Page 18 of Dr. Single Dad

I exhale. Thank god.

“Great. Guinevere can help me get my room straight this afternoon if you like.”

“You don’t start until tomorrow,” he replies. Felicity managed to get me a day to move in before I start.

“Right, but if you need me to help out today, just let me know.”

“I think you’re going to need the time to move all your stuff in. I might need to get the floors reinforced or inform my insurer or something.”

I assume he’s joking, but he doesn’t say it with a smile. His expression says having a nanny with possessions is irritating AF.

Another item for the list:unrealistic expectations of people’s possessions.

I shrug. “It will take me a few days. I have to figure out the space.”

The front door to Dax’s flat is propped open.

“You’re going to have to move, Dax,” a woman’s voice shouts as we enter the flat.

Dax inhales wearily, like he’s heard the comment before and he’s going to ignore it. Again. I like the fact that he doesn’t respond.

“I’m serious. The two of you can’t live here. Your life is changed now. You need to change where you live as a result.”

A woman appears in the corridor, her hands on her hips, an apron on and a partially peeled potato in her hand.

“Oh my, hello. You must be Eira,” she says. I’m not quite sure how she knows I’m the new nanny rather than Callie, who’s trailing behind me. “I’m Carole—Grandma.” She beams as she tells me her title. “Is Eira a Welsh name?”

Most people guess Irish first. “Yes, my father was Welsh.”

“It’s beautiful, and so fitting, given you’re a Welsh queen’s nanny.”

I laugh. “Absolutely. A perfect fit.”

Dax has dumped the box in my bedroom and looks positively furious about our conversation.

“How is she?” I ask. “Still sleeping?”

“Yes. She’s here in the kitchen with me in the DockATot. So useful.”

“I swear by them,” I say. “Good for traveling too, because they provide consistency for the baby and flexibility for you.” I duck inside my room and slide the box onto the floor, before going back out into the hallway to continue my conversation with Dax’s mum.

“You’re Portland trained?” she asks.

“Yes.” I nod to where Callie is depositing her box. “Callie and I met at Portland.”

“Oh?” she asks. “And you two are…a couple?” Her voice lifts at the end of the sentence, like she’s unsuccessfully trying to be cool with the concept.

“In the sense that we’re best friends, yes. But not lovers, no.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asks.

I deal with this kind of inappropriate question all the time. I don’t know what it is, but parents always want to know about the private lives of the nannies looking after their grandchildren. I don’t know why.

“Mum,” Dax shouts. “Leave it. I only just hired her. I don’t want her handing her notice in for at least twenty-four hours. Apart from anything else, my back won’t take her moving out straight away.” Is Dax being intentionally hilarious? I start to smile and then remember my negative list. No, not intentionally funny and charming. Just rude and unwelcoming.

Carole rolls her eyes. “I’ll leave you to it. You probably want to get all your things in. Even though—” She stops and raises her voice. “You’ve got to move, Dax. I’m telling you.”

I’ve seen babies raised in smaller places. And bigger places. Central London is expensive. And this place in Marylebone won’t be cheap, even though it’s not large.

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