The Vintage Teacup Club

by Vanessa Greene

  ‘Hi girls, here are some new friends of mine. Jenny, Maggie,’ Alison said, motioning to us, ‘meet Sophie and Holly.’ Sophie, the elder girl, nodded her acknowledgement blankly and went back to her book.

  ‘Hi,’ said Holly with a smile, resting her game down on the arm of the sofa. ‘Are you all going to have lunch now?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alison said, ‘but no, that doesn’t mean you can go on the internet as soon as I’m out of the room, Hol. You know the rule on that.’ Sophie gave her little sister a kick, and Holly pinched her leg back.

  ‘Right, grown-up time,’ Alison said, turning to us with a weary smile, ‘and not a moment too soon.’ She walked me and Maggie into her open-plan kitchen and dining room. Once inside, Alison went over to the oven and took a lasagne out, and the room filled with the mouth-watering smell of it, the windows steaming up with the heat. Everywhere I looked there was colour – bright seat cushions, a large canvas hung on the wall, an abstract painting in oranges and reds. A vase of cut wild flowers, the same ones I’d seen growing out in the front garden, sat in the middle of the chunky wooden table.

  ‘Wow, it’s beautiful in here,’ I said, looking around.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ Alison said, dishing up. There were tiny personal touches everywhere my eyes fell; even her oven gloves had sunflowers stitched on them. ‘I suppose I do like making stuff.’

  Maggie raised her eyebrows at the understatement, still taking in the details of the room, and Alison continued, ‘I used to make a lot of clothes for the girls – pinafores, skirts, blouses,’ Alison passed them a plate of vegetable lasagne each and put a big salad bowl on the table and then a jug of cordial. ‘Tuck in,’ she said, sitting down.

  ‘I mean, it’s hard to imagine now, isn’t it?’ she nodded in the direction of the front room, and loaded up her fork. ‘But they used to be so happy wearing those things.’ I served myself some of the salad, full of avocado and red peppers – there was definitely more of my five-a-day here than in the bacon sandwiches Dan and I had made for breakfast.

  ‘I bet they looked adorable,’ Maggie said, spearing a slice of pepper.

  ‘Yep,’ Alison replied, mid-mouthful. ‘But then secondary school came – and wearing stuff your mum’s made didn’t seem that cool any more. So now, well. We had a clear out and I started making things for the house and for friends instead. The business I have now just grew from there – one day I was making bunting for my sister-in-law’s fortieth, the next I was selling the candles, cushion covers, oven gloves and tea-party things online and through the local boutiques. The painting’s just for fun,’ she said, waving vaguely at the bright canvas hanging next to us. ‘I don’t really get time for that nowadays.’

  While Alison glowed as she told us about setting up on her own, Maggie, with one eye on the large kitchen wall clock as she ate, silently revealed the downside of managing a business. She seemed to be struggling to relax.

  ‘How old are the girls now?’ I asked Alison, switching the subject away from work.

  ‘Sophie’s fifteen, Holly’s twelve,’ she answered, scooping another heap of salad onto Maggie’s plate.

  ‘I keep forgetting Holly’s nearly a teenager, that she’s not my baby anymore,’ she added, shaking her head slightly.

  ‘Are you and her dad friend or foe right now?’ Maggie asked, intrigued.

  ‘Good question,’ Alison said, ‘and I’m not entirely sure.’ She took a deep breath and continued, ‘Holly might look like butter wouldn’t melt, but she was caught stealing last week.’ Alison covered her face with her hands and peeked out from between her fingers to show her mortification. ‘The school caretaker found bags of brand new clothes in her locker at school – she and her friend Chrissy had bunked class and gone on a shopping spree with Chrissy’s mum’s new credit card. It turns out Chrissy had nabbed it when the post came in and knew the pin number was her own birthday.

  ‘Anyway I had to deal with the headmistress yesterday – Pete and I have already had a few run-ins with her about Sophie’s behaviour and the marks she got in her mocks, so it wasn’t great.’ The light went out of Alison’s eyes for a second and I noticed for the first time the fine lines around them. ‘But it was the fact that she kept it from us that was the hardest to take. The girls felt too guilty to even wear the clothes. When we asked Holly about it she told us the whole story right away. Tears, tears, tears,’ Alison’s face softened at the memory.

  ‘That’s something at least,’ Maggie said sympathetically, ‘that she realises it was wrong.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Alison continued. ‘And to be honest even though we were both furious, we still felt for her. She’d clearly wanted to put things right but didn’t know how. Anyway, none of this changes the fact that over a month has passed and we’re now stuck with hundreds of pounds’ worth of clothes it’s too late to take back.’

  It was the kind of thing that had happened at my school, but Chris and I had never really rebelled as teenagers. Even then we both knew that Dad had enough on his plate.

  ‘Does that mean it’s down to you to pay this girl’s mum back?’ I asked.

  Alison nodded. ‘Yep, it looks that way … But enough of this stuff, you two didn’t come here to listen to my moans about being a mum.’ Alison started to collect our empty plates together.

  ‘Luckily I’ve got something that might cheer you up,’ I said, bringing the biscuit tin up onto the table and prising off the lid.

  Alison tidied the food away and laid my homemade flapjacks out on a gold-trimmed plate and before long the table was liberally sprinkled with oats.

  Maggie got a little Smythson notepad out of her bag and opened it. ‘So I was talking to a supplier in London,’ she started, ‘and I’m going to go up there for a meeting in a week or so – I thought it would be a good chance to check out some of the vintage shops, perhaps go around Brick Lane, pick up a few bargains.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, before taking a big bite of my flapjack.

  ‘Alison,’ Maggie started, ‘are you still happy to look at the charity shops round here and maybe go to a couple of the local car boots?’

  ‘Sure, of course,’ Alison said. ‘I’ll ask my friend Jamie to keep a look out too.’ Maggie was noting this down neatly in her book and I realised it was my turn to say something.

  ‘I’ve been looking online, at the specialist suppliers and then auction sites like eBay – there are some beautiful things out there, but the prices are pretty high. The experienced sellers seem to have clocked the trend and marked all their stuff up. I reckon that for the real bargains we’re better off sticking with the stalls and car boot sales, just like on Saturday. It may be slower progress but we’ll be able to afford some nice items, and there’s still plenty of time.’

  ‘OK, sounds sensible,’ Maggie said. ‘Shall we just meet up again in a couple of weeks and see where we are?’

  There was a faint knock at the door behind me.

  ‘Mum,’ the door creaked open and Holly’s freckled face appeared around the side. Their dog dashed under Holly’s arm and through into the kitchen and began to hoover up flapjack crumbs from the floor.

  ‘Come in, Hol,’ Alison said, as her younger daughter shuffled through the doorway. I noticed she’d doodled on the backs of her hands in biro like I had done at her age.

  ‘I got a bit bored in there,’ Holly said. ‘Sophie’s hogging the phone and there’s nothing on TV. I know I’m grounded, and I understand about the internet, but …’ I caught her eye and she gave me a shy smile.

  ‘OK, come in,’ Alison said, ‘take a seat. We’re just finishing up. Do you want one of the flapjacks Jenny brought?’

  Holly sat down on the bench next to me and wriggled around to get comfortable, reaching for the plate. ‘You’re hunting for teacups, aren’t you? Because you’re getting married? Mum told me,’ she said, looking at me, her wide eyes sparkling.

  I nodded and smiled.

  Alison squeezed her daughter’s arm gently and said, ‘Perhaps w
hen we find them, we should hang on to them for when you and Sophie meet your Prince Charmings?’

  ‘Awesome!’ Holly said, letting a giggle escape.

  Alison rolled her eyes then, turning to me and Maggie, ‘Or at least someone who can turn these two frogs back into my lovely girls …’

  ‘Keep the teacups for our weddings!’ Holly called out, still giggling, her shyness gone.

  As Alison joked with her daughters I realised that one day they’d probably be having this conversation about weddings for real. As Holly and Sophie planned their celebrations, their mum would be there, to go to dress-fittings, visit venues, and help them work out the table plan. On the day, Alison would be there, proud and more than likely a bit tearful, as she saw her daughters off into married life.

  ‘You’re looking for others like that teaset, right, more old stuff?’ Holly asked me.

  I nodded, but my mind was foggy. Thinking about Alison being there for her daughters’ weddings had made me realise that however I looked at it, there was going to be a gap at mine.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Alison said. ‘But not just any old stuff, Hol, beautiful things – like the set Granny has at her house.’

  ‘As much as I’d like to stay here all day,’ said Maggie, again casting a glance at the wall clock, ‘duty calls. I really should get back to the shop.’ She picked up her linen jacket and got to her feet with a smile. ‘It’s been lovely, Alison, thanks a lot for lunch, and sorry I’ve got to dash.’ Catching sight of my empty flapjack tin on the counter, she picked it up and passed it over to me.

  ‘Yes, thanks Alison,’ I said, taking the tin from Maggie. I thought for a moment about staying, but realised I couldn’t shift the mood I’d sunk into. I got up to leave. ‘I should really be off too.’

  Alison was stroking Holly’s hair absent-mindedly as her daughter chewed on a flapjack. ‘Of course,’ she said, looking up. ‘You’re very welcome. I’ll see you out.’

  I cycled back to the flat, pedalling fast down the country lanes, the wind whipping through my hair. While lunch had been nice, I’d been grateful for the excuse to leave Alison’s house; seeing her with her daughters was hard, it had reminded me of what I would never – and could never – have. It would always seem as if there was an empty chair at our wedding.

  Thoughts rushed through my mind just like the scenery whizzed by, a blur of green. I knew I was lucky, really lucky. I was going to marry Dan, who I loved to bits, and who made me happy. I also had my dad, and Chris, who were both amazing.

  So why did I feel so empty?

  Chapter 5

  Maggie

  ‘Maggie, ah, hello – you’re back!’ Anna called out.

  Maggie stepped in through Bluebelle du Jour’s shop doors and her eyes met with chaos. The florist’s was normally immaculate – clear surfaces leading the eye to tastefully arranged flowers against a backdrop of Parisian street signs, framed art nouveau prints and French film posters. Today, though, the counter was overflowing with notes for orders and the shop floor badly needed a sweep – there were petals everywhere. Maggie scolded herself for taking time out for lunch at Alison’s. The state of the shop confirmed all her misgivings about leaving the shop on a Saturday. She couldn’t expect things to be OK without her.

  Anna was bright, but she was only nineteen. Maggie cast an eye over her assistant – dressed in a frilly shop pinny and Nike Air trainers with a flush to her cheeks and her bleached blonde curls spilling out of an untidy bun, she looked even younger. Yes, the customers adored her, but sleek and professional she wasn’t.

  ‘Yes, hi Anna, here I am,’ Maggie said, picking up a few of the notes on the counter and tidying them into a pile. ‘Wow,’ she continued, ‘it was so quiet earlier this morning, wasn’t it?’

  Anna nodded, ‘I know – but the sun came out and, whoosh! All the shoppers came in. We must have sold twenty bunches of tulips, then three of those orchids we’ve had in the window for a while. A lot of freesias and lilies too. Isn’t that great?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie replied, distractedly, and continued with her work, ensuring the orders had been processed properly before filing them away, then greeting the new customers who had stepped into the shop. She was so wrapped up in the moment she failed to notice Anna hovering by her side.

  ‘Oh, Anna – you’re still here … sorry, take a break.’

  She needed support, yes, but she didn’t want Anna getting burnt out with the springtime rush starting. As Anna walked out of the shop door and into the bustling high street, Maggie spotted two young women who were looking at some of the arrangements in the window. She took a deep breath and walked over to the front of the shop to join them. ‘Ladies, welcome to Bluebelle – what can I help you with today?’

  Maggie got back home at seven, after she had finished some paperwork and locked up. There was a postcard on her doormat, a beach scene of St Ives with a cartoon in the corner of a woman eating a Cornish pasty. She flipped the card over and smiled as she saw the familiar signatures at the bottom – Kesha, Dave, and a big handwritten scrawl from their daughter Evie, who’d written her little brother’s name, Oscar, too.

  Dear Maggie, So sorry we couldn’t make it over for your birthday. We’re having fun in the sun down in Cornwall and hope to see you soon.

  Maggie had been friends with Kesha ever since they were at school together in north London. Along with their friend Sarah, they had been as close as girls got. There had been a time they’d all known what the others ate for lunch and who had a crush on whom – but nowadays it was hard enough just to keep up to date on what jobs they were doing, or when babies were due. Maggie tucked the postcard into the side of the hallway mirror and felt a pang of nostalgia, then went through to the kitchen.

  She fixed herself a Pimms, slicing oranges, mint and lime, and opened the kitchen window. She pulled up a stool and settled at the breakfast bar, and in a linen-bound sketchbook started drawing out some ideas for the Darlington Hall wedding. Would the bride accept a simple bouquet of cornflowers? As much as it irked her to admit it, Lucy’s eyes were a spectacular blue, and cornflowers would set them off perfectly. Maggie did a bird’s-eye view sketch showing which floral displays would go where, and what direction the guests would approach the garden from, to maximise the impact of the flowers. It all began to take shape. She added more details, notes and colour until the pages were full of lively plans. The grand venue and generous budget meant her imagination could run more freely than it had in months. While she’d been daunted by the idea of arranging the non-floral features when Lucy had first mentioned them, she now found she had lots of ideas for those too. She’d be making the landscape gardener’s work easier, she reasoned.

  While she wasn’t the easiest woman to get on with, Lucy had a knack for party planning, and she was business-minded. She’d made it clear that she wanted to use the wedding to raise her profile and bring in some more modelling work, and she’d hinted that with a bold enough floral concept some of that same publicity could come Maggie’s way too. Maggie’s spirits had leapt at this; while she was generally down-to-earth in her aspirations, she knew that getting a few key mentions in the right glossies could be transformative for Bluebelle du Jour. If she could hook a couple of A-list clients, or better yet another investor, she’d be one step closer to her dream of setting up a London branch. Maggie’s heart might now be in Charlesworth, but she was increasingly aware that her friends and family weren’t. Having a shop in the city would not only mean expanding the business; it would also allow her to spend more time with her mum and sister Carrie, her niece Maisy, and to keep in touch with Kesha and Sarah. And if she was being really honest, success on that scale would also prove that her dad had been wrong in declaring, before he died, that she was wasting her time and her language degree by setting up the business. She’d always been the apple of his eye, and ever since that day she had been determined to demonstrate that setting up on her own had been the right move.

  Maggie finished up
her final sketch, and got some pesto, spaghetti and pine nuts together for supper. As she waited for the pasta water to boil she wandered into the living room, Pimms in hand. She flicked through the DVDs on her shelf – Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, It’s a Wonderful Life – but she didn’t feel like watching any of them. Except maybe … right at the bottom were a few Eighties classics she’d hidden away before her last dinner party … Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club, St Elmo’s Fire. She pulled out the last one; Rob Lowe might cheer her up just a little bit. She put the movie on top of the TV to watch with her meal.

  There was something on her mind, and she couldn’t put off dealing with it any longer. With the water still far off boiling, she opened her Netbook, sat on the sofa and scrolled past the last few days’ worth of business emails. There it was: Dylan’s message. She took a deep breath and reread it, thinking this time of what to reply.

  To: Maggie Hawthorne

  From: Dylan Leonard

  Subject: Long time

  Dear M,

  I know it’s been a really long time, but I’ve been thinking about you lately.

  I heard from Andy that you left London a couple of years ago, but he didn’t know where you’d gone.

  How are you?

  Can we talk?

  Dylan

  Maggie felt a lurching in the pit of her stomach as she looked at Dylan’s words again. Pimms schmimms. What she needed was a gin.