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)
My phone buzzes. “It’s Eddie,” I announce. She’s sent me a link.
That’s on the University Website. Just to remove any doubt.
I’m not clear what she means until I click through to find a page titled “Awards and Scholarships”. I search for her name and it’s listed just under the “GCC Scholarship Fund”. I pause.
GCC.
Those letters mean something to me. I’ve seen them before.
I type back.
What’s GCC?
The name of my scholarship.
“What does GCC mean to you?” I ask Callie as I type out the same question to Eddie. “Is it a corporation? I can’t place it.”
“The GC? Like Gemma Collins?” she asks.
“The reality woman?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure she’s not establishing scholarships at Exeter University. No, it’s GCC. It’s the name of Eddie’s scholarship. The GCC Scholarship.”
“No idea. Can we talk about getting a new sofa?” she asks.
Eddie doesn’t respond, which is shorthand for I haven’t got a clue. But I’m sure I’ve seen those letters before. I just can’t remember where.
THIRTY-THREE
Dax
Vincent, Jacob and I loiter outside Jacob’s gate in Holford Road, waiting for the agent.
“You think there’s a problem?” Vincent asks.
“She’s only fifteen minutes late,” I say. “She’s stuck in traffic. There’s a road closure in St. John’s Wood apparently.”
“So you just bought it?” Vincent asks. “You only saw it once. How much did you pay?”
“Eight,” I reply. “It works. Why would I need to see it more than once if I’d made up my mind?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes to make an eight-million-pound investment. That’s quick decision-making.” He slaps me on the back. “But less life-changing than the decision not to use a condom that one time.” He nods at Guinevere, snuggled in the baby carrier strapped to my front.
“Apparently the best decisions are the quickest,” I say.
“Coming from the guy who didn’t want to be a father,” Jacob says. “I’d say you’ve figured it out pretty quickly.”
I don’t say it, but I know I’ve got Eira to thank for how quickly I came round to the idea of being a father. She knew exactly how to encourage my interest in my daughter, how to bring us closer together. As usual, Eira went way beyond what was required to make sure Guinevere and I were as happy as humanly possible.
I miss her.
We exchange texts every few days. Each time I hear from her, I have to convince myself not to drive round to her flat, toss her over my shoulder and bring her home. To me and Guinevere.
I’m trying to be patient. To live in the ambiguity. It’s not easy.
A green mini comes whizzing around the corner, screeching to a halt in the street and blocking the road. “Your keys!” Muriel sticks her hand out the window, a keychain dangling from her pinched fingers. “Congratulations! I’ll park up and come and see you in.”
“You know I can see into your living room,” I say to Jacob as we climb the steps to the house.
“I’m having blinds installed tomorrow,” he replies.
“Guinevere, this is your new house,” I say. “Do you like it?” I know she’s sleeping, but I ask her anyway. It’s not like she’d answer me if she was awake, either—I just like chatting to her. “Your cousins are going to want to come in to use the pool, but we’re not going to let them.”
Jacob cups his ear. “What’s that? Oh yes, the sound of the Uncle of the Year award going up in flames. You’ll let us in, won’t you, Guinevere?” he says, dipping to talk to her. “Kids have us all acting like fools.” He laughs.
“And enjoying it,” Vincent replies. “That’s the part I’m looking forward to most. Being able to be an idiot and it being entirely acceptable. I can’t wait for when they’re old enough for water pistol fights and proper football practice.”
“This generation is all going to be women,” Jacob says. “We’re going to have our hair in plaits and be made to wear eyeshadow.”
“As long as we can do the water pistol fight after, I’m good with a little pink on my lids,” Vincent replies. “Helps bring out the blue in my eyes.”
“When do we start talking to them about periods and stuff?” I ask.
“Personally, I would give it a while,” Jacob says. “Maybe wait until she’s walking. Maybe even talking.” He rolls his eyes.
I’m not laughing. Wouldn’t it be best for someone who lives the experience of being a woman to talk to Guinevere about things like this?
Vincent rests his hand on my shoulder. “It’s a long way off and who knows where you’ll be? Your life might look very different when the time comes.”
“I don’t know if I’m enough for her,” I confess.
“We all feel like that, mate,” Vincent says. “And it’s nothing to do with you being a single parent. We’ll never be enough for our kids, because they deserve more than anyone could ever give.”