Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
J oyce and Beryl sat in the shade of the big square umbrella, the two of them on lounge chairs by the pool, both of them in shorts. Shorts! Joyce almost never wore them out of the house, unless she was going to be working outside. Now, here she was, laying about in them.
She’d only put them on because Beryl had put hers on, having specifically purchased a pair for this trip.
Ruthie was parked between them in her new stroller. She was sleeping, having just had a bottle. Nearby, one of the large outdoor fans sent a lovely breeze their way as it rotated past in a short arc.
“This is the life,” Beryl said. “If you’d have told me a week ago I’d be sitting by a pool, with the ocean to one side of me and a river to the other, I’d have told you you’d gone daft. Now look at me.”
Joyce smiled. She could count on one hand the times she’d sat by this pool, but she wasn’t going to tell Beryl that. “It’s like a dream, innit?”
“It is. All this blue sky and green grass. It’s a postcard come to life.” Beryl glanced at Ruthie. “And then there’s that sweet thing. Look at that little lamb. Probably dreaming of how grand her life is going to be now. Makes me wish my Neville would have a few little ones, but that wife of his is focused on her career.”
“That’s how the women are these days.”
Beryl smiled at Ruthie, her gaze hazing with memories. “Babies are marvelous things, aren’t they? Especially when they aren’t yours.” She laughed. “I miss having little ones. You’d think I’d be past that at my age, but there you have it.”
Joyce adjusted her sunglasses. “You were always a fantastic mother. I used to think if you hadn’t gone into baking, you could have been a child minder. You were so good with your own.”
“Thanks. I loved baking. Still do. But it’s not the same kind of rewarding as looking after a little one. Speaking of baking, I’d like to do a little while I’m here. To say thank you to your boss for the ticket. Not that a Bakewell tart is worth what he paid, mind you, but it would be a nice gesture.”
Joyce smiled. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. I’ve already sung the praises of your Bakewell and your Victoria sponge.”
Beryl chuckled. “Maybe I should really give them a treat and do my sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce.”
“Oh,” Joyce said. “I could do a proper Sunday roast if you’re going to make that. We could serve a taste of England for them. Invite the neighbor girls I’ve been telling you about. What do you say?”
“I love it. Can we go to the market tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. We’ll work on our list tonight.”
They fell silent for a while, soaking in the warmth of the day. It had a somewhat intoxicating effect, bringing on a sense of pleasant drowsiness that almost felt like floating. Why hadn’t she done this more?
Mitch had always been plain that she could use the pool whenever she wanted. And yet, she never did. The last time she’d sat out here had been with Jeanie, during her final days. She’d been cold so often that sitting in the hot sun was one of the few things that really warmed her up.
Joyce looked at Ruthie. She could see Jeanie in the child’s face. But her soul ached that Jeanie would never get to meet this precious grandchild of hers. It wasn’t fair. Why was life so unkind to those who deserved the best?
At least Kyle had come back. Under less than wonderful circumstances, sure, but he was home now and that was what mattered. Ruthie made up for so much. Babies were like that. Gifts of promise and potential. Tiny packages of untapped possibility.
With a grandfather like Mitch, Ruthie could become anything she wanted. Kyle had yet to do much with his life, but Joyce didn’t hold that against him. Losing his mum had done a number on him. And with the way he’d blamed his father for so much, well, he’d done his own head in with that one.
Things had to be better now, though. Kyle and Mitch weren’t just talking again, they were working as a team. She’d seen them, putting that crib together, laughing and chatting like nothing had ever happened.
Which wasn’t to say Jeanie’s presence was no longer in the house. With Kyle back, Joyce half-expected to see Jeanie walk into the kitchen at any moment. It was an odd feeling. She knew Jeanie was gone, and yet, her spirit most definitely lived on.
Kyle had her laugh. Maybe Ruthie would, too. No doubt she’d grow up to be a great beauty like her grandmother. Joyce didn’t know what this Addison looked like, but the Ripley features were strong in Ruthie.
Maybe that was what had put Addison off the baby?
Joyce liked that she could see Jeanie in the little one’s features. As far as she was concerned, any mother who didn’t put her child first didn’t deserve to have her likeness carried on. Was that petty? She didn’t care. She didn’t like Addison, and nothing was going to change her mind.
Although, she was happy that Addison had been such a miserable cow or Kyle never would have come back. That would have been a real tragedy.
Beryl let out a sigh, shifting to uncross her ankles. “How am I ever going to go back to Devon after this?”
Joyce smiled. She’d suspected Beryl would feel that way, she just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. “Do you think you’ll get up to visit your son while you’re here?”
“Not unless he pays for a ticket.” She looked at Joyce. “And don’t go asking your boss. I won’t accept another thing from him.” Frowning, she looked out at the pool. “Neville’s gotten awfully close with his wife’s family. Sometimes, I think he’s forgotten all about me.”
“That’s not true.”
Beryl shrugged. “No, it’s not. He calls once in a while. But the calls are quick, and he never has much to say. I feel like…I don’t know, like I’m more of something to cross off his to-do list than anything else.” She looked at Joyce. “I shouldn’t have retired. It’s not a great feeling to realize you’ve come to the end of your usefulness.”
“Beryl, don’t say such a thing. That’s not true at all.”
“It’s how I feel. You don’t understand, because you have people to look after.” Beryl looked longingly at Ruthie. “I don’t even have a pet.”
Hearing her big sister talk like that gave Joyce a pain in her chest. She resolved right then and there to do something about that.
She’d need to know a little more about Kyle’s plans, but an idea had begun to take shape. Could she get Beryl to agree to it?
That was the fly in the ointment. Beryl could be a bit resistant to change, but she’d just said herself that she didn’t have a whole lot to go home to. Maybe not in those words, but Joyce could read between the lines.
Her sister needed a purpose. And Joyce was going to give her one.