The Vintage Teacup Club

by Vanessa Greene

  ‘Yes. It’s good news,’ Maggie said, sitting up straight. ‘Lucy called me this morning and told me that It Girl magazine really like the concepts – particularly the rabbit hole – and they want an exclusive.’ Maggie smiled. ‘You know it’s just what Lucy’s been hoping for, and obviously it’s going to be great publicity for both our businesses.’

  Owen looked completely unmoved. In fact if anything Maggie thought maybe she saw his face fall a little. ‘Great publicity?’ he said, raising an eyebrow as he spoke.

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘I mean I’ve been waiting for something like this for ages, some high-profile exposure. And the same would be the case for you. I mean I don’t want to jump the gun, but if this all goes smoothly it could be life-changing.’

  ‘Well, that’s great for you, Maggie,’ Owen said dully. ‘But not all of us want life-changing.’ His expression was cold.

  ‘I like my life,’ he went on, the arrogance Maggie had first seen coming back in an instant. ‘And my business, just as they are. You know weddings aren’t my thing. I don’t need an exclusive photo deal with a glossy magazine to promote my business, especially when I’m doing something I would never usually do – I normally get landscaping work by word of mouth and that’s how I like it.’ He shook his head as if he were struggling to comprehend where she was coming from.

  ‘We might be creating floral croquet hoops for this event, but my day-to-day work is no frills, environmentally conscious gardening. Hard, honest, work; not just frilly self-promotion. I doubt a bunch of It Girl-reading wannabes are going to be interested in what I do. And even if they are, I can’t imagine they’ll be the kind of people I want to be generating new business with.’

  Maggie realised she’d been holding her breath as he talked. She slowly let it go and took a moment before responding.

  ‘Owen, look, I see your point,’ she said, trying hard to be diplomatic, ‘but I still think this could be an ideal opportunity for both of us. How can you just dismiss all of the readers of a magazine like that, especially when they’re likely to have money to spend?’

  ‘Maggie. In my view it’s about how a business grows, not just how big. I’ve always intended to build things slowly, stay true to the values I started this out with.’

  ‘And that’s how I work too,’ Maggie countered, feeling suddenly defensive.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Maggie. Are your flowers even fairtrade?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie replied, hesitantly. ‘I mean, I think so. Or if not, they will be …’ she stumbled. Anna had been talking about it lately and she was sure she’d put it on a list of things to look into.

  Owen continued, ‘Jack told me you’re flying in roses from South America. Have you thought about the carbon footprint this wedding is going to have?’

  ‘No … to be honest … I mean Lucy gave me her outline and this is how I—’ Maggie said, then stopped for a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath. ‘Owen, I know how to plan wedding flowers, I’ve been doing it for years, and I’ve had no complaints at all from Lucy or Jack about my ideas.’

  ‘I’m not disputing that,’ Owen said, staring down at the ground now, ‘but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if this wedding is the right project for me. It just seems like ethical considerations aren’t even coming into the decisions. Our priorities aren’t the same.’

  Maggie felt a rush of indignation, and her cheeks flamed.

  ‘How can you just assume that?’ she said, furious. ‘I understand that you’re focused on your own work, but shouldn’t you at least get to know other people properly before you make judgements?’

  ‘The way I see it, we all have a responsibility, Maggie … but if it’s your dream to be in a magazine …’ Owen said, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘What do you know about my dreams?’ Maggie got to her feet and picked her satchel back up again. ‘Nothing, Owen.’ She fixed him with a glare. ‘You’re self-righteous and snobby and—’

  The words she’d wanted to say disappeared as Lucy’s emerald pendant flashed across her mind. She tried to push the image away and remain professional.

  ‘And what, Maggie?’ Owen taunted her. ‘What else am I, seeing as you know me so well?’

  ‘It’s just … How dare you take the moral high ground with me,’ Maggie hissed. ‘You may want to pull out of the wedding, but I’m pretty sure your reasons have nothing to do with any of this.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Owen said, both eyebrows going up this time.

  ‘Yes, really,’ Maggie said. ‘I saw Lucy’s necklace in your car, Owen.’

  He was silent for a while, looking down at the ground, and then shook his head.

  ‘Look, Maggie, I’m not keeping you here,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘You’re the one who came dashing around, worried that if you didn’t you’d miss catching a few accounts from WAGs and Big Brother rejects.’ The vitriol was really flowing now. ‘Do what you like. But obviously there is no way you’re using any of my ideas without me.’

  Maggie turned her back on him and walked back into the workshop, the hopes she’d had for the Darlington Hall wedding in tatters. As she left, she looked over her shoulder and shouted, ‘You can be the one to tell Lucy then, that her fairytale wedding – or whatever it really is – is off.’

  Maggie put her foot down hard on the accelerator on the way back to her house. From what Lucy had told her, it was the rabbit hole idea that had interested It Girl most and without it the deal might well fall through. She imagined Owen would be calling Lucy right now, telling her he’d changed his mind, or that Maggie was impossible, and they’d have to find another highly skilled landscape gardener to replace him at short notice. She saw her dream of a shop in London slipping out of her grasp. She didn’t want to think about it anymore, what she needed was a gin and tonic in the comfort of her home, and for Dylan to tell her that everything was going to be OK.

  She parked up in the drive and let herself into the house. There was music playing; Dylan must have left the setting on timer by accident this morning, the automatic lights and sound were supposed to deter burglars when the two of them were out of the house. As she set her bag down in the living room though, her heart stopped. There was soil in the pale carpet, and following the trail she saw that her delicate gold birdcage had fallen to the floor and the pink orchid inside it was lying on the carpet, the stem broken. Most of the earth in the pot had spilled out and the petals were broken and bent.

  Her first instinct was to call the police, but something stopped her. What could she even say to them, other than there was a broken plant on her living room floor? She’d had an upsetting day, and she needed to be rational. Accidents happened, and perhaps the hook she’d put up on the wall hadn’t been strong enough to hold the birdcage after all.

  She put the damaged flower in its pot up on the counter by the sink. It was then she heard a noise upstairs, as if someone had dropped something. Tip-toeing, she walked over to the stairs and tentatively crept up them. Was that noise coming from her study? That was where most of the things of value were kept, including the jewellery she’d inherited from her grandmother.

  As she reached the landing, a woman’s laugh rang out. Her bedroom door was open and as she stepped forward, Maggie took in the scene. Dylan lay in bed, naked, his hair ruffled, just as she’d left him this morning. In a cruel parody of the moment she’d left, a blonde woman was standing by the side of the bed, wrapped in a pale blue towel that Dylan was trying to wrestle off her.

  ‘Maggie – oh, crap, Maggie,’ Dylan said, hurriedly getting back into his boxers. The woman with him looked awkward, and pulled the towel – one of Maggie’s from the en suite – more tightly around her.

  Maggie stood still. ‘So it’s you …’ she said. It suddenly clicked. She addressed the woman, ‘You must be Sam.’

  The blonde nodded, ‘Yes,’ she said, with the trace of an American accent. Maggie’s eyes flicked for a split-second to the print on he
r bedroom wall, the one Dylan had taken of his own studio, to confirm her suspicions. There in the foreground was the same woman, glossy blonde hair and her face half-hidden under a floppy seventies hat; a picture within a picture, her photo pinned to Dylan’s studio wall. This woman had been in Maggie’s bedroom all along.

  ‘I’ll get my things,’ Sam said, lowering her head and hurriedly gathering up her clothes from around the room before ducking out into the landing to put them on. Maggie ignored her completely, her eyes firmly fixed on Dylan’s. They were both silent until Maggie finally heard the front door slam.

  ‘Maggie,’ he started, his head in his hands. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, looking up at her imploringly, his brow furrowed. ‘It was …’

  ‘Oh please don’t,’ Maggie said, her voice ice-cool in spite of the adrenalin that was coursing through her veins. ‘Don’t patronise me, Dylan.’

  ‘I didn’t know she was going to turn up, I swear.’ Dylan started, getting up and taking a pace towards Maggie.

  ‘And so, what?’ Maggie said, stepping back, the anger bringing a tremble into her voice now. ‘You would have had to wait till you next went back to the States to bed her? Or wait until someone else came along?’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Dylan said, taking another step towards her, puppy-dog eyes wide.

  ‘You make me sick,’ Maggie said, shaking her head, her cheeks burning now. ‘After everything you said? You made me forgive you, you convinced me you’d changed, Dylan, just so that you could make an even bigger fool out of me this time.’

  She went over to the window, pushing past him, and opened it wide. On her dressing table in a little box was the wedding ring she’d once thought she might put on again. She thought about picking it up, then stopped herself; gold was in demand at the moment, she’d be able to sell it. Instead she unhooked Dylan’s print from the wall. Panic flickered across his face as she took it down. He reached out but before he could stop her, she lobbed the frame out of her window, throwing it with all her strength, and they both watched on as it shattered on the tarmac of the pavement in front of her house.

  ‘I think you’d better grab what you can and go, Dylan,’ Maggie said, calm returning to her voice. ‘Don’t you?’

  Blitz Spirit

  (July–August)

  Chapter 27

  Alison

  Alison stroked Pete’s arm. ‘It’s seven o’clock, darling,’ she whispered to him gently. He stirred and then jumped a little.

  ‘What?’ he said, confused.

  ‘It’s seven o’clock, darling,’ Alison repeated.

  ‘Oh, thanks, Ali.’

  Pete got up, still clumsy with sleep, and went over to the shower. It was only his third day at work, and his morning routine wasn’t automatic yet, but Alison didn’t mind waking up a bit early to nudge him and make them both coffee. The girls would be downstairs breakfasting, but these past couple of days Ali had left them to it and sneaked back upstairs so that she and Pete could enjoy another few minutes in bed together.

  She’d then pile up the pillows and lie back to talk to him as he got dressed in his suit for work. His stubble was gone now but his untidy curls were still there; she could tell he still wanted to retain the look of someone who had been in a band, once. It had only been a fortnight since Pete saw the careers counsellor who had kick-started his job search. He’d come home afterwards, buzzing with an energy she hadn’t seen in him in months.

  ‘We went right back to the beginning,’ he’d said, ‘and looked at the skills and experience I have and what I could do. It’s made me realise I was limiting myself to finding almost exactly the same role, in the same sector.’

  Things had then moved so quickly it had surprised them both. Pete had seen a job in communications for a drug addiction charity, interviewed and been offered the job that same week.

  ‘You look sexy in that suit, you know,’ Ali said, and Pete bent down to kiss her.

  She had on her silk kimono and her hair was loose.

  ‘You look pretty gorgeous right now too.’

  ‘I have to see my husband off to work with a smile on his face,’ she said, pulling him in closer for a passionate kiss.

  ‘Apart from that, what are you up to today?’ Pete asked, taking a reluctant step back and doing up his tie.

  ‘I’m meeting up with Jamie to look at the new shop space,’ Alison said, trying to keep the regret from her voice. ‘He signed the lease last week.’

  A sadness fell across Pete’s face then, as they both thought of the café-dreams Alison had given up. ‘Ali, I’m so sorry you couldn’t—’

  ‘Shh,’ Alison said, silencing him with another kiss. ‘It’s fine, Pete. Really, it is.’

  When Alison and Pete got downstairs their two daughters were sitting at the breakfast table. Toast was going cold on plates they’d shoved to one side and George was up on the bench tilting his head against the table, trying to reach for a piece. Sophie was leaning forward and applying eyeliner to her little sister’s eyelids. Both girls looked up, startled, as their parents entered the room.

  ‘Holly, upstairs now,’ Pete said, ‘make-up off. Come on, I’m sure Mrs Brannigan is getting pretty tired of calling us by now.’

  Holly sheepishly dashed under his raised arm and up the stairs with her head down.

  ‘Sophie. You know better.’ Alison shook her head. ‘Holly could have got sent home for that.’

  Sophie sighed, put the lid back on her eyeliner and tucked it away in her bag. ‘You’ve got to admit it made her look cooler.’ A smile played at the corners of her mouth. ‘Who wants a geeky younger sister?’

  ‘Better that than a suspended little sister, if you ask me,’ Pete said, sending her upstairs to get ready. Alison looked over at him, and as his eyes met hers she saw the partner she loved.

  Alison swept a finger along the mantelpiece in Jamie’s new café premises, sending a layer of dust loose into the air.

  ‘This old fireplace is going to look great once we get it cleaned up,’ she said, inspecting the original tiles, and then glancing around the rest of the room.

  The space Jamie was renting was located opposite the flower shop and next to the gift shops and boutiques that Charlesworth’s residents were so fond of browsing. The windows were large enough for the café to attract passing trade and natural light was flooding in, casting wide rectangles of sunshine on to the wooden floorboards.

  ‘And the back yard,’ Alison said, ‘I reckon you could spruce that up easily, get some garden chairs out there, make the most of the second half of the summer?’

  Jamie smiled, and nodded. ‘Couldn’t agree more, in fact I was hoping to take advantage of your good nature a bit there.’ Alison laughed.

  ‘And as for the walls,’ Jamie said, pointing at the whitewashed brick, ‘there are couple of local artists who are interested in exhibiting their work here. One does canvases with graphics of 1940s tins, packaging; and another, a student, puts together these gorgeous patchworks. You’d like them.’ Alison looked over at the wall, picturing how they’d look.

  ‘And then there’s Adam, he’s Brighton-based,’ Jamie continued. ‘He takes photographs of burlesque dancers, close-ups of nipple-tassels, stockings …’ Alison’s eyebrows shot up and Jamie gave her a wink. They both knew Charlesworth wasn’t quite ready for that.

  ‘Come over here, into my office, Ali.’ He grabbed a couple of deckchairs and placed them against the far wall so that they could survey the whole shop from where they were sitting. ‘It looks good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It’s going to be fantastic,’ she replied. ‘And guess what – I’ve found just the place for you to get some authentic period furnishings.’

  ‘Really?’ Jamie said. ‘I’ve been trawling auctions but so far all the stuff I like has been way out of my price range.’

  ‘How does free sound?’ Alison said.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Jamie said, a grin spreading across his face.

  ‘Absolutely. And you
don’t have to go far for it, either. I’ve met a terrific old couple in Willow Tree Close who are clearing out their attic – they have tons of original furniture up there by the sound of things. I had a chat on the phone with them yesterday and they say that if you agree to take the lot and arrange the removal, they’d be happy for you to have it.’

  Jamie’s eyes lit up. ‘That sounds ideal. It’s all going to be a bit rough around the edges in here, mismatched chairs and so on, so I’m sure we’ll be able to make use of most things. You’re a gem, Ali, thank you.’

  ‘Anytime,’ she said.

  ‘But listen,’ Jamie said. ‘I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.’ His tone was more serious now. ‘I’ve been thinking about how to launch the café with a bang. We’ll have a party here when the place is finished, and I want to follow that up by starting the early evening events: stitch and bitch sessions, crochet workshops, bunting classes – maybe even some rebel cross-stitch, you know … skulls and crossbones, that kind of thing, Sophie will probably be able to fill you in,’ Jamie said, moving his hands animatedly as he spoke.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘I thought I might know just the woman to run them.’ He gave Ali’s arm a squeeze. ‘Imagine it – no overheads to think about, income as soon as you have a few attendees. I bet word of mouth will bring you big groups in no time. I mean, what else is there to do around here?’ Jamie said, with a smile. Yes, the quiet was part of Charlesworth’s charm, Alison thought, but it was true that it meant there were plenty of residents with spare time on their hands.

  ‘Anyway, Ali,’ he said. ‘What do you think? Tell me you’re in?’

  Alison smiled, then took his hand firmly and shook it. ‘You’ve got a deal. And even the bank manager’s not going to be able to stop me this time,’ she smiled.

  Jamie beamed. Alison thought over some potential attendees; her sister-in-law was struggling to teach herself to knit, and Anna from Maggie’s shop would enjoy the rebel cross stitch. Hadn’t Megan in her pilates class asked about bunting too? Hopefully she’d have a full house in no time.