The Vintage Teacup Club

by Vanessa Greene

  ‘I can’t wait to get started,’ she said, full of excitement.

  ‘And Jamie,’ Alison said, after a pause, looking around the shop’s interior, ‘I still hope that maybe a few months down the line, you know, when Pete’s earned us a bit of money and we’ve paid off our debts. Maybe we could talk again, about renting this place together?’

  Jamie smiled. ‘Of course, hon. That door is always open.’

  ‘Good, I’m pleased,’ she said.

  Alison watched her friend as he gazed out over the room. ‘You know what, Jamie? You look really happy,’ she said, gently.

  ‘I do?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, you definitely do,’ she replied, with a nod.

  ‘I suppose I am,’ Jamie said, leaning back on the blue-and-white striped fabric. ‘Remembering how to be, at least. And it’s not just the shop,’ he said coyly.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Nope,’ he replied, a smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘You know Adam, the burlesque photographer I told you about? He takes the occasional break, takes a few pictures of people in clothes too.’ Alison raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Ali, do you remember the day I took George with me down to the beach for a run? Adam spotted us.’

  ‘Oh right, so he’s a wolfhound enthusiast?’ Alison said. ‘George, that old rogue. Does this guy want a cross-breed puppy? The litter’s nearly due.’

  ‘Adam does like George,’ Jamie said, taking his time over saying it, ‘but, well, he seems to like me quite a bit too.’

  Alison put her hand on Jamie’s. She could have whooped with excitement, but she held it in – it was still early days.

  ‘He’s got good taste,’ Alison said. ‘And I’m glad to hear it, Jamie.’

  They both looked out of the window then, at the people walking past. Women and men were peering in through the windows, although the glass panes were still grimy with plaster-dust, trying to make out what the empty shop might soon become. One little girl pressed her face up against the glass but the steam from her breath meant she could see even less. Teenagers on their lunch hour scurried by, swinging their bags and chattering. If they’d lingered long enough they would have seen a middle-aged couple on deckchairs, slightly weathered by time but impeccably styled, and with a little more knowledge of how to be in love than they’d thought they had.

  Chapter 28

  Jenny

  ‘Right, what’s going on here?’ I asked, putting the hot mugs of tea down on the table and looking at the men in my life. ‘You may as well say. You three are in cahoots about something, and don’t think it’s getting past me.’

  Dad, Chris and Dan were watching a DVD of Fawlty Towers, but when I came back into the living room, it was clear that I’d interrupted something more important than one of Manuel’s cock-ups. Dan shuffled up on the sofa to make room for me, and I handed him one of the teas I’d just made. Dan and Chris exchanged glances and Dad tried to look very busy reading his copy of the Mirror.

  ‘Stag night planning,’ I said, ‘I can smell it a mile off.’ After a steely look from me, Chris finally raised his hands in surrender.

  ‘OK, OK,’ he said. Chris was in charge of organising Dan’s last night as a single man. ‘We may have been lining up a few things.’

  ‘I wish you’d tell me a bit more about what you’re doing to my poor husband-to-be.’

  ‘It’s nothing too bad, Jen, I promise,’ Chris said, wholly unconvincing.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘I thought the stag wasn’t meant to be in on any of this?’

  Dan took a swig of tea and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  ‘Just hints, Jen,’ Chris said. ‘So he’s got an idea of what to look forward to.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I said, eyeing my brother and dad with suspicion. ‘As long as I’m not peeling him off the bathroom floor in the early hours of the morning, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘Nah,’ Chris reassured me. ‘You can trust us. And come on, Jen, knowing your friends it’s far more likely to be the other way around.’

  I pictured Chloe, the other girls from work, my school friends; actually, yes, that was probably true. My hen was only a week away now and, despite being nervous about what they might do to me, I was really looking forward to spending time with the girls. Chloe hadn’t given much away, but I knew she was inviting some old friends of mine I hadn’t seen in ages and I couldn’t wait to catch up with everyone over cocktails. Cocktails were obligatory, weren’t they?

  My phone rang in my pocket and I saw Maggie’s name flash up. I pointed to the phone and excused myself. As I got up and walked out of the room into our hallway, I could hear the men resuming their chat in stage whispers.

  ‘Maggie!’ I answered, grateful for some female interaction. ‘How’re things?’

  ‘Jen?’ came a small voice. It hardly sounded like Maggie at all.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. What’s up?’

  ‘I’ve been an idiot,’ she said.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. Maggie usually sounded so confident and calm on the phone.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘but also I’m not. I just don’t really know what to do with myself, Jenny. I’m at work but I can’t focus on anything. Everything’s gone a bit wrong. Any chance you could come by the shop?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I’m at my dad’s but I’ll drop by Bluebelle now. Give me ten minutes.’

  ‘Thanks, Jen,’ Maggie said. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  I poked my head around the door to the living room. Dan was looking pretty settled on the sofa and Chris was cracking open a beer for Dad. The volume was up, and pre-match football commentary was booming out.

  ‘Dan,’ I started, and his eyes flicked up to meet mine, ‘you’re OK here, aren’t you? I’m just going to swing by the flower shop to see Maggie.’

  He smiled and nodded. I went over and gave him a kiss, before picking up my bag. ‘Right you lot, enjoy.’ I waved at Chris and Dad, then turned back to Dan. ‘See you at ours this evening.’

  It was only a short bike ride over to Maggie’s shop. I cycled past kids playing out and pavements littered with hula-hoops and skateboards, mums keeping watch from the doorsteps. A vision of my own mum’s face flashed before me for a moment, her voice calling for me to come back in for tea. But just as quickly as it arrived, it was gone.

  When I got to the high street I chained my bike to the lamppost outside Bluebelle du Jour and pushed open the glass front door, entering the shop to a jangle of bells. Anna, Maggie’s assistant, was at the counter bundling up a bouquet of cornflowers and fragrant sweet peas.

  ‘Hi, Jenny,’ she called out. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, holding up the flowers to give me a better look at the arrangement.

  ‘Wow,’ I said, ‘stunning.’ Anna had a good eye, and every time I dropped into the shop I’d noticed how she gave even simple bunches a distinctive twist.

  ‘Cool,’ Anna said, with a grin. ‘So how’s it all going with the wedding planning?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s the hen night I’ve got to contend with first,’ I said, raised my hands to my head, feigning despair. ‘What are they going to do to me, Anna?’

  She laughed, placing the bouquet on the counter to wrap and wiping her wet hands off on her apron. ‘I’m sure they’ll be gentle.’ She tore off a big sheet of white paper to wrap the stems in. ‘Maggie’s out the back, by the way,’ she motioned with a nod of the head, ‘doing the accounts. She’s expecting you, so just go on through.’ And then, in a whisper, she said, ‘Try and cheer her up, will you?’

  Maggie was tucked away in the far corner of the dimly lit back room, a spreadsheet open on the computer and a red ringbinder open in front of her. She jumped slightly as I walked in, and put a hand to her heart.

  ‘Ah, Jenny. Hi.’ She smiled, but her voice was flat. ‘Sorry, you startled me.’

  ‘Maggie, what’s up?’ I asked. ‘What’s happened?’

  She pointed behind me. ‘Close the door for a sec, could you?’
<
br />   I shut the door and walked over to her desk, where she’d pulled out a little stool for me to sit on.

  ‘Oh, only something I really should have been smart enough to see coming,’ she said.

  Her eyes were red and her blotchy skin was visible, even under her carefully applied foundation.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s Dylan,’ Maggie said. ‘Argh. I’m so furious I could spit. With him. With myself. This is such a cliche I can’t bear it, Jen.’ She ruffled the back of her hair, looking away for a second. ‘I caught him with another woman. In my bed.’

  ‘Oh Maggie, no,’ I said, my hand going to my mouth, at a loss for a more helpful response.

  ‘I know. She was American, horribly attractive,’ Maggie went on. ‘I could have killed them both.’

  ‘But he’s only just moved in,’ I said, still in shock. ‘He gave up New York for you, didn’t he? And all of those things he said,’ I began, with an uncomfortable feeling that I was making things worse.

  ‘Exactly. Can you believe it?’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He couldn’t even keep it in his pants long enough to give us a chance.’

  ‘But how could he be so stupid?’ I said. ‘I mean bad enough to do it … but in your house? What was he thinking?’

  ‘Part of him wanted to be found out, I reckon,’ Maggie said. ‘To make it easier. He’s always been a bit of a coward like that.’

  ‘Unbelievable, that he would—’ I started, but stopped myself and touched her arm gently. ‘God, I’m really sorry, Maggie.’

  ‘Well, so am I,’ she said, creases in her brow starting to show, ‘but then I’m not. It’s better that I found out now and not years down the line. However, as much as I tried to hold back my hopes, the truth is they were sky-high.’ She shook her head as she spoke. ‘It’s hard, Jen.’

  Maggie’s eyes were wet with tears now, but I could see she wasn’t going to let them fall. She saw me notice. ‘I can’t cry!’ she said, blinking them away. ‘I will not let him make me cry.’ I put my arm around her, and her slim frame felt more fragile than before.

  ‘It’s his—’

  ‘Loss?’ Maggie finished, sitting up straighter and forcing a smile. ‘I know, Jen. And I’m better on my own. I know that.’

  That seemed a bit drastic, but something told me now wasn’t the time to challenge it.

  ‘Anyway, to top it off, the Darlington Hall wedding is going pear-shaped too. It was all brilliant and then, well, the landscape gardener is impossible to work with, and God, it’s all turned into bit of a mess, Jenny.’ She rested her head on my shoulder and began to cry.

  Here was Maggie; serene, quick-thinking Maggie, with her own business and ten years more life experience than me. What could I possibly say to make her feel better?

  ‘You know you’re stronger than him, don’t you?’ I said, finally. ‘Strong enough to cope with all of this.’ She was taking deep, slow breaths, trying to control her sobs.

  ‘You may be right, Jen,’ she said, unconvinced. Then she lifted her head and looked me in the eye, her green eyes bloodshot but determined. ‘In fact, you know what, you are definitely right.’

  ‘What you need is,’ I said, smiling, ‘and don’t laugh, I know it’s wildly inadequate but hey, it’s all I’ve got to offer right now …’

  ‘Go on, tell me,’ she said.

  ‘A night out with the girls.’ Maggie took one look at me, then rolled her eyes and slumped back on to my shoulder.

  I shrugged her off and shook my head. ‘Nope, I’m afraid it’s not that easy,’ I continued, smiling, ‘because, in case you’ve forgotten, it’s my hen next Saturday night, and there’s absolutely no get-out clause, misery-guts or not.’

  Maggie groaned, then I saw the first hint of a smile creep onto her face.

  ‘Look,’ I said, giving her a nudge, ‘I know you’re excited about it really. And I promise that for one night at least we can make you forget that Dylan ever existed.’

  Maggie’s smile was slowly growing. ‘And Lucy Mackintosh’s stupid wedding – can you make that disappear too?’ she asked, hopeful.

  ‘What wedding?’ I said.

  ‘Promise?’ she asked.

  ‘I promise,’ I said, pulling her to me for a proper hug.

  Chapter 29

  Maggie

  Maggie couldn’t get comfortable. It was half-one in the morning, but sleep wasn’t coming.

  Her bed didn’t feel like her own anymore, and even after she’d taken Dylan’s things to the town dump, he still haunted the place; the one part of the world that she was used to having control over. Two days after she’d left, Sam’s perfume lingered too, or at least it seemed that way to Maggie.

  Whether or not Sam and Dylan’s taunting spirits were still there, the fact was that Maggie was cold and her bed felt empty. She reached down and pulled a soft green blanket over her sheets. Her phone, on the bedside table, beeped with another message from Dylan. She pressed the button to read it:

  Maggie, just let me explain? I know I messed up, but there are reasons. I miss you so much. Call me. Dxx.

  Reasons? Really? She deleted it. She flicked through her inbox to check she’d erased every other text from him, then saw an older message she’d somehow missed and never opened. It was from Owen.

  Maggie – you left your folder with the sketches here. I’m at the workshop all weekend if you need them back. Owen.

  Oh great, she thought. That’s just what I need.

  On the drive over to Owen’s workshop Maggie put some Ella Fitzgerald on to soothe her nerves. Over a breakfast of muesli and fruit she’d texted him back saying she’d come over at one, and he’d sent a minimal response to let her know that was fine. She resented having to go back to his place, but if she was going to continue with Lucy’s wedding plans, she would need her sketches; it was as simple as that. She was a professional, and she could separate her emotions from her work. She’d simply swallow her pride, and be in and out of his workshop as soon as possible.

  The scenery on the quiet A-road was wasted on Maggie today, and her thoughts drifted back to the previous night. She’d finally got off to sleep about two, but when she awoke, after a blissful few minutes of amnesia, the memories and anxiety had flooded back. How could Dylan – why would Dylan – put so much effort into winning her back only to throw it all away in an instant? To think she had been on the cusp of introducing him to her friends – that she’d already told her mum and sister that they were an item again. It was all so, so … embarrassing. Rather than the pain of heartbreak, what she felt was humiliated.

  She arrived at Owen’s at ten to one, and realised she must have unwittingly been over the speed limit for most of the journey. She walked towards the old stables and saw that Owen’s door was closed this time, but after her sharp knock it took less than a minute for him to appear.

  He looked different today, his dark curls even more dishevelled, his khaki T-shirt so crumpled it looked as if he’d pulled it off the dirty laundry pile. There was a tiredness around his eyes that she hadn’t seen before – but Maggie realised that the dark circles under her own eyes would probably be just as bad. Touche Eclat could only do so much.

  ‘Come in,’ Owen said coolly, taking a step back and motioning inside. ‘I’ve been re-potting some of the plants so it’s a bit of a mess, but …’

  For another lecture about robbing from the poor to furnish the rich with floral arrangements? No thanks, she thought to herself.

  ‘I won’t, if it’s all the same to you,’ Maggie said, standing firm. ‘Thanks for letting me know about the folder. I’ll need it for the wedding as you know.’ Her feet stayed rooted to the doormat.

  ‘Sure.’ Owen stepped back inside and disappeared for a couple of moments, returning with the folder and passing it to her. ‘Are you sure you won’t stop for a minute?’

  Maggie shook her head and concentrated on putting the folder back in her satchel.

  ‘Look, Maggie,’ Owen sa
id, in a no-nonsense way. ‘I’d like for us to be on better terms than this. We left things badly the other day.’

  ‘What, do you feel guilty?’ she said, clicking the clasp on her bag shut again and looking up at him. ‘You should,’ she continued. ‘You were way out of line. But if you want to pull out of the wedding, then that’s your decision.’ Maggie stood up straighter. ‘How did Lucy react when you told her? Or did you two have more important things to do than discuss that?’

  ‘Actually I haven’t spoken to her yet,’ Owen said, his voice calm. ‘And for God’s sake Maggie, please can you stop it with this stupid conspiracy theory? There’s nothing going on between Lucy and me, and it’s pretty ridiculous that you’d think there was, to be honest.’

  Maggie recoiled. Oh, she thought, a blush creeping up her neck. Oh dear.

  ‘Jack’s my best friend, Lucy’s his fiancée, end of story.’ Owen looked unruffled.

  ‘But, but … the necklace?’ Maggie said, her mind racing, losing whatever cool she might have had left.

  ‘Ah, the necklace,’ Owen said. ‘Or, as you clearly see it, the evidence. Yes, it’s Lucy’s. She gave it to me because she wanted the stone reset and my neighbour here is a jeweller. If you go next door I’m sure he’d be happy to show you the new setting now.’

  Maggie felt her cheeks burning hot. She knew she was in the wrong, but she didn’t want to back down.

  ‘Maggie, look,’ he said. ‘Come inside? The kettle’s just boiled.’

  At least Owen hadn’t broken the news to Lucy, yet, and if there was still a way to salvage the wedding she had a duty to Lucy – and to her business – to find it. She stepped inside and sat down on a worn corduroy-covered sofa that was placed against the wall. From it she could see the garden through the wide windows, with its jasmine and honeysuckle and a group of birds crowding onto the little bird table. Owen handed her a chipped mug of milky tea heaped with sugar she hadn’t asked for, and she cradled the mug in her hands while he took a seat next to her.