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)
“Why don’t you lie down,” I say. The bench is wide enough and she looks like she’s about to fall down if I don’t help her. I help her lie on her side and glance back to the football pitch. We need the baby’s father now. He can take his mum to hospital.
I hear a siren and wonder if that’s for us. I hope it is.
“What’s your son’s name?” I ask.
“Who?” she asks. She’s confused.
“Stay here,” I say. “I’m going to find your son.”
I can’t leave the children, so I scoop up the baby, huddled in its blanket, and with my free hand, push Elliot toward the football pitch. The child in the sandpit seems to have disappeared. Where is everyone? I pick up speed and get to the wire fencing.
“Help!” I call. No one hears me. “I need help. Your mum is sick.” I don’t know who I’m talking to, or whose mum I’m screaming about.
“Help!”
A couple of players nearer me stop and they hold up their hands to stop the game and come closer to the fencing.
“Who’s mum is looking after the baby?” I ask. “She’s sick.” I glance back at the bench, and I see the ambulance pulled up to the other side of the iron railings. Thank god they got here fast.
Other players head in my direction to see what the commotion is about.
“Eira?” someone asks.
I search the faces to find the person who seems to know me and lock eyes with Dax, the hot single dad Eddie would have been delighted for me to work for.
“Dax Cove?” I glance down at the bundle of pink blankets in my arms. Am I holding Guinevere? When I look back up, Dax is sprinting to the gate. I look back at the bench. “I think your mum is sick.”
Elliot squeals from the buggy but thankfully isn’t upset.
“My mum?” he asks, glancing down at the baby in my arms. “How do you know my mum?” He doesn’t reach for the baby. Maybe this isn’t Guinevere.
“The lady on the bench?”
He looks toward the bench and starts to sprint again.
Some of the other players come out and follow him. “Can we do anything?”
I don’t answer as I see the paramedics coming through the gate of the playground. I need to tell them what I know. I start to make my way back to the bench, pushing Elliot and carrying a still-sleeping baby in my arms. Dax is already there, kneeling at the woman’s head as the paramedics arrive.
I can’t tell them much, and she doesn’t seem to be talking at all, although her eyes are open. She looks gray. I’m so pleased the ambulance is here.
“Fuck,” Dax says as he stands and lets the paramedics take over.
They do some checks, load the woman onto a stretcher, and wheel her into the ambulance.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he says to them. He glances at me. “I don’t know who to call.” He pulls out his phone. “I don’t know—”
“Maybe your brothers. And your dad?”
He gives me a look that tells me my suggestions weren’t helpful. “She’s not my mum. She’s Guinevere’s nanny.”
Oh. The older candidate he went with. The shoes make sense now. She must have trained at Portland.
Dax pushes his hand through his hair, and I try to ignore the way my stomach flips. I should definitely not be focusing on his hands or his hair or anything else about how attractive he is. We’re in an emergency situation. “I don’t have any emergency numbers for her.”
“Call the agency. They’ll have numbers for her.” My phone is in my hand. “Let me do it.”
I dial the agency and speak to Felicity. I hold the phone with my shoulder and put Guinevere back in her pram. She’s still sleeping—gotta love a newborn. As long as they have milk regularly, they’re rarely any bother.
I ask Felicity to call the nanny’s emergency contacts. I discover the woman’s name is Doreen.
“Can she give out your number?” I ask Dax, who nods. To Felicity, I say, “Give them Dax’s number. He’s going to the hospital now. He can keep them—ahh, right. Yes, UCH.”
“Her sister is going to go,” I say as I hang up.
“I’ve known the woman three days,” Dax says. “I don’t know what—” He looks around as if he doesn’t know which way the hospital is. And then he glances at the pram.
“What do I do if she wakes up?” he asks.
“Just stay at the hospital until her sister turns up. It won’t be long. And I’m sure Doreen has plenty of food and nappies in the bag.”
He looks at me as if I’m speaking Chinese.
“For Guinevere. I’m sure you have enough to tide you over until you get home.”
“Fuck,” he says.
“Do you want me to check?”
Elliot is busy pointing at nothing in particular and shrieking, so I rummage about the bottom part of the pram and pull out the baby bag. I flip open the top. “Yes, two bottles. Ready-made milk. Nappies. You’re good.”