The House at the End of Hope Street - By Menna van Praag Page 0,104
“The mother, of course.”
—
Greer stands in the bathroom, squinting into the mirror. Her new uniform is pretty revolting and clashes horribly with her hair, but there’s nothing much she can do about it. She adjusts the bright orange cap, tilting it at a jaunty angle in a vain attempt to try.
“That is, without a doubt, the most disgusting outfit I’ve ever seen.” Peggy stands in the doorway. “And I see you didn’t listen to a word I said.”
Greer pushes the orange cap firmly onto her head. “If love means wearing this hideous uniform, then it’ll be more than worth it.”
“You’ll regret—”
“Pot. Kettle.” Greer glares at Peggy. “And what else exactly do you expect me to do?”
This is the opening Peggy has been waiting for. “Live here.”
Greer gasps. “Really, can I? Well, thank you. That’d be amazing, it’ll certainly save me money on rent—”
“Well, not quite,” Peggy says, a little taken aback. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant.”
“No?” Greer’s smile drops.
“I meant that you would inherit the house. You would take over from me. Stay forever.”
“Forever?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m offering. Would you like that?”
“I don’t understand,” Greer says. “What about you?”
“I’m retiring.” Peggy grins.
“But, but . . . But I can’t run this house. I can’t replace you,” Greer says. “I can’t do all the things you do. The notes, the advice . . .”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Peggy waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t write the notes, the house does. And I usually hear the advice before I say it. Anyway, with that little insight you pulled on me the other night, I rather think you’re a lot sharper than you give yourself credit for.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And you’ll see and learn more, the longer you stay here.”
“Okay. But what about the rules, then? About having no husband, no family.”
“Times are changing. I’ve just been having a word with the women upstairs. We’re evolving, modernizing like the royals. So you won’t have to live here like a nun. Not that I ever exactly did that.” Peggy isn’t bitter about the change of protocol. She may have lost twenty years with Harry, but she gained them all back and they’re still ahead of her.
“The royals?” Greer asks. “What women upstairs?”
“I’ll introduce you to them tonight, if you like,” Peggy says. “So Edward can stay, he can even live here if you like.”
“Edward?”
“Oh, please.” Peggy shuffles over to the bathtub and perches on its edge. “I felt the sparks between you two all the way up in the tower.” Peggy pats the edge of the bathtub. Greer sits down and takes off her cap.
“But, still,” she says, “you can’t just give me this house. It’s too much. It’s—”
“Oh, don’t worry, it has a price,” Peggy says.
Greer might have known there had to be a catch. This was simply too good to be true. “Well then, unless it’s twenty quid, I’m afraid I can’t really afford it.”
“Oh, it’s not money.” Peggy laughs. “The price is that you must always do what you love. You must cultivate your own heart while caring for your surrogate children.”
Greer laughs, too, as the glorious absurdity of this price sinks in. “Oh, is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all. But it’s not always easy, you know, so you must promise.”
“I promise.”
Peggy smiles. “Good. Now, tell me, just how long are you going to wait until you call Edward?”
—
Alba stands on the doorstep, clutching a small bag. “Okay, well . . .” she bites her lip and suddenly pulls Peggy into a hug, squeezing the old woman so tightly she coughs. “Oh, gosh.” Alba lets go. “Sorry, sorry, I’m not really used to . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, no.” Peggy catches her breath. “Don’t be silly, it’s quite the best hug I’ve ever had. But you don’t have to go yet, you know. You can stay a little longer, your ninety-nine nights aren’t up for another two weeks.”
“I know,” Alba says. “But I’m ready.”
“Yes.” Peggy smiles. “Yes you are.”
Feeling the familiar brush of fur along her ankles, the old lady glances down at her feet in surprise.
Alba sees a big fat orange cat winding in slow, lazy figure eights around Peggy’s legs. She kneels to stroke him, and he purrs.
“Well, well. Mog’s come to say good-bye. You should be honored, he’s never bothered to before,” Peggy says, a little shocked. Though she should hardly be surprised that, of all the residents she’s ever had, Alba is the one who can see him. “He likes you.”