The smoke alarm is going off, and Chloe is screaming at the noise while Joey clings to my leg as I try to wave a tea towel under the blaring device.

Blimey. Can't believe I forgot the chips were in the oven. I hobble over to the door and open it back and forth, trying to get a rush of fresh air into the room.

"What's that?" Joey asks again. "What's that?"

"The smoke alarm. I burnt the chips, mate."

Paige left two hours ago in a cab rather than taking her hired car. Not sure why she's not driving herself, but the driver greeted her like an old friend when she came out of the house. Since she's only been here a week, I'm guessing she's taken her fair share of taxis. Strange, that.

After she was gone, I popped some chips in the oven for my curry and chips breaky, and turned on the telly for a bit of relaxation. Yesterday wasn't as awkward as I assumed it would be after I disappeared upstairs and had a slight panic attack over agreeing to manage Paige's neat and tidy household for the next year. What in the world was I thinking?

But it's actually quite nice to be in this big house all on my own. Well, not on my own. Part of the reason the chips burnt is because I'm not on my own. I forgot to set a timer, and then Joey got so into Wallace and Gromit, as though he'd never seen any telly before, that the chips clear slipped my mind.

The smoke alarm stops, and Joey slumps against my leg, all the tension leaving him.

"All done?" He stares up at me.

"All done, mate. Nanny Ash is a rubbish cook. Don't tell yer mum." Though she's bound to find out tomorrow. Tonight is leftover curry, and tomorrow, I've already decided, will be a fish finger dinner. Beyond that, I've got spaghetti bolognese. Rinse and repeat. Doubt that'll fly with Paige, so I may need to watch some cooking videos before the end of the week.

I hobble over to the oven with him still attached to my leg. Chloe is in the highchair where I plopped her while I rushed around the kitchen trying to prevent a fire.

"Up?" Joey says.

I lift him into my arms, and we survey the black chips in the pan. Might have to throw those into a field. Hide the evidence.

"Fries?" Joey says, and he glances at me for confirmation. "No chips?"

"Oh, right." It's easy to forget he's American. "We call fries, chips." I would dig around the cupboard and show him some crisps for comparison, but that might turn his world completely pear-shaped. Also, I already looked in the cupboard and discovered Paige has terrible taste in food. Too much healthy shite.

Paige gave me some money to head to the shops to stock up. Of course, she left me a list, and I'll certainly get all the things there, but I may concentrate a bit more on what's missing. Crisps. Mayonnaise. Fish fingers. Mushy peas. PG Tips. The ingredients for a proper roast dinner and a full English breakfast, even if it kills me to accomplish the first task.

Immy used to cook a roast every other Sunday and we'd have some friends round. I reckon I could accomplish bangers and mash too. Sausage and mashed potatoes might not even take a YouTube tutorial to get right. How hard can it be?

But I have to admit, seeing Paige's fridge and cupboard, filled with top shelf items, has really made me realize how skint Chole and I have been the last few months. A lot of this I wouldn't have been able to afford, even if I'd wanted it.

I set Joey on the ground, and I grab an apple off the counter and cut it quickly. "Here, mate. No chips for now. We'll head to the shops in a few."

He stares into the glass bowl I've given him and frowns. "I no like."

"You don't like apples? Who doesn't like apples?" I grab a piece out of his bowl and take a big bite. Then I take another slice and I cut it into tiny and thin slices. I set those bits in front of Chloe on her highchair tray. When I reach for another, Joey stomps his foot.

"No!" Joey yells, and he turns so fast that the bowl slips from his fingers and crashes to the ground, smashing into at least a hundred pieces. He's in bare feet, and I snatch him up to set him on the counter before he can step in any fragments.

"What you doin', mate?" I head to the broom closet to grab something to sweep up the glass fragments. "If you wanted to keep your apples, you just needed to say that."

Joey's bottom lip trembles. "Momma."

While I sweep up the mess, I avoid looking at him. I've got no clue how to handle him asking for his mum or his burst of temper. With Chloe, I stick a bottle in her mouth, and we're square. She loves her bubbas, and I'm dead certain she doesn't remember her mother. Wouldn't recognize her if we passed her on the street.

"What's your favorite fruit?"

"Banana," Joey says.

"When we go to the shop, we'll buy a load of bananas. How's that?" When I glance at him, he's watching me intently. "Your mum says you nap after lunch. So, I reckon we best head out now."

I stare at the dustpan full of glass, and I contemplate taking it to the outside bin. More evidence of my ineptitude. Or there would be if I wasn't really going to toss those chips out into the field across the way.

"Right," I say, after I've disposed of the glass. "Let's get the car set up. We need your car seat." With Chloe in one arm and Joey trailing behind me, I use the keys to Paige's hire car to get Joey's seat. When I open the door, I'm a bit surprised. She has it all set up. So, she must drive it. Maybe it's not working properly. Or maybe she left it when she realized we hadn't taken the seat out. While I detach the seat, I puzzle out her reasoning.

Joey tries to help me by carrying the bottom of the seat as we navigate our way to my car in the laneway. I buckle Chloe in, and then the two of us work on securing his car seat. Truthfully, he gets in the way far more than I'd like, but he seems delighted by the whole process. When we're finished, he hops into the seat and helps me do up his buckles.

At the shop, Chloe and Joey sit in the trolley side by side, but he keeps giving her the side eye, as though she's ruining his life. Maybe she is. It's alright, mate. She won't be the last female to ruin your life. Just the first.

I try not to get annoyed by his obvious dislike of my daughter. In the last week, he's moved to a new country, a new house, and he's got two strangers carting him all over today. He's only been alive for a little less than three years. Even an adult might be in a mood with all those changes.

We get through the food shop without incident, and on the way back, Joey sits with his bundle of bananas on his lap, protecting them from Chloe's drool covered fingers.

  I dump all the grocery bags in the kitchen before mixing a bottle for Chloe and plopping a cut up banana, crackers, and some veggies and dip on a plate for Joey. The two of them eat while I put away groceries. Once we're all done, I take them both upstairs and deposit them in their beds. Chloe goes down with no problems, like always. Though she didn't sleep well last night, so I expect this nap will be long.

With both kids in bed, I take the tray of burnt chips to the field and fling them as far as I can. Oddly satisfying. When I open the front door, Joey is standing in the entrance way.

"Read story?" He waves a book at me.

"Does your mum read you a bedtime story?" I take the book from his outstretched hands and flip through it. Dogs saving the world from various calamities. Suppose there are worse things. "She probably does, doesn't she? Alright, mate. Up we go. I'll read it to you in bed."

In the bedroom, Joey's thirst for books seems never ending, but it doesn't occur to me until the fifth one that he might be having a laugh. Or at the very least, avoiding sleep. No one likes reading this much.

I have a vague recollection about one of Paige's list things talking about a white noise machine. On the dresser, I switch it on, and Joey lets out a sigh of deep annoyance. That's right, mate. The jig is up. He rolls onto his stomach with his hands down at his sides, and his breathing evens out quickly. I'll need to remember this noise machine trick going forward.

Downstairs, I give the kitchen a cursory tidy and then decide I deserve a little lie down on the settee. Isn't the old adage to nap when the children nap? I've got two now, so I reckon I deserve one.

~ * ~

I'm woken by a horrendous crash, and I bolt upright, ready to spring into action. For a moment, I'm disoriented by where I am and what time it is. When did I fall asleep?

Then the carnage around me crystalizes. Someone has invaded the house while I slept and littered the house with toys, books, crisp packets, and dropped crisps. There are pieces of crisp across the red carpet, as though someone crushed the contents of a bag, then waved it around, sending it flying across the room like confetti.

There's a screeching sound from the kitchen, like a chair being dragged across the floor. Bloody hell. I need a weapon. We're out in the middle of the country, and I didn't bolt the door. Off the floor, I sweep up a handful of metal cars. They'll make decent projectiles at least.

Upstairs, the noise has woken Chloe, and she starts to cry. At least Joey still seems to be asleep. The screeching stops, and I stand beside the door to the kitchen, and I peek around the edge. There's Joey, standing on a kitchen chair, rummaging around the pantry. On the floor are various packages, cans of food, and other odds and sods he must have pitched out of the way in favor of whatever he's after.

"What are you doing?" I ask as I breathe a sigh of relief and come around the corner.

My voice must startle him, and he topples off the chair, narrowly missing cracking his head on the corner of the counter. I drop the toy cars to scoop him up, and I hold him so I can examine him for injuries.

The house is a fucking mess, and Paige's son almost sustained a brain injury. Not a stellar first day. Keeping everyone alive is a very low bar. Very low, and I'm barely clearing it. Earlier I almost set the house on fire cooking chips in the oven.

"Are you the one who ate all the crisps?" Chloe's wails of protest are cranking up, but I'm still trying to piece together what happened. When I left Joey's room, he was sleeping. How did I miss him wandering around the house making such a bloody mess?

He stares at me with wide eyes, but he neither confirms nor denies his mischief. Has to have been him. Who else would cause a crisp confetti explosion?

"You like prawn cocktail crisps?"

"Chips," Joey says.

"What were you looking for in the pantry?"

"Chips," Joey says.

Then it dawns on me that the reason there seemed to be so many crisps lying around was because Joey must have opened all three big bags. How did he even open them? Isn't that a herculean task for a little lad?

I set him down, and I retrace my steps into the living room. There, on the coffee table, are a pair of scissors. Beside that, is an open bag of prawn cocktail crisps.

Blimey.

He cut open the crisps literally in front of my face, and I never heard a sound. This might make me officially the worst nanny ever. Speaking of which—I glance at the time on my phone—Paige will be home in an hour.

"Right, mate," I say over Chloe's cries. I need to get up there. "The Paw Patrol just called me on my pup pad. We've got to get this mess cleaned up on the double."

I take the stairs to Chloe two at a time, and then I wheel the highchair into the living room so she can observe Joey and I cleaning up. Except, he's actually terrible at doing anything, and with his help, it's going to take me three times as long to hoover the crisps.

"Change of plans," I say. "Wallace and Gromit would like a word." I flick on the telly, and I continue making the Dyson earn its high price tag.

The only thing I checked off Paige's list today was the food shopping. Even I understand that's not great progress. Though, if I hoover the entire downstairs, that's another thing checked off. Clean floors. Stocked fridge. After sweeping up the glass earlier, I really should have gone over the floor with the Dyson, anyway.

I'm just looping the chord around the pegs on the hoover when I hear the crack of tires on the gravel drive. The house likely doesn't pass muster, but it's better than it would have been an hour ago.

Everything is back in the pantry. There are no more confetti crisps on the floor. All evidence of crisps have been dumped in the outdoor bin. As far as Paige will know, there were never any crisps in this house. She probably wouldn't have approved, anyway.

I've just settled onto the couch beside Joey when the front door opens.

"Ashley," Paige says from the entrance. "Why is there a cookie sheet at the front door? And it looks like it's been burnt?"

Bollocks. So bloody close.

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