The Teashop on the Corner

by Milly Johnson

  The angry look waned. ‘I know,’ she said with a long drawn-out sigh. ‘How can they let him go so easily, Mr McCarthy? He’s a good boy. A fine boy.’

  ‘One that you haven’t known two minutes,’ said Shaun, trying to sound sensible rather than biased. ‘I don’t want to . . .’ see you get hurt ‘. . . see this get any worse for anyone.’

  He was trying to not sound as protective as he felt. He didn’t need to be. Ms Merryman could look after herself, he had no doubt. Besides which, he didn’t want to worry about her. She was nothing to him but a tenant. He needed to keep reminding himself of that until it stuck in his thick skull.

  ‘I appreciate your concern,’ said Leni. ‘I believe in him.’ She broke the subject off and changed to another. ‘I’ve just come from the florist shop. It’s lovely in there. Have you seen what Carla’s done to it?’

  ‘I’m not concerned,’ said Shaun sharply. ‘As long as everyone pays their rent to me, they can decorate their units in unicorns and fairies for all I care.’ And with that he strode away, fighting off the ever-thickening strands of involvement that were binding him to Leni Merryman.

  *

  After delivering the bouquet to a woman whose pupils dilated more at the handsome delivery man than at the birthday flowers, Will drove to B&Q and made his way over to the familiar ladder section. There were no staff around and even if there were, the way he felt at the moment, he would have been brazen enough to set a ladder up and do what he was about to do in front of them.

  He couldn’t remember ever before being so self-searching as he had been since yesterday, when he and Carla had kissed in her shop. It had knocked him to the core to discover how much the simple touching of their lips had affected him. It hadn’t so much mixed him up as straightened him out.

  He’d been sleeping, eating and smiling again since he moved into Dundealin and he’d credited the peace in his soul to dropping all the stresses of his debts. But he’d only been partly right, because he realised when he kissed Carla what a huge contribution she had made to the spring in his step. Her kindness, her gentleness, her friendliness, her humour, her acceptance of him, a skint roofer with a fear of heights, had been a massive reason why his spirit felt as light as a helium-filled balloon. Helping her kit out the shop, sharing fish and chips with her, enjoying her presence in the house were all simple pleasures that made him feel like a man again. She was a bloody gorgeous girl and he had been acting like a tongue-tied teenager in her presence since they’d kissed. He’d never once felt like that with Nicole – they’d gone from nought to sixty on the first date.

  Will lifted up the ladder and rested it against the wall and began to climb it. And he kept on climbing it until one of the sales staff saw him above the display shelves and ran over before he fell off and health and safety came down on them like a ton of bricks.

  Chapter 107

  Carla lifted the bottle of champagne which Theresa and Jonty had brought her yesterday out of the fridge. She hadn’t wanted to drink it by herself on the opening day, but tonight, she thought she just might pop out the cork and sink the whole lot, even though she knew it would make her blasted and very probably sick.

  Will had left the shop at four saying that he was going to the gym and she didn’t expect to see him again that evening. Plus he had helped her in the shop for a couple of days, and she hoped that he didn’t presume she’d want the favour to carry on indefinitely and so was trying to subtly extricate himself. She hadn’t tried to second-guess his feelings before the kiss: why had things changed so much now?

  She was untwisting the wire at the head of the bottle when she heard the outside door open and close again. She thought he would go straight to his flat, but he came into the kitchen instead, carrying his gym bag over his shoulder.

  ‘You’re cracking it open, then?’ he said, flicking a finger towards the bottle.

  ‘Erm, yes. Would you like a glass?’

  She asked but she knew he would refuse. He would have something more important to do.

  ‘Yeah, why not. I’ll get the glasses out.’

  Oh, that was a shocker. So was the fact that he set three on the table.

  ‘I thought I’d get an extra one, for the guest,’ he said.

  ‘The guest?’ Carla was confused.

  ‘The massive great fat elephant in the room. It’s going to crush my bleedin’ lungs if someone don’t get rid of it.’

  Carla felt her heart jump as if it were a horse just clearing Bechers Brook.

  ‘Carla,’ Will sat down at the table. ‘Yesterday when . . . we . . .’

  ‘Oh don’t worry,’ Carla waved her hands over-dramatically. ‘Totally understand. You don’t need to explain. It was a funny day, Julie ordering flowers, emotions running high . . .’

  ‘Carla, shut up a minute.’

  Carla’s jaw snapped shut.

  ‘I didn’t expect it.’

  ‘I didn’t either but . . .’

  He reached out and put his finger across her lips. ‘Shush. Let me speak. Please.’

  She nodded and he removed his hand. ‘Carla. You’re so . . . so . . . bloody wonderful,’ he said and saw her big brown eyes widen at his words. ‘I’ve been thinking how happy I am. I thought it was just the fact that I’ve got rid of all the crap that was weighing me down – the bills, the business, the worry – but that isn’t all of it. Being around you makes me happy. I even climbed a bloody ladder today. Right to the top. The bloke in B&Q nearly had a fit.’

  Carla blurted out a laugh. It was a lovely sound, he thought. She even laughed nice.

  ‘Look.’ Will raked his hand through his fair wavy hair, a nervous gesture. ‘I’m not on the rebound, but I’m still married. Legally. Even if my wife is knocking off my arch enemy. Not that I give a flying toss about that because Nicole don’t even cross my mind. My head just wants to think about you.’

  He heard Carla give a little gasp and he was encouraged by it. That and the fact that she wasn’t screaming and running away from him.

  ‘I’ll be up and on my feet again soon, I know I will. I’m not the type to stay down for long; but I have to say now, poor as I am, that I am the most content I’ve ever been. I don’t have anything to offer you, Carla, but I . . . I want to take you out to dinner. Won’t be the Ivy. And I want to kiss you again. And I think, if you want that, it might be nice to take things slow. Like learning to climb a ladder again.’

  ‘A rung at a time?’ said Carla, her voice a rush of joy-laden breath.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Will with a sparkling lop-sided grin. ‘One lovely sure-step of a rung at a time.’

  Chapter 108

  Mr Singh was waiting outside the church when the flower-filled hearse arrived. He was wearing a beautifully cut black suit and a black turban. He looked even smarter than usual, which was quite an achievement because he was always immaculately dressed.

  Molly managed a sad smile by way of greeting. ‘I’m so glad you could come, Pavitar,’ she said as he bent to her and put a soft kiss on her cheek, then offered his arm to her without saying a word. He was too upset to speak.

  ‘One of Molly and Harvey’s friends from that little teashop,’ Margaret explained to Bernard. ‘Used to be a surgeon. Marvellous doctor.’ She turned her head to look at the flowers in the hearse. They were absolutely beautiful. ‘The lass has done a good job, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she has,’ said Bernard. He too was choked up. It was all so sad. He wished Molly and Harvey had had more time together. He felt that it was too little compensation that they parted loving each other again.

  Carla had left the shop in Will’s hands. He had insisted she go to the funeral. Leni had also shut up shop and was there looking odd in black, as everyone was so used to seeing her in bright colours. She looked tiny in her smart coat, a black flower pinned behind her ear.

  Mavis Marple had turned up too. She was a professional funeral-attender, after all. She enjoyed the hymns and the occasional drama, and, if she was lucky, t
he buffet afterwards. She spotted Carla and rushed over, her arms open ready to hug the younger woman.

  ‘How lovely to see you,’ she bubbled. ‘Your old house has been sold. Very nice couple moved in. He used to be high up in Yorkshire Water but he’s deaf now. She’s from Thailand. Between you and me I think he bought her. But they seem happy enough. She’s called Nom, he’s called Norm. Bet that causes a few mix-ups. They’ve got one of those new cross-breed dogs – a Rotthuahua I think she said. Very funny-looking thing.’

  ‘Have they?’ replied Carla, politely, though she had no wish to know anything about the bungalow, in fact, it was as if she had never lived there. More and more her old life with Martin was feeling like a dream because she was no longer the same woman who was married to a man who gave her so little. She was moving on at a rate of knots. She didn’t care what Martin and Julie had had or done together, she was just glad she had found a new life whilst she was still young enough to enjoy it. She felt as if she had been let out of a dark box and was now getting fully accustomed to the light.

  ‘Whose funeral is it then? Do you know?’ Mavis whispered at her usual thousand decibels.

  ‘It’s a very dear old gentleman called Harvey Hoyland,’ replied Carla.

  ‘Name doesn’t ring a bell,’ sniffed Mavis. ‘Are they having a buffet after, do you know?’

  ‘A small private one at his brother-in-law’s house.’

  Mavis huffed whilst giving an Elvis sneer. She wouldn’t be able to go to that one then. She hadn’t had any breakfast either so she could have a good feast. That was a disappointment.

  They all filed into the lovely old Maltstone church. Unlike the last funeral Carla had attended, there were no dramatic scenes to spoil the dignity of the occasion.

  Harvey had left a letter outlining his desired funeral plans, which were very short and simple. He had chosen his favourite hymn and requested a cremation rather than a burial.

  The letter was in the same pocket in the suitcase as an envelope containing his will and the serviette signed by Placido Domingo. There were also photographs of him at Base Camp Everest, posing with Judi Dench, Sean Connery, Sir Ranulph Fiennes and, as identified by a stunned Bernard, the Sultan of Brunei.

  After hearing the story of the impromptu opera, Margaret suggested they play the song, ‘Time to Say Goodbye’, but Molly refused. She didn’t want to think of Harvey’s funeral when she heard that song; the memories she would recall were of the night in the restaurant, the diners applauding, his voice and presence filling the room. The song was beribboned in happy full-of-life memories in her head, not sad ones.

  So the small select congregation sang ‘To Be a Pilgrim’, and Bernard read a poem by Henry Scott-Holland which he had heard once at another funeral and thought the words would be a perfect fit for Harvey – and Molly.

  Death is nothing at all

  I have only slipped away into the next room

  I am I and you are you

  Whatever we were to each other

  That we are still

  Call me by my own familiar name

  Speak to me in the easy way you always used

  Put no difference into your tone

  Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow

  Laugh as we always laughed

  At the little jokes we always enjoyed together

  Play, smile, think of me, pray for me

  Let my name be ever the household word that it always was

  Let it be spoken without effort

  Without the ghost of a shadow in it

  Life means all that it ever was

  There is absolute unbroken continuity

  What is death but a negligible accident?

  Why should I be out of mind

  Because I am out of sight?

  I am waiting for you for an interval

  Somewhere very near

  Just around the corner

  All is well.

  Nothing is past; nothing is lost

  One brief moment and all will be as it was before

  How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

  Pavitar held Molly’s hand which felt as tiny and chilled as a new-born bird in his large, solid one. Margaret held her other and Molly felt the warmth from them both coursing through her like electricity and was strengthened by it. She was surrounded by such dear people – her family and her new friends who were already more important to her than her own son.

  The vicar was a young man who delivered a wonderful speech made up from information he had gathered from Molly and the Brandywines. He began by saying that Harvey Hoyland was like Austin Powers – an international man of mystery. No one would know the full story of his life now, but it was obviously a grand one. Harvey Hoyland was a man who loved adventures. He was flawed, impulsive, bohemian but he had a good and loving heart. And he died peacefully in the place where he was loved and accepted and cared for.

  After the cremation service, Pavitar, Carla and Leni went on to the Brandywine house and they all raised a glass to Harvey’s memory.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Molly said to them all. ‘We haven’t known each other all that long, but I feel that you were true friends to Harvey and myself. You helped make the time we had together very special.’

  She had cried and cried over the past days, but at the funeral she hadn’t at all. She would miss him but he had changed her and for the better. She intended to fulfil her promise to him and travel. She wanted to see the sights which he had and she knew she would sense him at her shoulder when she did so.

  When everyone had gone, Margaret insisted that Molly should not be alone.

  ‘Go and pack a few things and come back over here.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you, dear?’ asked Bernard.

  ‘No, I can manage,’ said Molly, not even wishing to put up any resistance to Margaret’s offer. She had always felt safe and secure in the old Brandywine house. It would be the perfect place to recharge her batteries.

  The answering machine on her phone was flashing when she walked into Willowfell. When she pressed the button, a female voice started talking.

  Hello, this is a message for Mr Harvey Hoyland. I wonder if you could give Sylvia a ring please on Barnsley 534878.

  Molly was in no mood to return the call or even to muster up enough curiosity to wonder what that was about, at least not today. She replayed the message and wrote down the number on a notepad though. Then she went upstairs to change out of the black dress and pack a bag.

  She pushed open the door to Harvey’s old room. His cologne was on the dressing table. It wasn’t an expensive one, but it suited him: it smelt of forests and open air to match the ridiculously free spirit he was. Molly screwed the top off and inhaled and imagined Harvey tipping it into his hands to slap onto his cheeks before they went out to the Teashop on the Corner. He had always been shaved and clean and as smart as his old suits and shirts would allow him to be. She pulled out one of his drawers which was full of socks, all paired into balls. He had few belongings, a couple of ten-pound notes in his wallet only. He had turned up at her door with that battered suitcase and not much else to his name. At least he hadn’t had a poor man’s funeral. Carla’s flowers had been stunning and Bernard had made sure everything had been arranged perfectly. She thought Harvey would have approved.

  His will stated very simply that everything he owned he left to Molly. She knew it wouldn’t have been very much at all. Stored with that envelope and the one containing his succinct funeral plans, she had found a third in his case, addressed to My Molly.

  She hadn’t felt strong enough to open it before. Now she did. She slit the seal and pulled out the folded paper inside written in his strong slanting hand.

  My Lovely Molly

  It is my turn to write a letter to you. If you are reading this, then I am gone and our outings to that wonderful Teashop on the Corner are at an end for me. But they must not be for you. I want you to start by taking my
ashes to Venice – there, that is a command. You cannot go to such a beautiful city alone so you have my blessings to take Pavitar with you. What a wonderful man. I should be happy if you were to become good friends or more. I want you to love and be loved, Molly. I want you to make up for lost time.

  Be warned, my love, you will not enjoy this paragraph.

  Twenty-five years ago, I recklessly put all the money I had in my wallet at the time on a seven-horse accumulator. Yes, I can imagine what you are thinking now, and how much your head is shaking, but I was an addict for the adrenaline rush. And my – what an afternoon it was, the reckless exploit of a lifetime. It was as if every horse was enchanted and flew acr oss the finish line. I won a lot, and I do mean a lot, of money. And I used it to travel ar ound the world and back again. It was all bloody marvellous. But never perfect, because you weren’t there with me and I always missed you.

  I hoped that one day I might have the courage to come back to you and take you to the other side of the world but my cowardly hand had to be forced by my condition. I regret that so much.

  Molly, my dear, there is a lot of money still left and it is all bequeathed to you, as you will see in my will. On the reverse of this letter are my bank details. Use the money to travel. And start by taking me with you to Venice so that I can lie in the waters there. I think I should enjoy bobbing ar ound with the gondolas.

  Live for us both, my darling. I wish I were with you, but know that my heart will stay with you always. Thank you for making my last days so perfectly precious.

  All my love – eternally.

  Harvey xxx

  Molly’s legs gave way and she sank onto the bed that Margaret had stripped. Tears dropped onto the letter, then stopped as quickly as they had started.

  Yes, I will live for us both, she heard her own voice, strong and loud, inside her say. Her head started buzzing with plans. She would tie up her money and make sure that her niece Melinda inherited the house. Graham and Sherry wouldn’t be getting a penny when she shuffled off this mortal coil. She wouldn’t wait for Margaret and Bernard to take her on a cruise, she would book one herself. And yes, she would start by going to Venice. She heard Harvey’s words whisper to her: That’s my girl.