Page 45 of Kiwi Sin
It was less than a week now until the school holidays, and the holidays didn’t end until the last day of January. That wasn’t exactly what the person wanted, but …
I clicked and read the rest.
Busy newborn photographer seeks fill-in assistant. M-F, 8:30 AM-5:30 PM
MUST have extensive experience with newborns, supreme emotional maturity, and a calm temperament. Safety is paramount!
Photography experience isn’t necessary. Baby-handling experience is.
Please include cover letter with CV.
This is strictly a temporary job.
My heart was hammering all the way into my throat. I had no idea what a “newborn photographer” could possibly do—take photos of babies? Allday?I loved babies, but how could taking their photos be a job?
Wait. You could look it up on the computer. I did that.
It was odd. It was odder than any odd thing I’d ever seen, and I’d seen heaps of odd things now. Babies in buckets, babies curled tightly into baskets, babies innests.How could that be safe? It must be, though. The person had said, “Safety is paramount.”
And babies were my favorite thing in the world. I knew it wasn’t a good thing to be your favorite, not like maths or science or computers, but they were my favorite anyway.
All the same, I was pulling out an exercise book—it happened to be the one for Algebra, which was the exam I was meant to be revising for tonight—and starting to write.
I didn’t exactly know what a “CV” was, to start with. I looked it up, and then I began, writing with my fountain pen instead of the computer, as usual, because I still thought better that way. I sat there for an hour, writing and scratching out, writing and scratching out. Howdid I explain where I’d got my “extensive experience with newborns”? If I said “Mount Zion,” my email would hit the trash so fast, it may as well have never been opened. I’d learnt that from my babysitting experience. You said, “I have a large family, and I’ve been taking care of kids and helping at home since I was little.” Full stop. Otherwise, they thought you were going to … I wasn’t even sure what. Preach a sermon? Indoctrinate their children? Kidnap them and take them to Mount Zion?
Also, did I have “supreme emotional maturity?” Probably not. I didn’t even know what itwas.
Finally, I just wrote:
Student, Otago Girls
and listed the work I’d done for money, since, as I’ve noted, people Outside mostly cared about things you did for money. So that was gardening, animal care, babysitting, and …
AndOwner, Lavender Hill Farm Knitwear.After some thought, I moved that line to the top, right under the “Student” part.
Owner.That sounded odd, but what else would you call it? It wasn’t a lie, was it? Or was it? I wasn’t sure. I left it for now.
Pity I hadn’t cooked or cleaned for money yet, though. If only I’d already worked for Honor. One thing I’d noticed about girls Outside: most of them complained about doing what they called “gross things,” and laundry and cleaning definitely counted. Wouldn’t it make me look better that I didn’t mind those things? Newborns meant heaps of dirty nappies, and surely, cleaning would be part of the job. You had to keep things spotless around little babies, who had no immune system yet and hadn’t even had their jabs, and that would be the assistant’s job, right?
Wait.Honor.
I sat there, my pen hovering over the exercise book, directly after having written,
Hello.
“Hello” seemed as good a place to start a letter as any, if you didn’t know the person’s name. Unfortunately, the realization was sinking in. I’d told Honor I’d work for her in Wanaka over the school holidays. I’d made a promise.
And Gray and Daisy were moving into the yurt as soon as Frankie and I left, because of that remodeling.
It wasn’t possible.
I closed the exercise book, then opened it again, because … algebra. Practice exam. I put down my fountain pen and picked up a pencil.
One equation. Two. Three.
I couldn’t concentrate.
Babies in buckets. Surely you had to hold them so carefully, putting them in there, with a hand behind their head. You had to support their heads, because their necks were so fragile. The photographer had advertised on a student website. What if she got one of the girls from my school, who didn’t like doing gross things and didn’t know about babies’ necks?
