Cry Baby🤍

It was not the most encouraging of introductions, and as she related the details to her housemates later, Eve was even less encouraged by their responses. Niamh, now on her second year in the house, merely rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yeah, that's Margaret. She's got it in for us."

"Oh, great." Eve blew the steam from her coffee. "That's a good start, isn't it?"

"Why, were you hoping to get invited over for dinner parties and cocktails?" Amy was a short blonde girl, though much more brisk than bubbly, and one of Eve's favourite people for that very reason. The two of them had had rooms on the same corridor in their first year, and they'd decided within a week that they'd be sticking together for the rest of their time at the university. This house was just the inevitable result of that decision. "I don't think that was ever gonna happen, Eve. And if it had, we wouldn't have liked it. She doesn't look like she cooks."

"How can you tell?"

"Cooks can spot cooks. It's like gaydar, except spicier. More like flay-var."

Niamh snorted. "Don't give up your day job."

"Getting one would be nice."

"Anyway," Eve chipped in, "maybe he's the one who cooks. Don't be so sexist."

"Him?" Amy shook her head vigorously. "I saw him leaving the supermarket with a stack of ready meals last week."

"I did that," Niamh pointed out, "and I can cook just fine."

This being a matter for debate, the other two forebore to comment, and Amy changed the subject. "We can live without them, anyway. They're just the people next door. It's one of those things you have to put up with."

Eve sighed. "I guess." She couldn't help feeling that life would be decidedly unpleasant, with neighbours who wished that she wasn't there, but other people obviously managed to put up with it, and so would she.

Anyway, she had plenty to take her mind off it. The workload for her course was no laughing matter, and she had reluctantly accepted that she was going to have to find herself a job this year if she wanted to afford anything approaching a social life.

"So, what's for dinner, Amy?" she asked, propping her phone up against her mug and navigating, with a sigh of resignation, to the job hunting app she seemed to spend her life on. 

"Lasagne." Back on culinary questions, the Scot was instantly revitalised. "I'm making extra so we can freeze some for another night."

"Luxury." Eve scrolled through dispiriting pages of unappealing jobs for minimal salaries. "I love having a personal chef."

"After last year, I'm just happy to have a freezer." Amy drained her mug and pushed back her chair. "I'll get started in a bit."

"No rush."

"What are you up to, anyway?"

Eve sighed. "Job hunt. Starting to wonder why I bother, though. Anything good is already gone. And I dunno if I can put up with pouring pints for ogling men until 3am."

"I wouldn't," Niamh agreed, emerging unexpectedly from her study of her own phone. "Tell you what, though, are you any good with kids?"

"Pretty good." Eve raised an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"There's some kind of babysitting website in the city that people are using. They're pretty tough about who they take, though. I don't know anyone they've accepted."

"Well, it's better than nothing, I guess. What's it called?"

Niamh grinned, for reasons which Eve didn't understand until a long time afterwards. "ABSitter."

"AB? Like the letters?"

"Yeah."

The redhead tapped at her phone for a moment. "Can't find it. Oh, hang on... Yeah. Wow, this is... pink."

"Let's see." Amy got up and came to lean over her shoulder. "So these are the jobs? You don't get much info, do you?"

"Like I said, it's pretty tough. You're meant to post your details and stuff on the jobs you want, and if they're interested they get in touch and tell you more."

"That's a lot of effort for a babysitting gig."

Niamh shrugged. "If it works out, you get asked back a lot, I think. These people aren't short of cash, they have to pay to be on there."

Eve nodded, scrolling through the page. "Well, kids are better than drunk guys. I'll give it a go, I guess."

And then, of course, she forgot all about it. 

It was a little over a month later, when she was dolefully regarding the last few pounds in her bank account, that the conversation came back to get, and it took her a good hour to track down the website again. For some reason, it didn't show up however she searched it, and she was on the point of giving up several times. At last, though, she was back on the cutesy pink page, and she opened the top listing.

Seeking evening babysitter for bright and bubbly little girl. Must be willing to play and actively engage with her. Will need to change nappies, give baths, prepare bottles, feed meals. Light discipline required.

It didn't really tell her an awful lot, Eve thought, and she wasn't at all sure about that last sentence, but on the basis that she had nothing to lose, she put together a few paragraphs about her previous babysitting experience, her baby sister, her first aid training, and her time volunteering in the church nursery. And then she sent it off, and more than half expected she'd hear nothing further. 

Two days later, a brief email appeared in her inbox, telling her she sounded ideal — which was a first — and inviting her to come and meet the little one. Her first, comparatively mild, shock occurred when she saw the address.

Her new next door neighbours, whom she was convinced didn't like her and at whose house she'd never seen even the slightest hint of a child's presence, had invited her to babysit.

And as she made her incredibly brief commute along the pavement, Niamh watched from behind the curtains, a broad smirk on her face. 

The bell was a big brass one, rather than an electric button, and Eve rang it with some care, worried she might pull the rope from its tenuous moorings altogether. Its chime echoed away into silence as the redhead shifted from one foot to the other on the doorstep, by no means sure she was doing the right thing. But she was here now, and before she had time for too many second thoughts, the door swung open, revealing the man on the doorstep — whom she knew, though only thanks to their email exchange, to be called Thomas. He gave her a neutral look, and she suddenly wondered whether she was underdressed.

"Can I help you?"

She swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and did her best to project confidence. This would be a really good job, she reminded herself. It was convenient, the rates of pay were good, and it might even be fun. This was the time to make a strong first impression. 

"Hi, I'm Eve. From ABSitter? And I also live next door." She managed a smile. "Coincidence, right?"

Obviously something she'd done had been right, because Thomas returned the smile with one of genuine amusement, though she couldn't quite see the joke. "Oh, yes! What a coincidence. But how convenient for you — and for us! Well, come on in."

"Should I take my shoes off?"

"No, no, please don't bother. Just come straight through." He ushered her into the hall, closing the door behind her. "Maggie's just in here. Maggie!" he sang out, leading the way under an archway and into a well-appointed sitting room which Eve had to confess she did not at first appreciate the artistic merits of. "Come and meet Eve! She's going to be your new babysitter!"

The room was large, furnished in the kind of neutral tones which Eve supposed she would, if she'd thought about it, have expected from the buttoned-up professional she'd met outside. What she wouldn't have expected was the collection of brightly coloured plastic scattered across the wooden flooring.

And she really wouldn't have expected Margaret's outfit choice. So far as she could tell from the doorway, which was as far as she'd made it before freezing in shock, the older woman was clad in nothing but a bright pink t shirt and a nappy. Babysitting instincts, honed over the past five or so years, suggested to Eve that it was by no means a fresh nappy, but that was a detail she chose to skirt over for the time being. There was only so much a girl could take in at once.

Though it was no consolation, Margaret seemed just as shocked as Eve was. Her dummy had dropped from her mouth, and she was staring at the redheaded historian with an expression which could only be described as horror. 

"Her?"

Somehow, Eve found the mental bandwidth to be offended at her tone.

"She — she's — she can't —"

"Can't what?" Thomas asked, sinking into an armchair with every appearance of being perfectly relaxed. 

"She can't babysit!"

"Of course she can. She's experienced, she's competent, she's nearby — what's the problem?"

"She's our neighbour, Thomas!"

For the first time, a frown appeared on the man's face. "What did you call me?"

Margaret — Maggie — gave an inarticulate whine.

"I'm sure Eve can keep a secret."

"Of course," Eve agreed, somewhat faintly.

"So there's no issue." Thomas clapped his hands and got up. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted! Would you like a drink, Eve?"

"Um — tea, please. If that's ok."

"No problem. Shout if you want anything."

And then she was alone with Margaret — with Maggie.

The silence was long, deep, and awkward. In fact, it seemed set to go on indefinitely. 

In the end, Eve had to break it. She leaned forward to pick the dummy from the floor. "I guess I'll clean this for you. Do you, uh, want anything?"

She thought Maggie was ignoring her, but eventually, she got a slow shake of the head, and escaped thankfully to the kitchen, where Thomas was busy with the kettle. 

"Everything ok?" he asked, glancing up as she came in. 

"Yeah. Uh. Yeah." And Eve realised, to her surprise, that it was true. She'd been surprised, shocked even, but she was coming to terms with it. 

She had questions, certainly, but she suspected the internet would answer most of them later on. 

"I just..." Vaguely, she waved the dummy in his direction, and he gave her an approving smile, stepping aside to allow access to the sink. 

"Maggie's a little bit shy to begin with. She'll warm up to you."

"Oh, uh, I'm sure."

"I think it was a little bit of a shock for her, you being someone she knows." He was grinning, Eve realised. 

"Will that be a problem? I mean, I understand if you'd rather..."

"No, no." He shook his head. "It'll do her good. How are you getting on with her?"

"She's a little, uh, standoffish."

"She will be." Thomas nodded sagely. "Want some advice?"

"Sure."

"Sit her in your lap. Don't give her a choice, tell her it's what she's doing. Give her her dummy, sing her some lullabies, read her a book — whatever. Don't bother trying to get past the awkwardness first, because she won't give you the chance. Just dive in."

Eve took a deep breath, feeling fairly lightheaded, and wondered suddenly if she was asleep and dreaming. On balance, she hoped not; she dreaded to think what that would say about her subconscious. "Right."

"Go get her."

The walk back to the living room felt ten times longer than the walk out, and Eve found Maggie in exactly the same position she'd left her in. 

Right, she told herself. Now or never. 

The redhead settled herself comfortably on the carpet next to the older woman, who looked at her as though she were an alien lifeform. With her best attempt at a smile, Eve reached out and pushed the dummy between Maggie's lips. 

She's a baby. Just a baby. So babysit. 

"That's better, isn't it?" she cooed, finding with a mixture of surprise and relief that she was dropping easily into the tone that she used with little ones of a smaller variety. "Hi, Maggie. We didn't meet properly before. My name's Eve. Can I get a cuddle?"

The signs weren't promising, and Eve wasn't sure which of them was more surprised when the brunette slowly moved into her inviting arms. It was one of the most awkward hugs of her life. 

But that was to be expected. 

Rather than letting her neighbour move away at the conclusion, Eve gathered her closer and closer until Maggie was half-lying across her lap. "There we go, cutie," she murmured. And Maggie really was cute, though Eve wasn't sure how she felt about that realisation. Events had been moving at such a pace that she'd not really had time to think too deeply about any of it. She ought really to have explained that there had been a mistake, four or five times over by now. And yet here she was, with a woman in her mid-thirties cuddled in her lap, surrounded by blocks and teddies, and genuinely considering how she was going to win that woman's affection. 

And it was only Tuesday.

There was a soft sound behind her, and Eve glanced round to find Thomas hovering in the doorway. "That's a cute picture," he told her. The look in his eyes as he watched his wife told Eve something else too — that however bizarre she or anyone else might find all this, to the two of them it meant something very deep and real. She might have bounced into the middle of all this by accident, but she'd been brought into a very personal secret.

She owed it to the two of them to be careful. And, it occurred to her now, she probably owed it to them to fulfill the offer that she'd made them.

Ok, she hadn't understood the circumstances. But here she was, amidst the circumstances, and she wasn't screaming and running away. It would be an adjustment, to put it mildly, but she could cope, and if she could cope then she should do so. 

It might, as weird as the very thought made her feel, even be fun. 

"Friends now?" she asked Maggie, and was rewarded with a cautious nod. 

It seemed easy, going from emnity to trust in the space of a few minutes and a cuddle. But then that was toddlers for you. 

"I told you, didn't I?" Thomas observed in a satisfied tone, and she gave him a vague smile in response. "Glad you're getting on. I'll give you some time with her and then I'll show you the whole routine to get her down for a nap."

"I think she's a little, um, wet."

Maggie squirmed in her lap, flushing bright red.

"You've got a good eye there. Yeah, she'll be ok a little while longer, won't you, sweetheart? They make these adult nappies to hold whole lakes."

He gave her a contemplative look, and then glanced at Maggie, who glanced right back. The looks were inscrutable to Eve, but clearly meant something to the other two. 

"Or you could change her now, if you like."

The redhead blinked, and was grateful for the reflex, honed by years of responding to questions she didn't know the answers to, which produced the words "Oh, I don't want to mess with her routine."

That one was going to take a little more getting used to, conceptually speaking, before she actually considered trying the task.

Maggie made a sound which was quite possibly a giggle.

And Eve decided she was going to have to ask Niamh some very pointed questions when she got home.