“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 molderaway 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 ofEastEnders, 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.”
