loyalty as a friend and attractiveness as a sperm donor, professed to be allergic to kids.

  “It’s freaking me out. I know there’s no reason why a man can’t want to be a nanny but it’s just so unusual and—”

  “Kind of squicky,” said Merrill.

  “And there’s that.”

  “Do you do police checks on these guys?” said Joe.

  “Yes, I do. And he checks out completely, and I feel like the biggest fraud for even having doubts about him.”

  “But squicky,” said Merrill.

  “But discrimination, Merry. If he turns out to be the best candidate and I don’t hire him because he’s male, I’m doing what every guy in authority does when they hire or promote a less qualified man over a woman. I’m doing what was done to me when I came back from maternity leave. I’m making assumptions and I’m sidelining someone incredibly unfairly.”

  “Well, that sucks,” said Merrill.

  Joe leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But there are some jobs that women are—”

  Merrill slapped his arm again. “If you expect to put your thing inside my thing again, don’t finish that sentence.”

  “Bu—”

  “Ever again, Joe. You will die without ever grunting ‘oh God, merry hell, babes’ again if you so much as utter another syllable.”

  Joe put his forehead on the table with a thump.

  Audrey laughed. “He doesn’t—?”

  “He does.”

  “It’s kind of sweet.”

  Merrill laughed. “The first hundred times.”

  Joe’s shoulders were shaking. “Stop picking on me.”

  Merrill rubbed her knuckles across his bald head. “Poor baby. Tomorrow I’m going to teach you how to use a paper towel to c
lean up spills.”

  “What do I do tomorrow? Do I call Reece and let him down nicely, or do I let him stay in the mix until after the second round?”

  Joe sat upright. “This Reece character has the right quals, good experience, and his references check out?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mia took to him?”

  “Duck. Water.”

  Joe’s bottom lip protruded, his mouth mushing as he considered. “Put gender aside, he’d still be on the list.”

  “He would, but I can’t put it aside, even though I know I should.”

  “Squicky.”

  Joe turned to Merrill. “You keep saying that, by which I assume you mean you don’t trust a man to take care of small kids, which means, jokes aside, you don’t trust me to be a good father.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “How is it not the same thing?”

  Merrill sucked her lips into her mouth. Audrey knew exactly what she was hesitant to say. Joe said it for her.

  “You think there are some jobs women are better at.”

  “Damn it, Joe.”

  “He’s right.” Audrey sighed. Keeping Reece on the short list was the right thing to do, even if it made her anxious. And what was her anxiety about anyway? Did she honestly think Reece would molest a child, molest Mia? It was a horrific thought. Did that mean she naturally assumed a female carer would never interfere with a child?

  That might hold if there were no dreadful mothers who hurt their kids or amazing fathers who raised their kids perfectly competently alone. But the bias was so strong, it lined her stomach. It would be easy to give in to it and why not? Someone else could take the risk on Reece. Mia was too important to be the staging ground for a battle about gender and ability and equality. But she was also too important not to be.

  Audrey wanted a world where no one told Mia what she could and couldn’t do to earn her living. Where her interests and capabilities were what determined the work she choose to do, not centuries-old prejudice, ingrained beliefs about what men and women were naturally good at, or an old boys’ network, or the kind of ingrained bias that made people hire like people.