Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Like I said, I’ll give you my credit card. You can get everything we need. You can even paint a Winnie-the-Pooh mural in here if you like.”
She gives me a tight smile, like I’m not amusing or charming at all. “We shall go shopping together,” she says, resolutely. “When are you free? What about lunchtime today?”
Her tone is firm, which is quite at odds with my first impression of her as someone who thinks children should be boundaryless and run riot all over the place. I wonder if she’ll be as firm with Guinevere.
“Where did you have in mind?”
“We’ll have to be quick because you’re on lunch. John Lewis will have everything we need in one place. Unless you have a better suggestion? Harrods and Selfridges are farther away and you pay a premium.”
“John Lewis is fine.” I don’t know if it’s my voice or maybe the smell of the bottle that Eira just prepared, but Guinevere stirs.
“Someone wants some food and a clean nappy,” Eira says.
I expect her to lift Guinevere from my arms and take over. Instead, she moves my daughter from my chest into my arms, snapping closed her babygrow. She hands me the milk.
“How much do I feed her?” I ask.
“As much as she wants,” she replies. “She’ll know when she’s had enough. She might enjoy a story.”
Guinevere takes the bottle without opening her eyes. “You should put baby books on your list. I don’t have anything to read to her.”
Eira smiles, her eyes sparkling from the dim light of the hall. “Read your favorite book to her. Or even your research results. She just wants to hear the sound of your voice.” She pulls out her phone and snaps a picture. “You’ll want pictures of these times when she’s older. Make sure there are far too many pictures of the two of you. She’ll treasure them.” She sighs like she’s thinking about something important to her. “I’ll be back.”
She moves silently out of the room, leaving me and…my daughter. I think I might have just been given my first lesson in childcare by our new nanny.
And I didn’t mind it.
TEN
Eira
Guinevere’s asleep in her new crib, right next to her daddy’s bed. She’s snuggled up in new Grobag, much safer than the old bedding, clean from her bath in her new bath seat.
And now I’m in the bath.
I’m exhausted. Today’s been fun. I’ve never had a newborn charge who wasn’t all set up with every gismo, gadget and item of baby clothing ever produced. But then again, I’ve never been a nanny for a single dad who didn’t know he had a daughter until the day she was born. It’s like I’m starting from a blank slate.
Even though there’s no doubt Dax is attractive, I’m having to actively keep that thought boxed up in the back of my brain, and really focus on my list of things I don’t like about him. I’ve really enjoyed the last couple of days. As a nanny, you’re always helping the family you work for, but with Dax and Guinevere, I’m not sure what they’d do without me. The feeling’s like a warm blanket on a frosty evening. It’s nice to be making such a difference.
My phone buzzes.
My brother’s name flashes up on my phone screen. Immediately my heart starts to bang against my chest. He’s the best little brother ever. Sensible. Kind. Hardworking. But he’s twenty-four. There’s a lot of trouble he could get into. What if he got a girl pregnant and she didn’t tell him until after the baby was born?
I grab my phone, see his message and relax. He wants to borrow money for a rent deposit on his new flat. He has a good job in a technology company, but he’s on an entry-level salary and living in London’s expensive. When he was first out of university, he took out a small loan to cover his annual tube pass. When I found out, I was devastated that he chose to shoulder that burden. I made him promise he’d always come to me if he needed money. I have a savings fund ring-fenced just for him.
He calls as I’m reading the message.
“I’m sorry to ask you again.” He’s always so apologetic, but he needn’t be. Looking after him is my job. I’m his big sister.
“It’s fine,” I say.
“Have you spoken to the lawyers?”
I sigh, suddenly feeling weighted down by a blanket of lead.
“Not since the last time,” I say. Dylan always holds out hope that the lawyers will fix things—that one day, justice will be served. Unfortunately, over the last few years, my hope has ebbed away. What’s done is done.
If I never speak to another lawyer again, it will be too soon. All they’ve ever managed to do is drain my bank account. I haven’t told Dylan and Eddie, but I’ve given up hope that we’ll ever get resolution. Our uncle is in the Cayman Islands enjoying our inheritance and there’s nothing we can do about it.