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)
“Her middle name can be mum’s name. That’s that ticked off the list. We can get the passport now.”
The sooner we have the passport, the sooner we can get home, the sooner I can employ a nanny and get back to life before Kelly’s phone call. Within a couple of days, everything will be back to normal.
FOUR
Dax
Each of the CVs I’ve seen are excellent, but the nanny candidates I’m interviewing just don’t match up.
“Did you see the way she kept touching her hair?” I ask as I shut the door to the apartment. “She’s dealing with a newborn. She can’t be touching her hair like that. It’s unsanitary.” I rip up the CV and toss it in the bin as I head back into the sitting room. “She might have nannied for the Beckhams back in the day, but she’s not nannying for me.”
“I didn’t notice her touch her hair,” Nathan says.
Of course he didn’t. Nathan isn’t known for his attention to detail.
“You’re meant to look out for this stuff so I can focus on what they’re saying.”
“Right,” he says. “Who’s next?” He yawns and lays back on the sofa like he’s about to watch the football. Doesn’t he realize? This is an emergency. I need to find a nanny. The temporary nanny who’s been here the last three days is due to start with another family tomorrow. I need to find someone today.
There’s a knock at the door. “No one is due for thirty minutes,” I say.
Nathan has a guilty look on his face.
“What have you done?” I ask as I stand and head out to answer the door.
On the doorstep I find Jacob and Vincent. “What are you two doing here?”
“Here to see our niece,” Jacob replies.
“We have uncle visitation,” Vincent says.
“Thank God you’re here,” Nathan says. “He’s driving me crackers. I’ve sat through six interviews, all with perfectly good nannies he’s found spurious reasons to reject.”
“Hygiene is not spurious,” I reply.
“She didn’t touch her hair, mate,” Nathan says. “Any one of the nannies that we’ve interviewed today would be perfectly fine.”
“This is my one job when it comes to Guinevere. I have to find a decent nanny.” I know I’m going to be a terrible father. The least I can do is make sure she has an excellent nanny.
Jacob shoots me a grin. “You have more than one job. And you’re going to make a ton of mistakes. I know the prospect doesn’t sit easy for you, but you’ll get used to it.”
“You’ve got to shit or get off the pot,” Vincent says. “Who’s next on your list?”
Nathan picks up his jacket. “I’m out of here. I have my own nanny to worry about. Good luck, guys. Maybe you’ll have found someone by the time dear, sweet Guinevere has reached eighteen.”
“Thanks for your support,” I say as Nathan passes me on the way to the front door. I can’t hide my sarcasm.
“Dax, I’ve sat here for five hours trying to support you while you’ve been fucking around playing with your dick. Make a decision, man.”
“He’s right,” Jacob says. “No one is going to be good enough to care for your daughter, but unless you’re going to give up work and do it yourself, you need someone.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as he says the word daughter. That’s not how she feels to me. To me, she’s just Guinevere, a child I’m responsible for ensuring she’s—fed and clothed and educated.
He pulls the paper from my hand. “Now who’s this? The next candidate?”
The doorbell goes.
“Be nice to her,” Jacob hisses.
I’m nice to all of them. I can’t help it if they don’t fulfil the job requirements. This one is twenty minutes early. Does she have a problem telling the time?
I throw open the front door and am greeted by the back of someone’s head, her almost-black hair piled up on top of her head like she’s tried to stuff too much hay into a binbag.
She spins around and her smile seems to take up half of her face. “Good afternoon. Dax Cove? I’m Eira Cadogan.”
She’s wearing a burgundy coat with small black buttons up the front. She carries an umbrella in one hand and a huge bag on the opposite shoulder, as if she already has the job and is ready to move in. There’s something vaguely familiar about her, but I can’t put my finger on where I might have seen her before.
“Excuse me.” She glances down at herself. “I’m covered in mud.”
She’s right. There are splashes of mud all over her coat. She looks up at me and grins conspiratorially, as if we’re in on the same joke. Except we’re not. I don’t want my child looked after by someone who can’t get to an interview without looking like she came out the worse for wear after a fight with a pig in a sty.