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“So, what’s the plan for today?” Betty said.
She plopped into an old armchair that seemed perfectly moulded to fit her form.
“Paint. Decorate. Buy better underwear.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my underwear, son.”
“Maybe not on you, but women who want to have sex may have a problem with it.”
“Cheeky wee fart, I’ll have you know that there’s nothing wrong with my sex life. Why, just the other day...”
Lake held up a hand.
“You tell me anything about your sex life, I mean even one word, and I’ll bury your body where no one will find it.”
Betty grumbled into her mug of tea. He was glad he couldn’t make out any of the words.
“One more thing,” he said. “We’re changing the sign.”
Betty struggled to sit up straighter. It looked like the chair was trying to swallow her whole.
“You can’t change the sign. It’s in the contract. My nephew is a lawyer in Edinburgh. He says there are no holes in it. It’s tin.”
“You mean ironclad.”
Lake kept his face blank. He wanted to grin widely, but was worried Betty would perceive that as some form of affirmation. In all honesty, he was a little impressed. In another life she would have made a great leader of a terrorist cell. Or a dictator of a small country.
“Who cares what metal it is?” She waved her knobbly fingers at him. “You can’t change my sign. Aren’t you changing enough anyway? We ripped out half the shop’s fixtures last night. What are we going to do for furniture? What will we hang all this new underwear on? Have you thought about that, genius?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. The new fittings are coming from Glasgow in a couple of weeks, and we are changing the sign. Take it up with your nephew if you like, but the one we have now is going in the bin. Once we’re through with this place women will be queuing in the street and I’ll get my money back.”
“What’s the new decoration going to be, hotshot?” Betty ignored the comment about her precious sign, which made him wonder what else she was planning in her tiny head.
“Male. We’re going to focus on what’s unusual about this shop—me,” Lake said. “It’s the male perspective. Something Eye Candy can’t provide.”
“It must be lovely to be so full of yourself.”
“You should know.”
Betty gave him a wide, toothless grin, which made him wonder where her teeth had gone.
Rainne wandered into the living room. She was dressed in Care Bear pyjamas and was rubbing her eyes.
“Why is Kirsty open this early?” she said before yawning.
Lake looked at Betty.
“She was shut when I came in.”
Rainne plopped down on the couch, upsetting Lake’s perfectly folded bedding. He clenched his jaw to stop from telling her off. He had to keep reminding himself that she was a grownup—even if she didn’t act like one.
“There’s people out there now. Looks like Kirsty is giving away food.”
“Cake?” Betty struggled out of the chair and practically ran to the window.
“I knew it,” she said. “She’s made fairy cakes.” She turned to Lake. “She makes the best wee cakes in Invertary. Rubbish at loaves, but great cakes. I better go over the road and see what she’s up to.”
“I don’t think so,” Lake told her. “You have a tendency to make things worse, and that’s bad strategy. You never send in the man who will escalate the conflict.”
