At the building site I throw open the door to my Dacia Sandero, grab my bag of tools from the boot, and I haul my arse to where everyone is already working. Late again. Once I'm at where I left off the night before, I try to blend in near a pile of bricks. Maybe it'll appear as though I was here when we were supposed to start almost an hour ago. Some days no one notices, or it feels like they don't.

"Ash," Tejinder calls to me from where he's laying bricks at another house across the road. He scrapes the excess mortar off the brick, taps it level, and then smears more on the next one. "Tom wants to see you. I tried to tell him you were in the loo, but that only worked till half past."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A cool sweat breaks out in my armpits. Losing this job would bugger me even more than I already am.

"Right. Thanks, mate." With my bag of tools in my hand, I head to the building deemed as the office space on this housing estate. Tom is the site manager, and last week when I was late, he warned me he couldn't keep turning the other way.

At the door to the office, I give a quick rap with my knuckles. Secretly, I'm hoping he's off somewhere, and I can pretend later I was only a minute or two late. Tejinder would cover for me. We've known each other since Upper School.

"Come in," Tom calls, and I hold in the deep sigh that threatens.

As soon as I open the door, Tom stares at me with a deep furrow in his brow. Pointedly, he checks the clock hanging on the wall to the right. "Did you just get in, Ash?"

For a brief moment, I consider lying, but the one thing Tom has always said about me is that he values my honesty. My life is shit right now—has been for the last six months since Imogen up and left—and I don't make any attempts to hide it.

"That's right," I say, and I wait for what I hope isn't coming.

Tom runs his hands through his hair which is longer than the close-cropped style I favor.

"Don't sack me." It's coming, and he's told me more than once he doesn't want to have to do it. Perhaps I can persuade him one more time to keep me. We both know I'm working on borrowed time, but at least it's better than no time. "The child minder called in sick this morning, and I needed someone else for Chloe."

Ended up being someone more expensive than I can afford, but when faced with being dismissed from this job site, it wasn't a hard decision. Now it feels like a stupid one. I can't even offer to stay late since this babysitter finishes earlier than my other one.

Tom has been more understanding than any other manager I've ever worked for. If he can't tolerate the unpredictability of my childcare situation, no one can. Getting another job on a building site will be almost impossible. I'll be getting hired and fired constantly. No stability at all.

"I know your life went pear shaped when Imogen had your kid and left ya, but if I keep you on, regardless of the reason, I'm making it seem like I'm okay with what you've been doing. Maybe it's not your fault, but at some point, it starts to look like it is."

My biggest problem is organization. On a job site, someone else is usually doing it for me, and at home, it used to be Immy making sure our life ran smoothly. Now, trying to secure care for Chloe, managing the flat, and keeping my job are all on me.

The balance between paying Chloe's babysitters and what I make as a bricklayer barely gives me two pence to rub together. If I lose this job, it'll scupper my chances of ever digging myself out of this endless hole. No matter what, I'm not losing my daughter. Without a place to live, it won't take long for someone to call child protective services on me.

"Have you thought about moving back north?" Tom asks. "Isn't your da' up that way?"

He is, but going to him would be the absolute last resort. After the divorce, he wasn't around much, and though he attended mum's funeral a couple years ago, he hasn't kept in touch. We're strangers. Might as well live with a stranger as go to him for help.

"Are you sacking me?" I almost can't get the words out around the lump in my throat.

"I am, mate. I can't keep you on when you're constantly turning up late. It's not getting any better, and I'm under pressure to get this estate job done."

I swallow my flash of panic. In two weeks, my rent is due, and even with a last pay cheque from Tom, I won't have enough to cover all my bills.

"Thanks for your patience with me the last few months." It's taking everything in me not to throw an absolute fit of some sort—rage, beg, plead, cry. "You could have done this a lot sooner, and I appreciate you didn't."

Tom grabs a sheet of paper off his desk and scribbles something on it before handing it to me. "Friend of mine on a building site north of here. If you go that way, tell him I sent you. You're a good lad, Ash."

The lump in my throat expands, and I nod before backing away from the office door and storming out of the building. Without a job, I can't afford to pay for even one more hour of childcare.

"Mate," Tejinder calls. "Where you headed?"

"I got sacked," I say, and I can't keep the pissed off tone out of my voice. Between anger and tears, rage is easier.

"I'll come round to yours after. We'll have a pint. Set the world to rights."

"I have to pick up Chloe." I toss my tools into the boot. My chest is tight, and I'm not sure if it's from holding in a scream or a sob. Either way, I need to make sure I've got myself together before my daughter sees me.

~ * ~

Chloe doesn't sleep well unless she's lying on my chest, and I've just managed to get her to sleep when the doorbell goes. All the bollocks I've read online about babies tells me she should be close to sleeping through the night, but that hadn't happened yet, and any time someone does something to disturb her sleep, I lose my fucking mind. No matter how many times I tell Tejinder to text me instead of banging on the door or hitting the bell, he never remembers.

Luckily, Chloe is out cold, and I dig my phone out of my pocket to text Tejinder to let himself into the flat. Since he said he was coming round, I didn't bother to lock the door.

He enters my small one bed space with a pack of lagers in his hand. Without a word, he cracks one open and passes it to me. I shuffle into a sitting position on the settee, careful to keep Chloe stable on my chest, and take a long pull from the can.

Neither of us says anything while we drink our beers for a few beats.

"I reckon you need a job with flexible hours," Tejinder says. "Ann Summers from home."

"I'm not selling sex toys."

"They sell lingerie too."

"Who am I going to sell that to? None of Immy's friends talk to me anymore. You gonna come over? Bring some mates to a sex party."

"I got no issues with sex toys. But if you do, maybe Avon or them eyelash extension things."

"Mate, look at me." Between my tattoos, short hair, and my attitude which tends toward rough around the edges, I won't make a single sale. "Avon? Eyelash extensions?"

"It's money. Just host the parties with your kit off."

"Naked Avon parties?"

"Bring the spice." Tejinder grins. "You'd be unique."

I'd also still be skint.

"Women are always going on about how fit you are."

Immy used to think so, anyway. The thought sours my mood and brings me down even further. I need to stop thinking about her.

"None of those little bits will keep me in this flat." I take another long haul of my beer. "Besides, I haven't got the five hundred quid for the basic start up kits." It's been over eight hours since I was fired, and I spent a bit of time researching options. A sex shop out of my home is not a winner. Not Avon, not eyelashes, not nothin'. None of those get rich quick schemes were winners. People who made a full-time wage were outliers, and I'm a realist.

"I could loan you the dosh," Tejinder says.

"It's not a sure thing. Stability. For Chloe. Not scraping together every pence at the end of the month hoping it's enough."

"You need a job where you can look after Chloe too," Tejinder says. "What about taking in other people's kids?"

"Here?" I glance around my tiny flat that barely contains mine and Chloe's things. Immy took anything that made this place a home when she moved out one day while I was working. "Not bloody likely. Besides, I'm not exactly Mary Poppins."

"Bit more like the chimney sweep." Tejinder fiddles with his beer and then sets it down to scroll through his phone. "Shame, though. There's an American bird looking for a live-in nanny."

I snort, and Chloe stirs at the noise. "Me? A nanny?" Cooking and cleaning aren't where my talents lie.

"You've been doing an alright job with Chloe." Tejinder picks up his beer and uses it to point at me. "You're not too old to learn a few new tricks."

At twenty-five, some days I feel very old lately, and also not quite old enough. Not as though I've had much choice in figuring out life with Chloe. Immy leaving us within the first few weeks meant I haven't had much of a choice. Sort out being a dad or give up my daughter.

"The wage is decent, mate." He turns his phone toward me with the ad visible.

The wage isn't just decent, it's downright ridiculous. "All that for a bit of cooking and cleaning?"

"That's what I'm saying." Tejinder passes me his phone.

Laundry too. I wince. The last load I did turned all my white bits pink. One red baby sock spoiled the lot. Then there'd be her kid to mind as well. But the money is good. Very, very good. "Do you reckon she'd hire a bloke with a baby who's got no experience?"

"Don't know. Play the single parent card. She's one too. Might soften her up. Or get her on the phone and chat her up. You're qualified. You've got a kid too."

Before Immy left us, I used to joke that I couldn't believe the hospital just let us walk out with a baby, as though anyone is able to raise a kid with no issues. Didn't turn out to be us in the end. Issues galore. Haven't heard from Imogen in six months, and I'm not sure what I'd do if she turned up on my doorstep.

Likely drop to my knees in relief or yell at her and slam the door in her face. Can never completely decide, but I'll have to at some point. She'll come back. She has to. Might have been me who wanted the baby, but she agreed. Good people don't ditch their kids, and Imogen was one of the best.

Tejinder passes me another beer, and my brain keeps ticking over the details from the advert.

Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Two kids. Doesn't seem like a tall order. It's not laying bricks in the sun all day. Bit of variety. Can even sit around for long stretches if I like. For the money, I can't beat it.

"Doesn't hurt to apply," I say. "Worst that happens is I don't hear back."

"Exactly." Tejinder texts me the link to the job. "Never know. Desperate people do desperate things."

I'm not sure if he's talking about me or this American woman, but either way, a cushy job might be a nice change from barely getting by.

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