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going to miss Sky’s game, but she’d probably still get to say I
told you so. There was no way he was getting the job. This was lose/lose. He
gave a nod and came up the few steps and into the house. In the hallway, he
offered his hand. “Hi. What would you like me to call you?”
    The
way she looked at his hand it might’ve been a banana, or a grenade, he almost
turned the gesture into straightening his collar—on a polo, total dick move,
but she saved him, and he couldn’t help smiling. She had a good firm handshake
and she looked him dead in the eye, though she was a shortie, and she had to
crank her neck.
    “You
weren’t really going to call me Ms Bates, were you?”
    That’s
exactly what he’d have called her. Her kid, her house, her job. No Mr Bates. She
wasn’t Audrey until she told him it was okay to call her that, and even then it
felt like he should be calling her Ms Audrey like they were in Play School .
They didn’t even do that in Play School any more. But she had that kind
of name, old-fashioned, formal. She didn’t look old-fashioned, or formal, or
old enough to be the mother of a three year old. She was pretty, glossy caramel
hair and very dark blue eyes. But then he didn’t look old enough to have raised
four kids already either.
    “I
was actually,” he said. She laughed awkwardly and he rolled his shoulders, this
was still worth doing for the interview practice. “That’s lame, isn’t it?”
    She
shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know. Ms Bates, I could probably get used to that. Come
through.” She stepped in front of him and he caught the scent of peanut butter.
“But then I’d have to call you Mr McGovern.”
    If
it meant he got the job she could call him ‘hey you’. “I could probably get
used to that.”
    And
he could get used to this house too. No scuff marks on the walls, no random
shoes, or frilly knickers lying around. Gin was a slob and Flip never put
anything she used away. No wet towel smell, which was a novelty. It was light
and warm and the rooms were big and generous, the ceilings high. The house had
the kind of scale that didn’t make him feel like a giant. Like he might be able
to walk around in here without knocking things over or feel like an ogre in a
doll’s house like he did in Sky’s tiny flat.
    “You
should call me Audrey, and this is Mia.”
    They
were in a lounge room. The TV was on, Little Mermaid. Under the Sea . Flip
loved that movie. There was a line she’d sing over and over about it being
better down where it’s wetter. Made him laugh every time. Like yo, Disney, one
for the grown-ups. He kept humour off his face though, because dirty smirking
at a singing crab wasn’t going to improve his chances.
    Mia
was colouring. She was a miniature version of Audrey and wore the same open-mouthed
expression her mum had done at the front door during the not Reese Witherspoon
moment.
    He
had that effect on kids. He had it on most people. You couldn’t be this big and
not make people think twice about whether you were safe. Or dumb. “Hello, Mia.”
He went straight to the floor, sat cross-legged a little way from her and slumped
to make himself smaller. She stared, her mouth a perfect circle, her eyes shiny
platters of blue.
    “I’m
Reece.”
    Mia
closed her mouth, put pressed her lips together. She tilted her head to the
side. She was checking him out big time. He sat still and let her run the show.
    “Reece,
you don’t have to—”
    Mia
came a little closer, but looked over his head to her mum. “New Cameron?”
    “Cameron
is the name of our current nanny.”
    “Reece,”
he repeated, keeping his eyes on Mia, smiling at her, but not too much, that
could be scary too.
    Mia
took a step forward, and when he remained still, she took another.
    “Hello
Mia.”
    She
made a shocked hmmm sound when he said her name and he thought he might get
tears. If there were tears this was a bust. No one hired a dude who made their
kid cry first up.
    No
one wanted to hire