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)
She laughs. “That’s absolutely going to happen. I’m pretty sure I’m going to launch a successful tech start-up and make millions.”
“Okay. Well you get busy with that. I’m about to head into the underground, so got to go.”
We say our love-yous, which we never miss—it’s unspoken between us, but we both know that if anything ever happens to either of us, the last thing we want to have said to each other is I love you. There’s never any doubt when you say it at the end of every conversation.
Before my phone is back in my pocket, it starts to ring.
It’s the agency.
“It’s not-so-great news,” Felicity shrieks, as if she’s some kind of wailing Italian widow. “I’m so sorry. He wants someone older. I told him I think he’s a fool.”
Dax’s face dissolves in my head. Even though I’m relieved, there’s something lodged in my chest that won’t shift.
This is for the best, I tell myself. I’ve avoided any kind of silly crush on my boss.
But it means I’m on Callie’s sofa for the foreseeable future. Maybe I need a bar job for a few weeks, just to keep my savings topped up.
The thing about being a live-in nanny is that your home is completely dependent on your job. No job equals no place to sleep at night. Since my last assignment ended three months ago, I’ve been on my best friend’s sofa. Callie and I met at Portland, but she went the daytime nanny route—no live-in assignments.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I say. “I still have the interview tomorrow with the family in Holland Park?”
“Oh, they just called. They want to move it to Tuesday next week.”
My heart sinks. Rescheduling an interview is rarely good news. It either means the family is thinking of moving abroad, or they’re looking at options such as live-out nannies or nurseries.
“Anything else coming up?” I ask.
“It’s quiet. Never seen anything like it. It’s like twenty oh-eight. But things will pick up in February. I’m sure of it.”
She said the same thing about January.
“Okay, let me know if anything new comes in.”
I take a seat on a low wall outside a restaurant that’s not open yet and bring up a job site on my phone. If I’m going to find a temp job, it needs to be flexible enough that I can go to interviews at short notice. Maybe bar work that only requires evening shifts? Although, if parents work, they often want an interview in the evening. I should sign up with a temp agency. I just don’t have any experience doing anything other than looking after children.
A harried mother pushing a buggy with a toddler in front and an older child on a buggy board at the back comes toward me. The older child has her school uniform on and is singing at the top of her lungs, “I like to move it move it.” From the look on the mother’s face, she’s sick of the song. And who can blame her?
I smile, and then notice a navy kid’s rucksack working free of where it’s shoved under the buggy. It lands on the curb, just about to fall into the road.
“Excuse me,” I call, leaping to my feet.
The woman doesn’t hear me over the dulcet screeching. I grab the rucksack and call again, “Your rucksack!”
I run after her and tap her on the shoulder. She stops and snaps her head around, ready to rip my head off if I’m any kind of threat to her kids.
“Your rucksack.” I hold it up by the strap.
Her body slumps and her eyes fill with tears. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her.
“I didn’t feel it fall off.” Her voice rises at the end of the sentence, as if she’s on the brink of tears. She’s not upset about the backpack. She’s upset because she’s had a broken night’s sleep, she’s been up for four hours, cleaned a pooey nappy, negotiated with a five-year-old over breakfast cereals, socks and hairstyles, wrestled a toddler into its coat, while she’s not brushed her own hair or teeth.
“It’s okay. You’ve got a lot to do in the mornings. And you’ve got two happy kids. That’s the most important thing.”
The child in the pushchair is clapping along to, “You’ve got to move it move it,” which the older kid hasn’t stopped singing. Over. And over. And over.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You’ve got this,” I say and nod at her.
She takes a deep breath. “I got this.”
I smile and wave at the older kid as she peers at me from behind her mum as they charge toward a nursery. A warm feeling settles in my stomach at the thought I made that mother’s morning a little better.
I’ve got this, I say to myself.
I carry on toward the tube station, past a churchyard where I spot the beginnings of a crocus pushing its head out of the soil on the other side of the railings. I stop and bend over. “You’re early,” I whisper. “Keep safe under the soil for a few more weeks. That way you won’t get bitten by the frost.” I look up to the sky. “The problem is that beautiful sun is out, tricking you into thinking it’s springtime.”