Chapter Four

Astrid glanced at the door as the third woman came out. She was the liberal feminist who had tried to engage Astrid in conversation about the impingement of male influence on the rightfully feminine world. She sighed and remained sitting up straight, though her knee was aching. She had unwisely worn a pair of low heels and the strain through her still-healing ligament was making her knee throb. She would have died if she had to walk on the five inch skyscrapers the second girl-who Astrid had mentally categorised as 'bimbo gold-digger'-had been wearing. Absently, she wondered how she hd got on: she had come out looking and sounding very positive but then, Astrid had already realised she was wholly self-absorbed and had all the insight of the average house brick.

She sat up straighter. She was wearing a deep blue pant suit and a white blouse, her golden hair swept off her face in an elegant knot. She held a folder with her certificates a little too tightly and she shuffled her feet again. Of course her mother had objected to her choice of clothes but Astrid was self-conscious of the bad scars on her right leg from her operations so she had insisted on pants...though her mother had been rather miffed.

"You'll never get the job looking like some sort of cheap secretary," her mother had said with an unimpressed scowl on her face as Astrid showed her the outfit. Predictably, Astrid had scowled, finishing fixing her hair.

"This isn't a fashion parade," she had retorted. "I'm supposed to be a child carer, not a..."

"You'll regret it when some well-dressed woman steals the job from under you," Ilsa had warned her. "When she catches his eye..."

"Mom-he's a widower who has recently lost his wife and is struggling to look after his daughter. He's hardly about to fall for the Nanny!" she had replied sarcastically.

"He's a man and one day, he will look for another wife...and he owns his own company..." her mother suggested. But Astrid shook her head.

"I'm a failed soccer player and a would-be Nanny," she reminded her mother. "If I get the job, I'll be happy." Ilsa gently took her hands and sighed.

"My daughter-all I want is your happiness," she sighed. Astroid had hugged her.

"Then let me be me," she asked her mother gently. "All I want is to get the job and start creating a new life after all my other dreams have vanished..."

"Bertha BogBurgler?" The clipped voice of the grumpy looking secretary roused Astrid from her recollections and she saw the other remaining candidate rise and head for the door. The woman was older and seemed very efficient and experienced: she guessed she would probably take the post. Resigning herself to failure and sitting back, she rested her folder across her lap and waited for her turn. At least she would get some interview experience...

oOo

Hiccup and Fishlegs stared at the door in concern as Bertha entered. She was a very large woman, well over six foot and heavily built, her sparkling blue eyes sweeping over the two men sitting behind the desk. She was wearing a brown tweed suit, the jacket belted at her round waist and straining over her extremely ample bosom while the tweed skirt reached her knees, revealing huge calves and sensible brogues that were probably larger than Hiccup's own shoes. Her blonde hair was scraped back into an eye-wateringly tight bun that he had heard referred to as a 'Hysteria facelift'. Mildly intimidated by her ferocious expression, Hiccup gestured to the seat and she sat brusquely.

"You must be the father," she said, glaring at Hiccup and he felt himself blush. He hadn't fielded such a look since his father died and somehow, he felt like he was fourteen again, clumsy and small and falling over his own feet.

"I'm Hanna's Dad, yes," he said as she looked him up and down.

"Dear, dear-this won't do at all," she commented. Blinking, Hiccup stared at her.

"So can I enquire what your qualifications and experience are?' he asked. She tutted.

"Did you not read my resume?" she asked him and he sighed.

"Well, yes but..."

"Then you will already be familiar with me extensive experience in childcare over a career spanning over two decades," she told him dismissively. "I am clearly the most qualified and best placed to take the position. All I need to do is decide if you are really as interested in the welfare of your child as you purport to be..." Eyes narrowing, Hiccup glared at her.

"My daughter is everything to me," he said firmly as Bertha smiled, her plump lips stretching wide.

"Good-then you will allow me to ensure that she is brought up in a proper manner!" she declared.

"Define proper manner," he challenged her. She frowned.

"Well, obviously, she can't be mollycoddled just because she has lost her mother," she announced. "She needs to learn that life goes on and that she has to develop and grow."

"I think she knows that..." Hiccup protested. "Her Mom just died."

"And you need to stop using that as an excuse," Bertha told him gruffly. "The child needs to accept and then she needs to start her education as a way of overcoming her disadvantages."

"What disadvantages?" Hiccup asked more sharply than he had intended. Bertha gave a smirk.

"Being a motherless child with a single working father who will no doubt be neglectful and too weak-willed to be firm enough to raise her properly." Hiccup's eyes widened and he stared in shock.

"I am not neglectful-and I do enforce boundaries!" he replied sharply. "Really!" Bertha gave a smug smile.

"Your immediate defensive posture says otherwise," she told him sternly. "Do you feel inadequate? Is that why you are seeking assistance from a professional in caring for the child?" Hiccup bit his lip because he really wanted to shout at the judgmental woman and he needed to remain professional. He had a nasty suspicion she would report him to the Social Services without hesitation.

"So describe your proposed...'programme' for my daughter," he said with forced patience and Bertha gave a manic grin.

"I believe in strengthening young hearts, minds and bodies," she announced, her lips stretched over her mouth in a very unsettling grin. "I will wake her at five in the morning and take her through a series of exercises before we have a healthy breakfast of oatmeal porridge taken in the true Scottish manner." Both men frowned. "With a pinch of salt, only," she explained.

"Ah," Hiccup said, snatching a glance over at Fishlegs, who had a fascinated and vaguely horrified expression. Neither of them could imagine Hanna without her marshmallow swathed sugar coated morning cereal without World War Three rapidly breaking out.

"Then we would go for a brisk walk, no matter the weather, followed by stretches," Bertha continued manically. "There would then be an hour of mathematics, an hour of reading and writing and an hour of gymnastics before a solid lunch of meat, boiled potatoes and boiled vegetables. Then there would be a mandatory nap, followed by further stretches, singing rousing songs such as 'Kumbya' and 'As I went a walking'. There will then be a further walk, half an hour of quiet reading and then bed." Hiccup frowned. "No toys. No games. No wasting time watching television-except maybe some good, educational documentaries on Viking history or botany. And I will require every Saturday morning and Tuesday afternoon off."

"Um...why?" he asked, unnerved.

"Tuesday is my session at the range," she explained. "I work out any aggression by a good session of target practice using automatic weapons. I am an expert markswoman. Saturday morning is my Graeco-Roman wrestling class where I instruct potential hopefuls. I was Olympic level." Fishlegs tentatively raised a hand.

"I-I thought it was a male-only sport," he said nervously. Bertha snorted, a sound akin to an angry bull.

"It is," she snapped. "However, I was given special dispensation to represent the Archipelago. I won the gold in my category and was cheated from defending my title by them changing the rules to exclude females in the next Olympic cycle! HA!" Both men cringed back, now certain she would snap them in half if they annoyed her.

"That sounds...very comprehensive," Hiccup said quickly. "And I am impressed by your plans...but I must finish the interview process..." Bertha frowned. "I have to be fair to all candidates to hear what each one has to say..." Grudgingly, the enormous woman scowled but nodded.

"I doubt that lightweight blonde girl will pose any threat," she said dismissively. "You have my cell number on my resume. I will await your call to confirm my employment." And thankfully, she rose and stuck out her hand. Reluctantly, Hiccup grasped it and found his hand crushed in the ferocious grip. Fishlegs saw his wince but valiantly stood by his friend and had his hand crushed as well.

It was only when the door slammed that Hiccup sagged and tenderly massaged his hand.

"Thank Thor I'm left handed," he mumbled, trying to rub some life back into his crushed right hand.

"I'm not," Fishlegs grumbled.

"Well, at least we know why she only lasts eight weeks at most," Hiccup said with relief. "She's awful. That's how long it takes to raise a rebellion against her tyranny..."

"How long would Hanna last?" Fishlegs asked and Hiccup smiled.

"One day," he said confidently. "And then she would insist the 'bad lady' was kicked out."

"So that leaves one," Fishlegs said, mentally feeling bruised and trying to move his fingers. "Astrid Hofferson."

"The late applicant with the best actual qualifications," Hiccup recalled. "Probably a serial killer."

"No-the serial killer is definitely Bertha," Fishlegs said sternly. Sighing, Hiccup lifted the phone to Phlegma.

"Let's get it over with," he sighed. "Can you send the last one in, please?"

Both men looked up and then sat up much straighter as the door knocked and then the neat shape of Astrid entered. Slender and athletic, her movements graceful as she walked up and offered them her hand. She smiled, her clear blue eyes twinkling and Hiccup felt his breath catch. She was dressed sensibly in a dark blue pant suit, low heels and her sun gold hair tied back and she was beautiful. In a daze, Hiccup took her hand and shook it, then motioned to the seat.

"Um...thanks for coming, Miss Hofferson..." he began uncertainly and she smiled.

"Astrid," she said warmly and handed her packet over. "My certificates and qualifications for you to check." Fishlegs took the envelope as Hiccup scanned his list of questions.

"Thank you. So why have you applied?" he asked. She smiled.

"Childcare was always something I was considering but when my former career came to an abrupt end, I knew I needed something else," she explained candidly. "I was already in France so I applied to be an au pair to actually see if I enjoyed the process. We were in Lyon, a city I knew well and I looked after three children-Henri, Justine and Nicolas. And I found I absolutely adored it. I used the time perfecting my French and passing my qualifications including basic childcare, first aid, equality and diversity, child protection level two, introduction to child psychology and child development. After my year, I left the kids with a heavy heart but I knew it was time to go home. This post was still open the day I returned home so I applied."

Hiccup blinked and realised he had been staring.

"What was your former career?" he asked and she dipped her head self-consciously. In a way. it was a relief that he didn't seem to be familiar with the minutiae of her career.

"I was a professional soccer player," she said. "I played for Lyon. Midfield. But I suffered two anterior cruciate ruptures and though they were able to repair the ligament, my career was over. My knee is still a bit unstable but fine for normal use-provided I'm not planning on running a marathon."

"How about running around after a four year old?" Hiccup checked.

"Managed it fine over the last year," she replied easily-because it was a valid question.

"These references are excellent," Fishlegs commented and then looked up. "Sorry."

"So what would you do with my daughter?" Hiccup asked. Astrid raised an eyebrow with a wry smile.

"What do you want me to do with your daughter?" she asked. "I would check what your present routine is and what your child needs. I presume the role includes getting your daughter up, helping her dress and making breakfast. I'd check what you and she wanted-more you, to be honest, since kids have very sweet ideas about an ideal breakfast..." And she smiled. "I recall Henri wanted to have just apricot jam for breakfast...so one day I allowed it. He never touched it again after that. And made vomitty noises when I suggested he wanted it on his croissants."

"Wow," Hiccup commented. "Um..and television?"

"Moderation," she said firmly. "My job isn't to allow her to vegetate, it is to encourage her to explore her imagination and her environment. Don't get me wrong-it has its place-in the same way that we collapse in front of the TV as well. But it's not a substitute for playing with her, taking her out for trips and spending time with her."

"I like her already," Fishlegs murmured, leaning close. Hiccup nodded.

"Um...and clothes?" he asked.

"What?"

"Um...do you believe in enforcing clothes?" Hiccup mumbled. Astrid frowned.

"Is that a trick question? This is Berk. We have an extra season, Devastating Winter which is like 'even worse' winter. Without clothes, you freeze. Very, very quickly."

"And dolls?" Hiccup's voice was slightly desperate.

"Every child has a favourite toy and it isn't my job to deprive your daughter of her treasured possessions. She has already lost her Mom and my job isn't to turn her world more upside down than it has already been. This role is to support you in caring for her as it must be an incredibly difficult time for you both. I am sorry for your loss."

"Um...thanks," Hiccup said, swallowing. Astrid sighed.

"Look, I know you have been interviewing the bimbo, the vegan man-hating psychologist, that drill sergeant of a possible-woman and Gothi," she said honestly. "And I know I am a relative newcomer to this profession-but I am serious. I'm not in this for you, Mr Haddock. I just want a post looking after your daughter because this role is what I want to spend the rest of my life doing. And I promise, I will look after your daughter to the best of my ability."

"Wow-she's really got those other woman taped," Fishlegs commented.

"Gothi? How do you know Gothi?" Hiccup asked. Astrid smiled.

"Doesn't everyone?" she asked. "She's our beloved 88 year old town elder. And she basically amuses herself by applying for everything. I mean, I have heard from friends who are on dating sites that she responds to every single profile. Even women. I think she gets bored, to be honest..." Hiccup gave a small smile, recalling the written message that was resting under the pile of folders.

"I think so-though her mind's as sharp as a tack," he replied. "You don't want to build a patio, do you?" Astrid looked confused.

"It wasn't in the job description and I'm not really big on DIY," she said. Hiccup gave a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank Thor. Um-do you have any questions?" Astrid nodded.

"I presume it includes a room and an afternoon off to be negotiated?" she checked. "And does your daughter know this is happening?" There was a pause.

"Um...I haven't actually told her," he admitted and she sighed.

"You should," she suggested but Hiccup shook his head.

"Actually, I was hoping you would-when you meet her," he said. Her eyes widened. "The job's yours-if you want it..." She gave a relieved smile and clasped her hands briefly together. She nodded urgently.

"Yes please," she said quickly as Hiccup rose to his feet and offered his hand.

"Congratulations," he said in relief as she rose and grasped his hand. "Do you want to come and meet her?" Astrid gave a relieved nod of the head.

"I would love to," she said.

"Um...what about the other candidates? They need to be phoned with the news," Fishlegs asked as Hiccup gave him a look.

"Well, this was kind of your idea so thanks for volunteering to let them know!" he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Good luck."

"Oh Thor," the husky man said, growing pale at the thought of talking to Bertha. "What will you be doing?" Hiccup grabbed his keys.

"Taking Astrid to meet Hanna."

A/N 1: For Bertha, think Miss Trunchbull from Matilda.

A/N 2: Back home, those hairstyles (like Bertha's) where the hair is scraped back as tightly as humanly possible into a bun are referred to as an 'Essex facelift'. I just Archipelago'd the name...