She looked down at the baby and tried to remember once again why she’d applied for this job. She didn’t get kids, she didn’t want kids, hell, she wasn’t even that great with them. Had to admit the baby was always quiet when she took him, though. Never made a fuss, not like when his mother was around.  Mel always left the house in complete chaos – her, trying to pacify the baby, him, trying to pacify her. But Mel could see through them both – she didn’t really care about the kid, not when he shattered her picture-perfect family with his loud wails. And when his mother took him, baby Anthony always wailed.
Anthony, the saint of lost things. Mel wasn’t religious, but Nana was and you didn’t get to live in Nana’s house without some of that religion rubbing off on you also. Nana’s old, creaking house, as ancient as the ground it was built upon. Kinda like Nana, Mel thought, smiling and the baby smiled with her.
Baby Anthony was also lost.



And the saddest part, in Mel’s humble opinion, was that they’d meant for it to happen. Mel and her brother, they’d been unwanted babies and that was alright by them. The world had made room for them, as the world always does. But there had been a special place and a special room, set aside just for Anthony, only it hadn’t been quite right and baby Anthony didn’t quite...fit into the baby-shaped space inside his parents’ hearts. And that was awful, Mel thought, because the world can only make one space for you and if you don’t fit, well, then I guess it’s just too bad. 

It wasn’t even both parents, it was the mother was the problem. She was the one who’d insisted on going back to work so soon, absolutely horrified by this live, screaming monster that had come out of her. It was her didn’t like having Anthony around, even when she had nothing to worry about. Hell, she was the sort of woman who had money poking out of every orifice. Really, it was a miracle she’d managed to squeeze out a baby. Except she hadn’t, had she? She’d had the operation, yes, how could Mel forget about that? It was only her third day here when the mother (she deserved no name, in Mel’s thought) had pulled a stitch. Mel could still see it, all that blood, and the baby screaming. 

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<sub>Photo by [Zach Lucero](https://unsplash.com/@zlucerophoto) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/photos/fwjsBPbRm4g)</sub>
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She hated Anthony for what he had done to her body. Her perfect, taught stomach so proudly displayed in all those pictures’ round the living room. While it was true she lacked any remarkable features, she had taken good care of her body. And it wasn’t really her fault, was it? She’d had it all planned out, the neat, perfectly-orchestrated home birth with one of those posh midwifes as per the latest trend. She’d even booked the post-birth pilates classes with a brand new personal trainer. But there had been a problem, some complications and the baby wouldn’t come out, so they’d had to cut her up instead. Elegant birth, personal trainer, all gone out the window. And it was all Anthony’s fault. 

The father, while not deserving of a name either, wasn’t really all that bad. Mel even found him playing with the kid sometimes, once she’d even heard him talking to Anthony and she thought that was pretty neat. She’d told him so and he’d made sure, since, that Mel could see him playing with the baby whenever she arrived at the house. He was kinder, she thought, more willing to accommodate the baby into their lives. Which is why she didn’t really mind when he put his hand on her thigh that night. It’d been raining, she would’ve caught a cold and everyone knew the buses didn’t run that well during the rain. Well, at least she did, he probably hadn’t taken a bus in a good fifteen years. He wasn’t a bad man, really, he was just… sad.

Mel had tried explaining it to God and later, to Father Thomas, but he had thrown her out of the confessional, when he’d realized she wasn’t all that sorry for what had happened. She hadn’t had much luck with God, either. 
So, she’d stopped trying to tell them and she could only hope Father Thomas wouldn’t tell Nana about it, or that would be the end of that job and she could do with the money. Besides, what would Anthony do without her in that awful, cold house of his? 

She let him sleep on her chest, this little bald man who had no one in the world but her, it seemed. And she wondered… where had this patience been when her brother had needed her? She’d been young, sure, but he’d been younger. And she could still remember his little face, so heartbreaking, so desperately looking for a mother. Any mother. Nana wouldn’t do, because Nana had never been a mother to anyone. She was their father’s aunt, really, and it served him well for letting that whore of a woman drag him into sin with her. Their father, of course, was dead. And she was doing them both a favor by looking after them and trying to bring them on the right path, though what with their mother’s blood, she doubted she could do much good. 
Maybe Nana had been right… Anyway, she’d given them a proper upbringing, even if she hadn’t known how to mother them.
But Mel, she could be a mother. Not then, she was too young then, but maybe she had it in her...maybe she could find it in her to look after him her little lost brother. But she hadn’t, and for a long time, she’d thought it just wasn’t in her. This ‘mother’ thing. She wasn’t like Nana, but she wasn’t the mothering type either. She didn’t know exactly what she was.

Mel looked again at the baby sleeping gently on her breast. Yes, she could be a mother. She hadn’t been then, and though regrettable, that was in the past. Her brother had found his own way, even though she’d failed him. And she wouldn’t fail baby Anthony – only called ‘baby’, so as to distinguish him from the saint. 
Later, with the baby safely nestled in his rocking chair, she set about preparing dinner for them, as she did every night. There was always a little extra on mother’s plate, though she never knew why. Just like she never knew why she was coughing so bad. Maybe it was post-partum, she’d said to Mel one morning, when the coughing had been particularly bad.

Mel had nodded, glancing over at the father,  who was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Something like that.

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#### Freewrite based on @mariannewest's prompt 'perfect nanny'. 

## Thanks for reading,

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