‘Let’s go up to the flat,’ I say to Mum, grabbing the last two lemon sponge fingers and popping them onto a plate. ‘We can look at the newspaper article together.’
‘Haven’t you read it yet?’ Mum asks.
‘Of course I have.’ I point at the framed article now taking pride of place on the wall. ‘But I won’t turn down another reading.’
I lead Mum up to the flat, cringing at the dingy staircase and hoping Mum won’t start picking at it. Luckily, she keeps her opinion to herself (because she will have one, believe me). I boil the kettle while Mum makes herself comfy on the sofa and spreads the newspaper out on the coffee table.
‘So. Wendy…’ Mum says when I place a cup of tea on the table, avoiding the newspaper. ‘You remember Wendy, don’t you? Ivor’s youngest sister?’ I nod as I take a bite of my sponge finger. ‘She phoned me this morning, as I said, and she was wondering if you did outside catering. She’s throwing her daughter a baby shower next month – though why when neither of them are American is beyond me – and she’d like some baby-girl-themed snacks.’
I quickly chew and swallow. ‘It sounds fun. The details for my outside catering are on the website, or she can call in if it’s more convenient.’
This newspaper article is definitely working. If I can run both the teashop and the dating service with the odd outside catering commission thrown in, Sweet Street Teashop just might stand a chance.
‘This is delicious,’ Mum says, nibbling on her sponge finger.
‘Thanks.’ I take another delicate bite of my own, even though I want to wolf the lot down as quickly as possible. But Mum can’t help herself and has to ruin the nice moment we’ve just shared.
‘Have you thought any more about contacting Penny? I’m sure she’d love to hear how well you’re doing. Perhaps she’s even seen you in the newspaper.’
I throw my half-eaten sponge finger down on the plate, my appetite having vanished at the thought of my former best friend.
‘Not this again, Mum. I don’t want to see or speak to Penny ever again. Why can’t you let it go? Do you realise how much she hurt me?’
‘Of course I do.’ Mum gently places her cake next to mine. ‘But you’ve never listened to her side of the story.’
I tried, once. She got as far as whining, ‘I saw him in the club that night first,’ before I walked away. It took every single ounce of restraint not to smack her in the gob and I haven’t seen her since.
‘Maybe it wasn’t her fault,’ Mum says, tone soothing, as though she can bring me round with the softly softly touch. ‘Maybe Joel made the first move and she was tempted. We’ve all been tempted, haven’t we?’
‘Being tempted is one thing, acting on it is another.’ My tone is not soothing. I’m becoming more and more irate by the second. ‘You never act on temptation when it means hurting someone you love. There are no excuses. Penny made a decision, knowing how that would make me feel. She could have said no. She could have told Joel to back off. She could have told me what a cheating scumbag I was about to marry, though I understand how difficult that would have been for her. What wouldn’t have been difficult was making the decision not to have sex with my fiancé IN MY BED.’
I’m on my feet now, shouting as Mum blinks up at me in surprise. ‘I won’t forgive Penny. I won’t forget. I have new friends. Friends I trust and that is something I can never get back with her.’
‘But won’t you even try?’ Mum asks. ‘Just listen to her. Find out what really happened?’
‘I know what happened. I saw it in full technicolour detail. I don’t need a firsthand account from the participants.’
‘You’re just like your father.’ Mum grabs the newspaper and folds it neatly in two before placing it into her handbag. ‘He was always so bloody stubborn too.’
‘It’s better to be stubborn than walked all over. Why would you want me to have anything to do with Penny? Why wouldn’t you want to rip her head off for what she did to me?’
‘Because we all make mistakes! Nobody is perfect. And sometimes we pay a too hefty price for the supposed crime. We lose everything for daring to make ourselves happy.’
There’s something in the wild-eyed look Mum has taken on that leads me to believe we’re no longer talking about Penny, although the penny (excuse the bad pun) is starting to drop.
‘Mum?’ I ask, lowering myself onto the arm of the sofa as my knees start to turn to jelly. ‘Did you cheat on Dad?’
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘There was no cheating involved,’ Mum is quick to establish, her index finger straight up in the air to emphasise her point. ‘I. Did. Not. Cheat.’
‘But there was someone else.’ Oh, God. There was someone else. Poor Dad! ‘Was it Ivor?’
I quite like Ivor. We’re not exactly close, but he’s a decent enough bloke and he treats Mum well. We’ve always rubbed along okay, but if he and Mum got together while she was still with Dad, I’ll have no choice but to hate him for evermore.
Mum shakes her head. ‘I didn’t meet Ivor until after the divorce, but there was a chap. At work. He was smart and handsome and he made me laugh. I felt alive for the first time in years.’ The beginnings of a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth but Mum quickly – and wisely – pulls them back down again.
‘So you had an affair.’ I’m pretty sure the portion of sponge finger I ate is about to make a comeback, all over my sofa. I can feel it inching its way back up my gullet and I take a few deep breaths to quell the nausea.
‘Not an affair,’ Mum says. ‘It was never an affair. A friendship, yes, and there was an attraction, but nothing physical ever happened. He was married too and wouldn’t have done that to his wife.’
Who is this woman sitting in front of me? I don’t know her at all. She looks familiar, but my mum wouldn’t contemplate having an affair and wrecking not one but two marriages. This is not the woman who brought me up, who taught me right from wrong. It can’t be.
‘But it made me realise that I was no longer in love with your father,’ the woman who looks like Mum says. ‘So I made the very difficult decision to leave him. But it wasn’t just your father who I lost. All of our friends – all of them, even the ones I’d known for longer – sided with him. Everyone we knew took your father’s side, including you, so I had nobody, Madeleine. Not one friend. It was such a frightening and lonely time.’
‘Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?’ I almost laugh, because it’s so ridiculous that Mum would expect sympathy from anyone, never mind the daughter caught in the middle. It could only be a more ludicrous situation if it were Dad’s shoulder she was crying on about this.
‘Not for me, no.’ Mum rises from the sofa, smoothing down her skirt. ‘Like you, I have new friends now. A support network. Other people aren’t as lucky.’
Penny. Again. This woman who looks like Mum is unbelievable.
‘Some people make their own luck,’ I say. ‘Good or otherwise. And it looks like Penny is one of them.’
‘I can see we’re getting nowhere here, other than edging closer to an argument, which I don’t want.’ Mum leans down to peck me on the cheek. ‘I think it’s best if I go now so you can cool off. But do think about what I’ve said, won’t you?’
I will not, at least not the Penny part. I won’t give her another thought – she’s taken enough from me already.
‘Mum,’ I call just as she’s about to disappear out of the door, ‘does Dad know? About this friend of yours?’
‘No, he knows nothing about Don,’ Mum says. ‘And I think it’s kinder to keep it that way.’
At least we can agree on one thing.
I remain up in the flat for a few more minutes after Mum leaves, trying to gather my thoughts. I feel like I’ve walked into a parallel universe, one where the last few years of my parents’ marriage was even more of a sham than I – or Dad – ever suspected. It doesn’t feel quite real. The people look and sound the same, but they’re slightly off kilter, like a real-
life spot-the-difference.
My mobile rings and I expect it to be Mum, laughing down the line while she tells me the whole conversation was a joke. There wasn’t another man – Don, ugh – and she was just messing with me. But it’s the teashop’s number I see on the display.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ a breathless Mags rasps. ‘But I saw your mum drive off and I wondered if you knew when you’d be popping down again? It’s gone slightly manic down here, in a good way, but I could use a hand.’
‘Sorry, Mags.’ I’m already out of my seat and grabbing the plate Mum and I used. ‘I’ll be right down.’
I race down to the teashop, which is at the fullest it has ever been while it’s been in my hands. The tables are all occupied and a queue has formed almost to the door.
‘We can add plum jam tarts to the food we’ve run out of,’ Mags informs me as I sling an apron on and join her behind the counter. I take a quick look in the refrigerated counter; we have half a summer fruits cheesecake, two cherry scones, a handful of chocolate chunk cookies and a solitary chocolate-dipped flapjack. I don’t need to be a mathematician to realise we don’t have enough desserts to serve the remaining customers, especially when the door opens and another couple join the back of the queue.
‘New daily special,’ I tell Mags, grabbing one of our mini chalkboards from the countertop and wiping the cheerful quote from it. ‘Banana split sundaes.’ We have plenty of bananas in the storeroom thanks to Robbie’s milkshake addiction, a full tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer and enough cream, sauce, marshmallows and sprinkles to create the yummy dessert. I scrawl it down on the board before mucking in with Mags to reduce the queue. Luckily, the banana splits are a hit with the customers and we manage to pair everybody up with a dessert of their liking.
‘We should have found our way into the papers a long time ago,’ Mags says when it’s finally time to turn the sign on the door to closed. Our stocks have been depleted, we’re exhausted, but this is the best day the teashop has ever seen. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had the chance to worry about Mum’s revelation, but it weighs back down on me now as I slump into a sunshine-yellow chair.
‘My feet are killing me,’ Mags says as she joins me at the table, lifting a foot up so she can rotate it at the ankle. ‘I could quite happily hack them off with a cake slice.’
‘Please don’t do that,’ I say, managing a small smile. ‘The blood will drive all those lovely new customers away.’
Mags sighs, but she has a beatific smile on her face. ‘It was lovely, wasn’t it? Seeing the place so alive?’
‘If we carry on like this,’ I say. ‘We’ll have to start having an extra baking session for the afternoon trade.’
‘I’m happy with that.’ Mags heaves herself out of her seat. ‘Shall we have a celebratory cup of tea before we start the clean-up?’
‘You really know how to live,’ I tease.
‘Hey, you can’t beat a cup of tea.’ Mags is making her way behind the counter, hobbling slightly on her sore feet. ‘It’s just a pity we don’t have any cake left to go with it.’
With the teashop closed and cleaned, I head up to the flat, where I collapse on the sofa, propping up my aching feet on the coffee table. I can’t keep my thoughts from wandering back to Mum, her Don Juan and poor, oblivious Dad. I feel guilty with this new-found knowledge, as though I’m playing a part in this sordid secret. Although I know Dad is fine – especially now he has Birdie as a companion – I can’t help reducing his image to that of a suffering, lonely man, shrunken and, let’s face it, a little bit pathetic. I need to see him, to reassure myself that my knowledge of this past event hasn’t changed anything.
It’s just before seven when I arrive at Dad’s and I expect him to be settled in his chair for the evening, feet clad in slippers and the remote by his side. But Dad isn’t wearing his slippers when he answers the door and ushers me into the living room. His feet are nestled in his best, shiniest black shoes, the kind he keeps in the wardrobe and only brings out for special occasions. It’s been a good while since they’ve made an appearance so I’m curious what occasion could warrant their release this evening.
‘I didn’t know you were coming round.’ Dad looks a bit flustered, which may or may not be due to the tie knotted at his throat. ‘I was just on my way out.’
‘So I see.’ I look Dad up and down, admiring him in the charcoal suit he’s dusted off with the shoes. ‘Let me guess … you’re off to the allotment?’
‘Very funny.’ Dad starts to fuss with his tie, tugging at it until I tap his fingers away and tidy it up again. ‘I’m actually going on a … um …’
‘A date?’ I prompt. It’s the only reason I can think of why Dad would be turning an alarming beetroot shade while dressed up in his best clothes.
He clears his throat and has one last twitch of his tie. ‘I suppose you could call it that.’
My dad’s going out on a date! This is so sweet. I really had nothing to worry about, but I’m glad I’m here to see it with my own eyes.
‘It’s our first date,’ Dad says, lowering his voice. ‘So I’m a bit nervous.’
‘First date?’ Dad and Birdie have been seeing each other for a few weeks now, so I’m a tad confused.
‘We’ve known each other for a while now,’ Dad says. ‘But this is our first official date.’ The beetroot shade morphs into a sickly green and beads of sweat start to appear on Dad’s brow.
‘You’re friends,’ I tell Dad as he retrieves an old-fashioned cloth handkerchief from his pocket and mops his brow. ‘You should know each other pretty well by now. There’s no need to be nervous.’
‘Try telling my stomach that.’ Dad pats his stomach while his mouth stretches into a grimace. ‘There are more butterflies bouncing around in there than … Well, one of those places you keep butterflies.’ He shoves the handkerchief back into his pocket and scratches his head. ‘Am I fool? I’m too old for this, aren’t I? Dating! At my age. What was I thinking?’
‘You are not too old,’ I tell him. ‘And I think it’s lovely. You’re going to have a nice evening with a nice lady who you get along with. What’s foolish about that?’
Dad shrugs. ‘When you put it like that …’
I wrap my arms around Dad, giving him a quick squeeze before pressing a kiss onto his cheek. ‘I’m going to leave you to it. You don’t want to be late. Have a great night and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ I wink at Dad, who shoos me away with his hand. I feel much better as I climb back into my car. Being privy to Mum’s secret hasn’t damaged Dad or our relationship. In fact, I couldn’t have seen stronger evidence that’s he’s moved on and I feel confident that this is the first of many steps to Dad’s future happiness. It feels like we’re both finally back on track.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It’s lunchtime and the teashop has erupted with customers once again, though we’re more prepared today. We were busier than usual this morning (which basically means we had more than a dozen customers) so Mags and I have been taking it in turns to man the teashop while the other tops up our supplies with extra bakes. As promised, I’ve made Mags’s favourite brownies again today, as well as batches of double chocolate cupcakes, individual apple and blackberry pies, and a huge carrot cake with creamy vanilla frosting. Mags has made oodles of biscuits – including jammy dodgers oozing with plum jam – as well as sticky cinnamon buns and individual pots of chocolate orange trifle. This morning’s croissants have all been snapped up and the pancakes and waffles proved popular too.
‘We’re running low on brownies,’ Mags tells me as we both reach into the counter with pairs of tongs at the same time.
‘Don’t worry.’ I pinch an apple and blackberry pie and place it in a paper bag. ‘I’ve tucked one away at the back of the fridge in the kitchen for you.’
‘You’re a star.’ Mags grins at me before we return to our customers, working our way along the queue until it’s much more manageable. Leaving Mags with the que
ue, I head to the tables to take orders from those seated and clear away the dishes from the now-empty tables. I wash up quickly once all the customers have been served, wishing we’d invested in a dishwasher. There was no need before – customers were so few and far between, a lack of clean plates was never a problem but it’s something to reconsider now.
‘I’m just going to nip into the office while it’s quiet,’ Mags says when I return to the teashop. ‘I still need to update The Sweetest Kiss database. Give me a shout if we get busy again.’
Extra staff is something else we may need to invest in if The Sweetest Kiss really takes off. We’re managing at the moment, muddling through between the three of us, but the admin workload has already increased and we haven’t even hosted a date night. Plus, if Victoria’s meeting with the manager goes well today, our numbers will be down to two and there’s no way Mags and I could cope on our own.
‘Hello!’ Nicky bounces into the teashop, stopping dead in her tracks and performing an overdramatic double take when she sees that all five tables are currently in use. ‘Blimey, what’s going on here?’
‘This is the new-look Sweet Street Teashop,’ I tell her as she joins me at the counter. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘It’s amazing, though my feet may not agree now I’m forced to stand up, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if it means everyone sees how amazing you and your cakes are. And speaking of cakes …’ Nicky eyes the fridge. ‘Can I get a trifle and a cup of tea, please? I’ve had back-to-back clients since half past eight this morning. If I hadn’t managed to ram a sandwich down my gob in between the eyebrow tint and the bikini wax, I’d have keeled over.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a seat,’ I say as I place the trifle and a spoon in front of Nicky on the counter.
‘Don’t you apologise. I’m still so, so sorry about blabbing to Neal about …’
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 22
