The Afternoon Tea Club

by Jane Gilley

  ‘Anyway, we came back, settled down around his neck of the world, Kent way. I never told my folks I was back in Britain. I wanted to see if I could actually make a go of things and then prove to my mother she was wrong in thinking I was useless. So me and Andy stuck at it until after Lauren was born. He got a good job, so I stayed home and looked after our daughter. But after her first birthday we started bickering. Unfortunately, I’d been battling postnatal depression, which Andy didn’t seem to understand, and the relationship faltered. He had a fling with an old girlfriend who’d been throwing herself at him for weeks, he told me. Guess she thought she’d be in with a chance being as we weren’t married.’

  Dora heaved a sigh and a few more tears dripped off her chin. Raymond passed her a tissue.

  ‘Never in my wildest dreams did I think he’d have a fling. I thought we were so happy; so tight as a little family unit. I was starting to believe that this could be my place, with Andy and Lauren as the pivot of my world. But his actions tore me apart and knocked my confidence; I was gutted and just didn’t know what to do. My mate Jodie told me to forgive him; men are weak, she said. Her chap had done something similar and she’d let it slide and they’d made it beyond that.

  ‘So we muddled along for a while but he’d destabilised me. I felt uneasy and it hurt, real bad, knowing he’d not considered my feelings when he went with her. I mean, I know this sort of thing happens, sure. But I really thought we had something special and untarnished. Yet he’d done it when I was battling my worst with the depression – I couldn’t even leave the house to see my doctor. I’d lost interest in things and he hated having to deal with Lauren whilst he was so busy at work. I had no energy; I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Sometimes I couldn’t even change her nappy for hours on end and she’d cry, incessantly, in her cot. In short, I was an irritable mess. And he wasn’t supportive at all.

  ‘Granted, he told me the fling had been a mistake. Apparently, he’d been out on the slash with his mates, got pissed and she turned up with her own special brand of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ll work this out,” he said. And then it happened again, about six months later with someone else! I was absolutely gutted. Obviously he didn’t care about me for it to happen a second time. I felt he’d purposely gone out and found another woman because he still couldn’t cope with my condition, which seemed to be getting worse due to the stress of the situation. And perhaps he couldn’t. But I was furious and mentally drained!

  ‘So I hit the roof and stormed out the door, leaving Lauren with him because I was so deep in my depression I knew I wouldn’t be able to look after her properly. I went to Spain to drown my sorrows. I couldn’t stay with him, worrying it might happen a third time and worrying about Lauren living with all that grief and angst around her. You put your trust in men when they make their promises and then they shit on you. Sometimes a person can only take so much rejection!’

  ‘I had postnatal depression with Gracie. It was not pleasant and it was something I had to deal with by myself, as well. Oliver wouldn’t lift a finger. But to be honest I think it terrifies most men,’ said Marjorie.

  ‘But I’m sure your family would’ve helped you,’ said Raymond softly.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ argued Marjorie. ‘When I went to my mother for help with Oliver she told me to get on with things and deal with the fact that life could be unsavoury. It’s not a given that families will help each other out. It wasn’t in my case, anyways.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Stacy. ‘My parents didn’t love me and Peter the way I think they should’ve. I think their actions alienated us and made our own socialisation very difficult.’

  ‘Exactly! I’ve realised nothing is guaranteed in life, Raymond,’ Dora said. ‘The whole thing would’ve given my mother the ammunition she needed to say, “I told you so.” Plus I’d left Lauren with her dad. He’d got a good job as a property negotiator in an estate agent’s near Canterbury and his mother lived nearby to babysit. So I knew Lauren would be properly cared for and loved. I thought everything would be fine and that one day I’d go back when I was more together and confident and then we’d work out how to bring her up between us.

  ‘Well, I got some help and I did go back for her third birthday and to see how I felt about things with Andy, but he’d got a new girlfriend by then – Dariana – and they were engaged. Plus Lauren was clinging to her and didn’t seem to know who I was, and his mum, Pat, was there and she told me to leave because I was confusing Lauren. She told me they were all happy now and didn’t need me. I was mortified. But I could see how my reappearance might be confusing for Lauren.

  ‘So I took off again, with a view to dealing with it all later. But then I got wrapped up with the family business because my father wasn’t well and when he died I stayed with Mum to help her out, initially. But then life suddenly took over. I suppose on the one hand I was hoping that by working with my mother I could forge a better relationship with her. I didn’t believe that telling her about Lauren would help things, at that point in time. So I put my quest, to be part of Lauren’s life, on hold, whilst I worked things out. I sent birthday gifts and letters over the years as well as a cheque for £1,000 on her eighteenth birthday and a big explanation about things. But the cheque was never cashed.

  ‘I’ve tried ringing Andy and his mother over the years. I got through to Pat once and she said, “Just leave it, Dora,” and put the phone down on me. He wasn’t on any of the social media sites, back then, although I’ve recently discovered he’s now on LinkedIn. But I didn’t want to go back and cause a scene in front of Lauren or poke around in her life, upsetting her, so I’ve stayed away. I was hoping I’d come up with a better plan to sort this all out – long before now – but things simply never worked out that way. However, I’ve recently hired a private detective to see if he can find out as much as he can for me about how she is and how she’s doing. I guess all I want now is to know that she’s happy with her stepmum and not too mucked up because of what happened. I mean I’m sure she’s fine. But I just want to know she’s fine. Families eh? They can be a mess.’

  Marjorie reached out and took her hand. Dora let her and looked into Marjorie’s face and gave her a teary smile.

  My God, thought Marjorie. She’s keeping the truth from herself, more like. She misses that child far more than she’s letting on. But if I say anything she’ll say I’m speaking out of turn again.

  ‘Yes, Dora. Families can certainly get into a mess,’ Raymond admitted. ‘My story is very simple but my son and family don’t know the truth, either. Okay, so where to start with this? Ah, from the beginning, I guess. Right, so my wife Dianne was of Jamaican descent and initially we faced opposition from both sets of families – stick with your own kind, they both said to us, like in West Side Story; it’s less complicated that way. I think my father was more worried about what the neighbours would think. But at the end of the day love is love. It’s one of those things, like the weather, you can’t control. Anyway we got married and we had a son, Simon, and then he went on to marry Jo, his childhood sweetheart, who is white. They have twins. Our families, eventually, were okay about things but it took a while.

  ‘Anyway, Dianne and I had a wonderful family life together once we retired. But then a few years back we discovered Dianne had breast cancer. We were all devastated, of course, fearing the worst. My wife used to be a nurse and was a naturally caring and loving person, so her personality was perfect for the job of caring for the sick. But my God, we couldn’t believe she had cancer herself. It’s one of those things you think other people get and never for a minute realise it could happen to you. It was Stage II cancer with a three-centimetre tumour. So we discussed treatments with the doctor and she had a lumpectomy followed by radiation therapy. My son and I went with her for her first round of treatment and, oh, she was gracious and thoughtful about what we were all going through, without a thought for herself—’ Raymond broke off to compose himself.

  ‘That�
��s terrible,’ Stacy said quietly. ‘My auntie died of breast cancer.’

  ‘Ah yes, love. Cancer can be a terrible thing. But my wife didn’t die of cancer.’

  Stacy gasped and Marjorie and Dora exchanged questioning glances.

  ‘Good Lord, Raymond. So what happened?’ said Marjorie.

  ‘Well, after treatment she’d not been at home long when we were having this stupid – completely bloody stupid – argument. She was talking about booking holidays for the following year because she’d been told if her treatment was successful and she didn’t need further targeted therapy she might be able to have some quality of life, providing the cancer hadn’t spread further. But I was saying that we had to be realistic about what she’d be able to do following the prognosis with her doctor. “Oh God, Raymond,” she said, “let’s worry about things when there’s actually something to worry about.” Of course, when I’ve sat and thought about that argument, I think she was also trying to cover up her fears by carrying on as though nothing more serious would happen. You’re fine until you’re not, as it were. Yet who’s to say how any of us would react if we were diagnosed with a disease like that?

  ‘Anyway, she was becoming tetchy with me and then she suddenly jumped up. “Oh, I’m fed up of all this,” she grumbled. “For God’s sake, Di,” I said, “just sit down and rest.” And with that she went stomping off into the hall and got her jacket off its hook. Then she turned to me and said, “I know you mean well, darling, but I’m fed up of resting. I just need to go out and get some fresh air. Look, I’ll see ya later.” And with that she opened the door and marched down the garden path to the gate. “Come back here, you silly moo,” I shouted after her. “Nope, I’m going for a walk,” she said cockily, opening the bloody gate!

  ‘And then the next minute – oh God – then there was just this sort of dull bang. I couldn’t place the noise at first. I just stood there, wondering what on earth was going on. Then I heard a siren. Then I seemed to wake up and I bolted down the path. And then I saw her. She – she’d – oh God! She’d been run over by a hit-and-run driver who was being chased by a police car. He’d mounted the pavement and caught her and then kept on going, hitting parked cars, all the way down the road.’

  The colour had drained from Raymond’s face. For a moment he seemed to be staring at his drink and then he clasped his head and rocked back and forth.

  Stacy’s hand was over her mouth and she was obviously trying not to cry at the enormity of what Raymond was telling them but little bleating sounds were escaping. Marjorie put her arm around her again. How horrible for Raymond to witness that! Dora just stared at Raymond. Everybody stopped drinking their drinks. A cleaner came up to them, and said the community centre was closing and could they vacate the premises, please.

  Together they rose, as if in a daze, leaving their paper cups on the table and moving quietly out of the building, into the car park. A light breeze was whipping up crisps packets and dust, nearby. And they stood there dumbstruck at Raymond’s account of his wife’s demise. They felt empty of response.

  ‘If I’d stopped her,’ Raymond said suddenly, as if they were still in the community hall. ‘If I’d just put my hand out and grabbed her arm to stop her … But I’m not a grabbing-arm type of person. And she was simply being her occasional off-the-cuff self. But look where it took us! At the time I’d have done anything to get her back for a few minutes more – even with her cancer – just to have had a bit more time to hold her and tell her we’d sort it all out together. And then, on top of all that – on top of that – the bloody doctor’s report said they thought they could’ve managed her cancer with hormone treatment! So she could’ve lived for even longer than any of us had expected. Well, I couldn’t believe it. I don’t usually swear but life is just totally bloody unfair and crap sometimes.’

  Then his hands went to his face as his features crumpled again and his emotions suddenly swelled back to the surface. ‘Oh it’s so unfair! She never hurt anyone, yet look what happened to her,’ he wept, standing there, next to the cars.

  Then completely overcome by his dreadful memories, he drooped forward as his floodgates really opened. Luckily, Dora and Marjorie caught him, just before he fell.

  Chapter 20

  ‘Pass it to me! C’mon, kick it over here!’ shouted Marcus as Troy was showing off his football skills, dribbling the ball around any obstacles he could find: park benches, dogs, a woman wheeling a pram. When he did finally kick it, it went slightly off course due to the erratic breeze.

  ‘Oh, watch out for that old man. Look out, mister – oh no!’ Marcus cried, as the ball hit an elderly man on his shin.

  ‘Are you okay, old fella?’ called Troy, scratching his head.

  ‘Yah, I’m okay. Haven’t played footie in a while though!’

  ‘Well, come on then. Join in!’

  The old man chuckled, placed his walking stick on the ground and then made a tremendous effort to position his right leg to kick the ball back and Troy was hooked. He and the old man had a gentle little game between them until the old man put his arm up to signal that he’d had enough.

  Despite the fact it was rather chilly and neither of them wore jackets, Eileen was sitting on a bench next to her mother in her wheelchair, watching her sons’ antics.

  ‘Look at them, Mum. Oh, what a brilliant day! Thank you so much,’ she gushed throwing her arms around her mother’s neck and kissing her.

  ‘You’re completely welcome.’

  It had started off brilliantly too. She’d awoken groggily in bed that morning, on hearing unfamiliar noises downstairs. She’d blinked and looked at the alarm clock, 7.45 a.m. Strange. There weren’t usually any noises at this time in the morning, until she got her boys up. She could hear metallic scraping, raised voices and her mother’s occasional lilt as though she was having a conversation with someone. Those were not the normal sounds Eileen expected to hear any time, least of all today.

  She’d been having a much-needed lie-in and taken the day off because today was her birthday. Her boss always gave his staff the option to do that if they wanted to. So she’d told her boys she’d be having a lie-in that morning. Her usual working day started with her wakening at 6.30 a.m. and getting the boys lunches sorted out, having her shower, helping her mother out of bed and getting her into the shower and then into the wheelchair, followed by making everybody breakfast, while either putting a wash-load on or doing some cleaning, so she didn’t have to do it later when she came back from work. Eileen was an organised routine type of person and her morning routine was always the same. So usually she never had a lie-in, but her added workload of getting the Afternoon Tea Club off the ground had caused extra administration and meant overtime, even though she had Taynor’s help. It made her colleagues laugh that Eileen always maintained the same routine, each day, whether it was her birthday or not. Even on her birthday she’d do all her chores in the morning and then she took her mum for a drive somewhere in the afternoon. When her sons came back from work the four of them would go to her favourite restaurant in the evening.

  Some might call that boring but Eileen knew it would always be lovely. She didn’t like to risk doing something new on special days – any other time of the year, yes. But not on birthdays and Christmases. She also always liked to have Christmas at home. And it was the one time of the year she allowed her mother to pitch in and cook their turkey dinner, quite simply because her mother did it best.

  So that morning at 7.46 a.m. Eileen was utterly astonished when, just as she was thinking about going downstairs to find out what on earth was going on, her bedroom door opened and Troy came in with – goodness – breakfast on a tray with a single red rose in a rosebud vase she didn’t even know she had!

  Her mother would clearly be downstairs somewhere as her boys weren’t allowed in the kitchen to make anything by themselves. She’d witnessed their efforts once before. Spilt flour on the counter tops and floor as well as sticky pools where an upturned honeypot h
ad dribbled down the units because Troy had flicked water at Marcus and then a fight had ensued, resulting in her putting her foot down about any further attempts to do anything in the kitchen apart from tipping cereal into a bowl, adding milk and letting them eat it. But how had her mother got out of bed and got into the wheelchair by herself? The whole thing was most odd.

  She started to ask that very question of Troy but was met with, ‘Come on, Marcus. Hurry up!’

  And then behind Troy came Marcus with a lovely bunch of flowers that had a label on them saying, ‘Happiest Birthday, my darling daughter xx’. He also held a huge parcel under his arm, which he then placed by the side of her on the bed. The label on that read, ‘Best wishes Mum, from Marcus and Troy xx’.

  ‘Eat your breakfast first, Mum, and tell us how much you like it because we cooked it specially for you!’

  Eileen started laughing. ‘I wish— God, you two are so funny!’

  ‘Okay, we thought you’d say that; iPad, Marcus!’

  Marcus’s iPad sprung to life and showed the two of them in the kitchen under her mother’s direction, making the gorgeous scrambled egg and smoked salmon on toast she saw before her, without everything landing all over the place or on the floor. A cafètiere she’d also never seen before, with steaming coffee, sat on a napkin on the tray.

  ‘Where’d you find these things, boys?’

  ‘We bought the cafètiere and the tray and the bud vase. The tray is spongy underneath so it can sit on your knees or whatever. We will admit that Gran pointed us in the right direction with all that lot. We’ve been having lessons with Gran, you see, while you’ve been working overtime. Especially for your birthday. C’mon, Mum, eat your breakfast or it’ll get cold. Isn’t that what you’re always telling us?’