Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
J oyce put the cottage pie into the oven, set the timer, then finished wiping down the counters and making sure everything was spic and span. Beryl was checking on Ruthie one last time before they left for the evening. Joyce had already told Mitch dinner would be ready in about an hour and to listen for the timer.
Beryl came out of Ruthie’s room and into Kyle’s, knocking on the open door to get his attention and give him the latest report on his daughter.
Joyce laid the cloth rag she’d been using over the edge of the sink to dry. She checked her shopping list. They’d go tomorrow. They were running short on a few things.
Beryl came to stand nearby. “Ruthie’s been fed and I put her in a fresh nappy. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Joyce shook her head. “No, I’m all done. We can go.”
“Do you need to tell Mitch you’re leaving?”
“No, I told him already.”
They went down the steps and out the front door, following the little stone path through the side yard that led to the guest house. There was an offshoot of the driveway that connected the guest house to the main driveway as well. It provided extra parking, though Joyce parked in the guest house garage.
That got her thinking. “Are you going to get a license? So that you can drive?”
Beryl frowned. “I suppose maybe I should. I don’t know the first thing about doing that, though.”
“You can get an international permit. Nothing you need to worry about now, however.” Joyce pressed the button to call the lift. “How was taking care of Ruthie today?”
“It was wonderful.” Beryl stepped in as the doors opened. “She was a little fussy earlier, but she just needed to be changed. She’s a good-natured baby.” She smiled. “I can’t believe I’m her nanny. That I have a job here. It’s all so much, innit? I keep wanting to pinch myself.”
Joyce smiled and pushed the button to take them up. “I was thinking I’d make some spaghetti Bolognese for tea. That all right with you?”
“Sounds lovely. Make a big batch and we’ll eat it for a few meals, if you want. I’m fine with that.”
“All right, that’s our next couple of nights sorted then.” They got off on the second floor and each went to their rooms to change.
Joyce got to work on dinner when she came out, starting with browning the mince.
Beryl came out a few moments later. “You think it’s all right if I call Neville and tell him the news? It’s all official and whatnot, right?”
Joyce nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”
Beryl smiled. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take whatever time you need, love.”
She disappeared back into her room.
Joyce got the big pasta pot out and filled it with water, then added several fat pinches of salt. She set it on one of the back burners to heat.
She was just getting a jar of sauce out when Beryl returned, still on the phone. “I’m telling you, Neville, it’s the truth. Here, talk to your Aunt Joyce.”
Beryl held the phone out. “Tell him I really am staying. He doesn’t believe me.”
Joyce took the phone. “Neville? It’s your Aunt Joyce.”
“Hello, Aunt Joyce. Has Mum hit her head? She said she’s moving in with you and going to work as a nanny.”
“She is, Nev. I swear it. She’s going to be looking after the baby daughter of my boss’s son.”
“My mum.”
“Yes. Why is that so hard for you to believe?” Neville always had been a hard-headed child.
“She’s not exactly…”
“What?”
“Well, young ,” Neville said.
Joyce rolled her eyes. “What does that have to do with it?”
“Looking after a baby is a lot of work.”
“It’s just a few days a week. I think she’ll manage that beautifully.” Joyce smiled at Beryl, who was watching. “And won’t it be nice to have your mum closer? No ocean between you? Maybe you can even come visit once she gets settled.”
“You really think this job will last?”
Small bubbles were breaking on the pasta water’s surface. It was nearly to a boil. Joyce was done talking to her doubting nephew anyway. “I’m giving you back to your mum now.”
She handed the phone to Beryl and returned to her sauce. Neville would figure it out once Beryl was here and getting on with her life. What did he expect? That she should just molder away in her golden years? What was wrong with her being productive and useful?
That boy. Joyce shook her head. Beryl had gone back into her room. When her sister returned, Joyce had the sauce made and the pasta was boiling away. She glanced over at Beryl. “You all right?”
Beryl nodded, but she seemed subdued. “He thinks it’s going to be too much for me.”
“Do you think that?”
“I don’t know now.” Beryl got dishes out and set the table.
Joyce pursed her lips. Beryl put a lot of weight on her son’s opinion. Wrongly so, in Joyce’s mind. “You want my advice, you should ignore Neville. You know yourself better than he does. I’d go so far as to say I know you better than he does. You’re going to be just fine. Not only that, but you’re going to be an important part of Ruthie’s life.”
A tiny smile crept onto Beryl’s face. “That’s a nice way of looking at it.”
“It’s a realistic way of looking at it. Neville will come around. Maybe he’s just jealous that you’re working for a celebrity.”
Beryl snickered. “Oh, Joycie, I’m sure it’s not that. But how many people can say such a thing? Not many.”
She was feeling better. Joyce could see it. “I know you’ve set the table, but let’s eat in front of the telly, what do you say.”
“I say we’re adults and we can do what we like.”
Joyce smiled. “That’s right. We’ll watch another episode of EastEnders , that’s what we’ll do.”
Beryl took the plates off the table and brought them over to where Joyce was cooking. “Living here has made you a little bit of a rebellious one, hasn’t it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just I’m at an age where I want to do what I want to do,” Joyce said.
“You always were like that as a girl, too.” Beryl shook her head. “While I was busy following the rules. No more,” she said. “If I want to break a rule, I’m going to. I’m going to live my life to make myself happy. I should have done that years ago.”
“Better late than never.” Joyce got the strainer out and set it in the sink. “Just us two Crenshaw girls, doing whatever we want and not caring what anyone thinks.”
“Here, here.” Beryl twittered, a little nervously. But Joyce understood. Beryl was finding her footing. This was all new for her, this kind of life. She’d been a dutiful wife, a thoughtful mother, a reliable friend. Now it was time for her to look after herself. To do things that made her happy, no matter what anyone else thought.
Joyce slipped an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “I love you, Berry. I’m very glad you’re here and that you’re staying.”
“So am I. You’ll help me, won’t you? I must confess, some of this seems very new to me.”
“It’s all right. You’ll figure it out. Coming to the States was a big change for me, too. But I managed. And you’re more capable than I am. Always have been. And of course I’ll help you.” Joyce loved Beryl. There was nothing so wonderful as the bond between sisters. It was one of the reasons she’d taken to Harper and Frankie.
Wasn’t that something now? Two sets of sisters living next door to each other. Joyce smiled at the balance of that. It made her feel as if Beryl’s being here had been destined in some way.
Not that she was the superstitious kind. She used the pasta fork to lift a few strands of spaghetti from the pot, then pinched one up and took a bite. “Done.”
Beryl handed Joyce the mitts to protect her hands and Joyce slipped them on. She grabbed up the pot, carried it to the sink, and drained the pasta into the strainer. She gave it a quick shake and dumped it back into the pot.
Behind her, Beryl was ready with the pan of sauce. “A nice bowl of spaghetti Bolognese and EastEnders . We’re living the life, aren’t we, Joycie?”
Joyce laughed, properly happy in a way that felt incomparable. “We sure are, Berry. We sure are.”