The Teashop on the Corner

by Milly Johnson

  *

  Will had worked hours into the night to make a counter for the shop to Carla’s specifications. He had cleared a space in the shed and used it as a workshop. She was absolutely delighted with it when he drove up to Spring Hill the next morning and unloaded it out of the van. He found himself comparing her giddy delight with Nicole’s reactions whenever he’d given her anything. She had received her presents – and there were a lot of them – with the merest modicum of thanks, as if they were the expected norm. The name Tiffany on a box wouldn’t even prod one heartbeat out of sync. And here was a woman leaping about like a Bichon Frisé on amphetamine because he’d knocked together a few pieces of wood so she could put her telephone on top of it. He felt himself smiling at her delight more than she was smiling at the counter.

  She almost hugged him. Then at the last moment she thought that might be inappropriate and stopped herself.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. Will, it’s perfect. You must tell me what you want. I presume you’d rather have the cash in your hand.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll tot up the cost of the materials later,’ said Will. ‘You can buy me a toasted teacake though on account. I haven’t had any breakfast.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ said Carla, snatching up her handbag. ‘I might even throw in an Americano.’

  Chapter 100

  After getting Ryan safely off to school with half a pigsworth of bacon buttie inside him, Leni drove over to Spring Hill, unlocked the shop and walked into her lovely welcoming little world. The only traces that remained of that unpleasant business with Leslie O’Gowan were a few lumps of chocolate pie and cream on the floor and wall that were quickly wiped up with a cloth and the mop. Miraculously she found the glass cake stand still intact and laughed to herself.

  She loved the Teashop on the Corner so much. Anne would be so proud of her. She wished she would walk through the door, all sunshine-skinned and smiling. Leni imagined her staring into the cabinets and exclaiming in that full-of-joy voice that she must have that handbag, oh my God, Mum, I’ve changed my mind. I have to have that Kindle cover instead. Quick get the key, Mum, before I burst with the anticipation.

  Annie always loved opening the boxes of delivered stock at home, seeing the goods. They were both book and stationery mad and every delivery was like a mini Christmas for them.

  You need a shop, Mum. You’ll be lonely when I’m at uni. It had been Anne’s idea.

  And now Leni had that shop. And her daughter had never seen it.

  Today, she had decided, would be Thomas Hardy Tuesday. Casterbridge custard cake and Obscure coffee and walnut gateau were on offer.

  Mr Singh was already there when Will and Carla came over. He was inspecting the cabinets, searching for things to buy that he didn’t need but merely wanted to own.

  ‘Come in, come in, how lovely to see you,’ he greeted Carla, as if he had suddenly acquired ownership of the teashop. Behind the counter, Leni winked at the couple.

  ‘Carla, look at this, isn’t it beautiful?’ said Mr Singh, pulling her gently by the sleeve towards the cabinet. He pointed to a wooden writing slope. ‘It has secret compartments. It is an exact copy of the one used by Thomas Hardy and today there is ten per cent off. I think I might have to buy it. What do you think?’

  ‘What would you use it for?’ asked Will, appraising the workmanship. It was a damned good copy of Victorian woodworking.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mr Singh with a gurgle of a laugh. ‘You buy stationery and then work it out later.’

  ‘Exactly,’ called Leni. ‘There is a lot of coveting going on in the stationery world.’

  ‘Mad,’ said Will, shaking his head but smiling.

  ‘You must buy it, of course, Mr Singh. Oh by the way this is Will, my . . .’ Carla began to introduce the man at her side and then verbally froze. Friend sounded a little presumptuous. Lodger sounded slightly condescending. She plumped for ‘master counter-maker. I now have a proper reception desk.’

  Mr Singh seized Will’s hand in a strong man-shake. ‘Delighted to meet you,’ he said.

  ‘You’re in a very good mood today, Mr Singh,’ said Leni.

  ‘I am going to be a granddad,’ he beamed. ‘My little Siana is pregnant. I am going to be Babba Singh. Doesn’t it sound wonderful?’

  ‘Oh Mr Singh, what fabulous news,’ said Leni, clapping her hands together. ‘I think that is cause for a celebration. Tea and cakes are on the house for you all.’

  ‘No, no,’ protested Mr Singh.

  ‘Oh I insist,’ said Leni.

  ‘You are going to be bankrupt soon, I think,’ said Mr Singh with a sigh.

  ‘Not whilst you’re buying all my stationery,’ laughed Leni.

  ‘I wish Molly and Harvey were here,’ said Mr Singh. ‘I would like to share my news with them also.’

  *

  Margaret unclipped her seat belt and was about to get out of the car when Molly’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  ‘Margaret. When you first walked into the lounge on Sunday with Graham and Sherry, when Harvey was sleeping, was there anyone with him? Is that why you sent Graham and Sherry packing?’

  Margaret opened her mouth to protest but she couldn’t. She had remembered what Harvey had said about wanting to know because it would be a comfort to him. She couldn’t deny her sister the same.

  ‘You saw someone, didn’t you?’ pressed Molly.

  ‘Yes,’ Margaret sighed. ‘I saw an old lady. His grandmother, apparently. She died when he was five, Harvey said.’

  ‘A grandmother? I didn’t even know he’d met any of them,’ said Molly.

  ‘He said that she was a loving, kind woman.’

  ‘I didn’t think anyone was kind to him in his family,’ huffed Molly. ‘I know he didn’t have a lot of love.’ Tears spilled over her eyelids.

  ‘Well, his grandmother obviously loved him. She was the one who came for him,’ said Margaret. It hurt her to see her sister so sad. She’d been upset too many times in her life.

  ‘Was he happy when you told him?’ asked Molly.

  ‘Yes darling. He was.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ nodded Molly and her face broke out into a smile. ‘Doesn’t it give you hope that there’s a place to move on to from here? I’ll see him again, won’t I?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Margaret, reaching for Molly’s hand, ‘unless I’ve been imagining these people all my life. Now come on and let’s see your friends.’

  Margaret linked Molly’s arm as they walked across the square to the Teashop on the Corner. Molly pushed open the door and saw Mr Singh standing with raised arms obviously waxing lyrically and passionately about something.

  Mr Singh and Margaret recognised each other immediately.

  ‘Matron!’ He bounced over and seized her hand to shake it vigorously. ‘How lovely to see you again after so many years.’

  ‘Mr Singh,’ smiled Margaret, real pleasure in her voice.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Mr Singh beamed at Molly. ‘I just wished you were here and here you are. Where is he? Where is Harvey?’

  Carla noted that the woman with Molly, although stouter, was very like her. This must be Margaret, the sister Molly protected as a child, the woman who protected Molly as an adult. Harvey wasn’t with them. She knew straightaway what must have happened.

  ‘He’s gone, Pavitar,’ said Molly.

  ‘Oh no. No no no,’ said Pavitar Singh, the smile seized and thrown from his lips. ‘Dear Molly.’ He strode forwards and put his arms around her. Molly felt his tears on her cheek.

  All the joy at hearing Pavitar’s news gave way to a heavy cloud of real sadness engulfing them. Leni looked felled. Life is a bastard sometimes, Carla thought. Harvey and Molly had found each other after all those years and barely had the chance to enjoy it. She thought that if she happened to meet Life in the street, she just might have given it a hard kick in the balls.

  ‘Carla, dear, would you do the flowers for Harvey’s funeral? It’s on Frida
y. I know he would have liked that.’

  Carla’s mind flashed back to the smart elderly man telling her that he would be her first customer. She nodded and said as she wiped at her tears, ‘It would be an honour.’

  Chapter 101

  After work that night, Shaun drove past Leni’s house to make sure that all looked peaceful and there weren’t any signs of O’Gowans. In a way he wished there were. The boy was one of theirs and they should be turning up at Leni’s cottage and demanding he go back with them. What sort of family let one of their own go so easily? That familiar picture of his mother crying, collapsed on the floor being held back from attacking the people who were taking away her children flitted across his mind. He had always wondered why he had never seen her again. Did she fight to see him? In his imagination she had. No woman who was in such distress would have given up easily, he reasoned. He had convinced himself that she had been thwarted at every turn by the authorities and then died of a broken heart. He hadn’t ever wanted to find out the truth was any different to that.

  There was no sign of disturbances at Thorn Cottage. Through the large picture window he could see Ryan sitting on the sofa and Leni delivering a tray to his lap. The lad had landed on his feet all right there.

  He slipped the car into first gear and released the hand brake. What was it about the woman that was getting under his skin so much? He found he was thinking about her far more than he wanted to. Even his house wasn’t the same since she had walked into it, as if she had left a residue of light and warmth behind when she left. He opened the door to his kitchen half expecting to see her still sitting at the table, waiting for him. He didn’t want to admit to himself that she had shaken up something within him, changed him. He didn’t need a relationship, especially with someone so bloody perfect for whom a glass wasn’t only half-full, it was brimming with hundreds and thousands and exploding confetti. He was a mess emotionally and no one would raise him to their level, he could only drag them down. He would snuff out her light and her smile if he got too close. It had happened before and it would only happen again. It was better that he fought against the bewitching attraction she held for him.

  Chapter 102

  By five o’clock on Wednesday morning, Carla was in the market choosing flowers and she was in seventh heaven. She was not alone; Will had taken her in his van as she could really stock up with the extra space the back of his vehicle afforded her. She would need to trade in her car for a more practical work vehicle as soon as possible. A picture of a white van with ‘The Lucky Flower Company’ lettered on the side, and the image of a black cat, petals around his head, loomed up in her mind and she felt a delicious thrill tremble through her. It didn’t feel real – she, Carla Martelli, with her own florist business.

  Harvey’s funeral was going to be held on Friday and she needed to buy lots of white roses and scented lilies tomorrow, so she would check out what was on offer today. She wanted them to be as fresh and sprightly as possible. She intended to do him proud. His floral tributes would be perfect – it was the least she could do for Molly.

  Will was fascinated. ‘How do you know what to buy?’ he asked, looking around at the early morning trading.

  ‘You get a feel for it after a few years,’ answered Carla. ‘Obviously you have orders to fulfil and then you need to make sure that you have plenty, and a variety, of flowers to make emergency bouquets if anyone calls in on spec.’

  She was delighted to find that her gut instinct was still working and telling her to make sure she bought her gerberas from Daffo-Jill. Hers always seemed to last a couple of days more than those obtained from anywhere else.

  ‘Lovely to see you again,’ called a few of the stall-holders. Daffo-Jill gave her a big hug and took some business cards from her. Carla felt snugly back in her old comfortable niche.

  ‘Bloody ’ell. How many sorts of red roses are there?’ Will asked, seeing a stall that had lots of different varieties.

  ‘Ooh, quite a few,’ said Carla, pointing to a couple of boxes. ‘Those are very popular and are called “Passion” and these gorgeous full-headed velvet ones are “Grand Prix”. They’re my favourites. Beautiful scent.’

  Will recalled walking into his old house on Valentine’s Day with three dozen red roses for Nicole. She had raised an obligatory smile and said thank you and given him a peck on the cheek, and hours later they’d still been wrapped up in their cellophane because she hadn’t transferred them to a vase. She had just had her nails done, was her excuse. The cleaner had done it for her the following day.

  At the same time Carla was thinking that Martin had never bought her a single flower in all the time they’d been together. She wondered if he had ever bought Julie any. She would never know. She really ought to stop torturing herself with questions that would never be answered. Martin was almost totally out of her head. Time would remove the remaining stubborn vestiges.

  ‘Thanks for this, Will,’ said Carla as they carried boxes out to his vehicle. ‘I need to get a van.’

  ‘Happy to help until you do,’ replied Will. And he was, too. Carla was so grateful, and so careful to ensure that he knew she was grateful, and she was eager to do him a good turn as payback. He wouldn’t have thought it presumptuous to say that they were friends.

  ‘I’ll make it up to you. Not quite sure how,’ smiled Carla. ‘Want a bouquet?’

  Will laughed. ‘Bouquet of bacon and eggs would be good.’

  ‘I can do that,’ beamed Carla. ‘There’s a café down the road called The Greasy Spoon but it’s really nice and does a top breakfast.’

  ‘That’s the sort of payment I like,’ grinned Will, closing the back door on the van. He had no job, no money, no home of his own and just the prospect of a paid breakfast to look forward to; but somehow he felt bloody marvellous.

  Chapter 103

  What an enigma Shaun McCarthy was, thought Leni, watching him across the square through the window. Why did she feel that she annoyed him so much? And why, if she did annoy him so much, was he looking out for her? She was sure she had spotted his car on the road where she lived the previous night. Was he checking that she was okay? It wasn’t normal behaviour. But then, who really was she to know what the norm was?

  Leni had made a cake for Carla which she intended to take over later. She had decorated it with many coloured sugar-paste flowers and iced the words ‘Welcome to Spring Hill Square’ on it. The four sides of the cake were studded with tiny edible black cats. She put the cake tin on the counter and made herself a strong coffee. She hadn’t slept particularly well, worrying about visits from the O’Gowan brothers; but she put on her best perky face to get Ryan off to school with four Weetabix and a croissant inside him. That boy could eat for England. She decided that she would close the shop for an hour that afternoon and go to Penistone Mill and buy some blue bedding for him. She had given him a key so he could get into the cottage after school. She could imagine what Shaun McCarthy would say about that. He would expect her home to be overrun with drug dealers and emptied out within the day.

  Shaun was shouting up at a man on a ladder who was doing something on the roof. She studied him. He wasn’t magazine-cover perfect: his nose had a bump in it as if he’d been in one too many fights and his face was always cast in a glower, but he was handsome in a strange way, if not a traditional one. He was powerfully built with eyes that were as bright and piercing as lasers and she knew that under that hard shell of an exterior was a caring soul, she could testify to that. Then again, he acted towards her as if she were a female version of ringworm. She couldn’t work him out. He turned quickly to the shop as if sensing she was staring at him and Leni threw herself backwards so she wouldn’t be seen. She didn’t want him to even suspect that he was on her mind. Whatever ripples of warmth the sight of him might bring to the insides of her, her heart was unavailable. There was no point in even pretending otherwise.

  *

  By nine-thirty a.m., Carla already had two orders for bouquets to
be picked up at lunchtime: a florist in Maltstone had let the very annoyed customer down and he wouldn’t allow them to make it up to him, choosing to shift his business instead. The advert she had taken out in the Barnsley Chronicle had paid for itself already.

  ‘You go and do your flower thing in the back, I’ll man the phones,’ commanded Will, seeing that Carla was on the verge of getting into a flap. Plus the sight of her in that black dress and white apron was doing things to him that it shouldn’t. It wasn’t that it was low-cut or short, quite the opposite, but it did show off Carla’s Italian curves to their very best. She managed to look classy and sexy and sweet all at the same time. ‘Go on,’ he urged when she didn’t move.

  Carla opened her mouth to protest, heard a voice inside her brain say, don’t you dare turn him down you silly cow, and shut it again. If this first day was anything to go by, Carla decided that she might need an assistant sooner rather than later.

  She listened to Will take a call and smiled to herself. His chirpy cockney accent certainly helped amplify his charm.

  ‘What do you mean your old man doesn’t buy you flowers? You should treat yourself to a bouquet as well, love. Every woman deserves flowers . . . Course I buy my missus some blooms. Way to a gel’s heart, you can keep your chocolates. Nothing more romantic than a nice big bunch.’

  He put down the phone after closing the sale. ‘Kerching,’ he called to Carla. She laughed.

  ‘You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’

  ‘I most certainly am,’ said Will. ‘Flirting for a living. I was born to it. Oh, here we go again.’ The phone was ringing. ‘The Lucky Flower Company, how can I help you?’

  Carla twisted some yellow ribbon around the first complete bouquet as she listened to Will’s half of the conversation. It was better than a radio play.

  ‘Well, that’s very kind of you to give us a go. My missus has been in the flower game since she was a kid . . . best in the business she is . . .’