“This looks like the creepy cat lady house that all the trick or treaters are afraid to go up to on Halloween,” Merry said.
“It is the creepy old cat lady house, but just imagine, a new coat of paint, a nice roof, some steam cleaning, and voila! Betsy’s Bed and Breakfast, and Merry’s Tea Room. There’s even room for a Union Jack right there on the porch.”
“It needs a lot of work.”
“It’s been on the market for years. And Kathryn’s lawyer was able to buy it for a million even, which still leaves us close to two million for renovations. Besides, name another job for a single mother with a degree in English Literature can perform in Hensley? And you have just the right experience. Unless you really want to move back and run your aunt’s B and B for her.”
“Well, we haven’t talked salary.”
Betsy could tell by Merry’s smile that she had talked her into it. “My aunt was paying me four pound an hour.”
“I was thinking somewhere along the lines of half the profit, when we start making some, that is. That, plus room and board. Then we’ll have to make some arrangements regarding babysitting services. Do we have a deal?” Betsy stuck out her hand. Merry spit in hers and extended it as well. She burst out laughing at Betsy’s expression, then wiped her hand on the side of her jeans.
“I’ll just take your word on it, then.”
“Thanks.”
“Now for the hard part.”
“Yee Haw.” Betsy was seriously not looking forward to their next stop. They got back in the car and drove the few blocks to the house where Betsy’s mom had lived for over twenty years. She had moved into the house that Betsy’s father had bought for them to live in together right before he was killed.
“Maybe she’ll like having a grandchild,” Merry said when Betsy didn’t immediately get out of the car.
“Not from the woman who told me time and again that raising a child single handedly had practically ruined her life.”
“She coulda been a contender?”
“Your Brando impression needs a little work.”
“Yea, but your Julie Andrews is practically criminal. Get out of the car.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Betsy took Polly out of the car seat, but put her into a carrier instead of the pram. She stood there staring at the porch, remembering the afternoon when Michael had slobbered on her, and then Adeo had kissed her.
Funny, returning to this place, in very much the same situation her mother had come here. But at least Betsy had Merry… and once her mother got over what she was going to think of Betsy’s ultimate stupidity, she wouldn’t be alone like her mom had been.
Unless her mom slammed the door in her face.
“Like pulling of a plaster. Suck it up and be a man. A Wo-Man. Time to accept responsibility for an action that you actually had nothing to do with. And don’t worry, if your mom turns into a bloody wanker, I’ll just bitch slap her.”
“That’s why you’re my bestest mate,” Betsy said as she rang the doorbell. A few moments later, the door swung open, and Polly started crying, as if right on cue. Elizabeth, stood there, in an apron and a spatula in her hand and simply stared down at the baby, curiously.
“Oh, it’s you. Since when do you ring the doorbell?” A buzzer went off in the kitchen. “Oh.” Elizabeth handed the spatula to Betsy and picked up Polly and brought her inside without another question. Merry and Betsy followed her into the house.
“What is your problem? What is your problem.” Elizabeth asked the baby as she picked her up out of the carrier and cradled her in her arms. Almost immediately, Polly stopped crying.
“The cookies need to come out of the oven.”
Betsy grabbed an oven mitt and removed the cookie sheet and started to shovel cookies off onto the wax paper her mom had already laid out on the counter.
“Babies and I get along. We always have. You know Marilyn? Her baby Collin can’t stand anyone but her. Not a single person. He screams bloody murder. But with me? Settles right down.”
“Polly’s actually a very good baby,” Merry said. “She doesn’t cry much at all.”
Elizabeth finally looked up from Polly. She stared at Merry appraisingly.
“She must have her father’s hair.” Merry pushed her chocolate locks out of her eyes and raised her eyebrow at Betsy.
“He has his father’s eyes, and my nose.”
Elizabeth’s eyes went back to the baby, sharply, then back to Betsy with an equally knife like gaze.
“Betsy?”
“I wanted to tell you. I really did. But it was something I had to do on my own. I had to prove to myself that I could graduate college and provide for my baby by myself.” It was true enough. If Polly had actually been hers, she might have done the same thing to avoid her mother’s reproach.
“The father?”
“Out of the equation.”
“Do I know him?” Yes. You met him once, and actually liked him.
“No. It was over before it started. And yes, I was careful.” At least she didn’t want her mother to think she was a careless floozy who spread her legs for anyone.
“So you called her, but you didn’t call your own mother.”
“She was coming anyway, Mom. She’d bought her ticket quite far in advance.”
“Let me tell you, I was just as surprised as you are. If one of the two of us ended up with a baby, I always thought it would be me,” Merry said.
“And how do you expect to take care of her? ”You think it’s easy working a new job with a baby? And where are you going to live? You think you’re moving back here. I’ve already raised one child on my own.”
“That’s what I want to ask you. If we can stay here for two or three weeks-“
“George’s son Max was supposed to stay with him for two or three weeks. But he’s still there, three years later.”
“This is different, Mom. I bought a house, but it needs a new roof, and the contractors are saying it will be three weeks before it will be live-able, and I’d rather not have Polly there with plaster flying everywhere.”
Elizabeth looked up at her daughter, surprised. She opened her mouth.
“Do I even want to know where you got the money for to buy a house?”
“Polly’s father. And before you even ask, yes, it will be the only money I ever get from him. I set aside enough to start a college fund for Polly, and I used the rest to buy the Thompson House.”
“The Creepy Cat Lady House?”
“Yes. But when we’re done with it, it’ll be the best bed and breakfast and British Tea room in Hensley.”
“We? So you’re staying?”
Suddenly the center of attention, Merry froze with a half eaten cookie in her hand.
“She’s got the practical experience,” Betsy said. “She used to run a B and B for her aunt.
“Yeah, but I’m definitely going to need your baking expertise. These cookies are absolutely fabulous.” Merry said just the right thing. Elizabeth beamed.
“I’m all right with the breakfast and the Brit stuff, like you know, bangers and mash, beans on toast, jacket potatoes, but my tea cakes and biscuits could use a little work.”
Why hadn’t Betsy thought of that before? When her mom wasn’t on shift at the hospital, she was baking up a storm in the kitchen.
“I’d be happy to help. I think the other girls at County are getting sick of eating my experiments.”
“So, Mom. You never answered our question. Can we stay here? Or do I need to go find a hotel room for a few weeks?”
Her mom sighed, and eyed her grandchild one more time.
“Your room is exactly how you left it. You two should start unloading the car. I’ll look after Polly.
Outside, Merry gave Betsy the thumbs up signal.
“There isn’t a woman alive who can refuse a baby… especially one she’s related to.”
“I know, but there’s always that chance that she could have said no.”
“Then we would have gotten a hotel room. Simple.”
But Betsy knew it wouldn’t have been that simple. It would have been bloody difficult, to borrow a phrase from Merry, to live in the same small town with a mother who wouldn’t speak to you. Betsy would have been heartbroken, probably enough to give up the Thompson House and move to some other small touristy town, even if it wasn’t home.
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