Tuesdays at the Teacup Club Read online

  ‘Shall we get some dessert and you can tell me how you’re getting on with your latest project?’ JoJo said, pointing over to the glass cabinet of cakes and éclairs.

  ‘I’m not going to argue with that.’

  I said goodbye to JoJo just after three. We arranged that I’d meet my publicist at King’s Cross at ten in the morning on Friday, and she wished me luck with the tour. I headed in the direction of Oxford Street – there was time to fit in some clothes shopping before I went back to Sussex, and my wardrobe was definitely in need of a boost. Charlesworth might be many things – picturesque, peaceful and friendly – but it certainly wasn’t on the fashion frontline. Topshop was in my sights as my phone buzzed in my handbag. I picked up.

  ‘Chloe, hi,’ I said, stepping back as a black cab whizzed past.

  ‘Hi, Jen – have you got a minute?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Are you OK? You sound rushed.’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘What’s nothing?’

  ‘It’s Chris.’

  ‘Chris? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get through to him on the phone for two days, Jen. I’ve left messages but heard nothing back. It’s weird. I spoke with your dad but he’s not been able to get in touch either. So I came round to his flat – that’s where I am now – but no one’s answering the door.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, thinking back to the last time I’d seen Chris. It was a week ago, for Sunday lunch at Dad’s. Had he mentioned a work trip? Or a visit to Mum, where the phone reception was always iffy?

  ‘The thing is, Jen,’ Chloe went on, ‘his car’s here, and I can see a light on. I’m pretty sure he’s in.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, Chlo. You go home and I’ll drop by on my way back.’

  Abandoning my planned visit to Topshop, I took the tube to Victoria and got a train back to Sussex. I called Chris’s number a couple of times. It rang through to the answerphone, but there was nothing particularly unusual about that. Chloe was inclined to worry about things, and I wanted to be able to put her mind at rest.

  That Sunday lunch at Dad’s, Chris had shown me the engagement ring he was planning to propose to Chloe with. Could he have got cold feet?

  I walked from Charlesworth train station to the quiet residential street Chris’s flat was on, just a few minutes from where Dan and I lived. When I reached the ground-floor maisonette, I pressed the button on his intercom and peered through the curtained bay window. I could see a light on in his living room. When there was no reply to the doorbell I rapped on the front window and called out.

  ‘Chris, it’s me, Jen. Are you in there?’

  I saw movement, and then heard him buzz me in. Relieved, I pushed the door open and picked up some of his post that was lying on the doormat. As I walked through the black-and-white-tiled hallway his flat door opened, and Chris was framed in the doorway in his wheelchair. His usually warm, tanned skin looked pale.

  ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘What’s going on? Chloe said she’s been calling and …’

  ‘I know. I’ve been meaning to call her. I’ve been pretty tired.’

  ‘Tired?’ I said. My brother didn’t do tired. He worked hard, and then he played hard, usually leaving the rest of us for dust on nights out.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, reversing his chair and leaving me room to pass.

  ‘Here you go,’ I said, handing him the post. He put it on a side table. ‘Chris, how tired do you mean? Dad said he hadn’t heard from you either.’

  ‘I don’t want Dad worrying, he doesn’t need any stress.’ Chris barely looked over his shoulder at me as he spoke.

  ‘Worrying?’ I echoed.

  ‘It’s no one else’s problem. I want to deal with this on my own.’

  ‘Deal with what, Chris?’ I said, my pulse racing. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Maggie

  Monday, 9th September

  Pushing Stan’s buggy ahead of her, Maggie stepped inside Bluebelle du Jour, and took in a lungful of the scent of fresh flowers – lilies, freesias and tulips filled her shop, with vintage photos and street signs from Paris on the walls.

  ‘Maggie!’ Anna said enthusiastically, stepping out from behind the counter to give her a hug hello. She was wearing a white apron and large silver hoop earrings, her blonde curls up in a top-knot.

  ‘Hi,’ Maggie replied, noticing how fresh and youthful her assistant looked and hoping the bags under her own eyes weren’t too obvious. Stan had barely slept last night, or the two nights before, and as a result had been cranky all morning. Cranky didn’t come close to covering what Maggie was feeling.

  ‘I’m afraid Stan’s joining us today,’ she explained. ‘Owen got called away at the last minute.’

  Anna bent down to get a peek at Stan, and he gurgled as she tickled his toes. ‘Great. It’s his shop too.’

  ‘So, how’s everything been going?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Oh, fine,’ Anna said confidently. ‘Pretty quiet this morning, apart from the deliveries.’

  ‘There haven’t been any delays, have there? I was wondering, with the rain and everything.’

  Maggie heard a noise and glanced down nervously at Stan in his buggy, but he was playing with his dummy calmly.

  ‘Everything’s gone smoothly,’ Anna said, straightening her apron. ‘We’ve got a christening this weekend, but that’s been organised for a while. And the next wedding we’re doing isn’t for another month.’

  ‘OK,’ Maggie said. ‘Sounds good. Thanks for holding the fort so well.’

  ‘I’ve really enjoyed it. The events especially.’

  Maggie nodded, and carried on nodding, not saying anything. Her mind went blank, and she realised she’d forgotten what Anna had just said.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m fine,’ she said, shaking off her fatigue. ‘I thought it would be a good time to come in and catch up, but now…’ She ran a hand over her hair, knotty with tangles, and her words trailed off. She couldn’t catch hold of her thoughts again.

  For the whole weekend days had run ungoverned into nights, dawn drawing around again before she’d even closed her eyes sometimes. Stan was teething and keeping her awake almost constantly with his wails of distress. She’d been desperately putting on cooling gels and trying to soothe him, but nothing seemed to help. It worried her to see him in pain.

  ‘You could always come back another day?’ Anna said. ‘There’s nothing urgent to deal with, honestly.’

  Maggie considered it for a moment. She’d told herself she’d start back today, and while Stan being there too wasn’t ideal, she didn’t want to change her plan.

  ‘I’ll just take a look at the orders and accounts,’ she said. ‘I’ll be out in the back room if you need me.’

  As she said it, she realised how unlikely that was. Anna seemed completely in control. Maggie had once thought no one could run the shop like she could, multi-tasking, scheduling and managing events – but perhaps she’d been wrong about that.

  She walked into the back office, wheeling Stan with her, then sat down and switched on the laptop. She opened a spreadsheet Anna had been keeping updated with orders, and ran her eyes over the dates and flower specifications. As she looked at the screen, the numbers jumped around. The words became unfamiliar to her.

  Stan fussed in his buggy, tossing and turning, and let out a piercing cry. Maggie pressed her eyes shut, tight, and cradled her head in her hands.

  Just after midday, Maggie stepped out into Charlesworth High Street. She’d done all she could at Bluebelle. She passed the new coffee shop, Love Latte, which was full of students, twenty-somethings on their laptops and mums like her, chatting over steaming hot drinks and muffins. She crossed over the road towards Blitz Spirit.

  Pushing open the glass door, she saw Alison bent over a table wiping away cake crumbs, dark hair swept back in her trademark victory rolls, and bright red lipstic
k on.

  ‘I know I’m a day early, but tell me you’ve got five minutes?’ Maggie said, pushing Stan’s buggy inside. He’d finally fallen asleep.

  ‘Of course, Maggie,’ Alison said with a smile. ‘And for this one’ – she peeked into Stan’s buggy – ‘anything. How about a banoffee pie? For you, I mean. Would that help?’

  ‘I think it would, yes,’ Maggie said, taking a seat. ‘Thank you.’

  Alison made her way over to the counter and brought out a large slice of pie on a plate.

  ‘Thanks,’ Maggie said, taking hold of it gratefully, and Alison poured them both cups of tea. ‘This brings back memories,’ Maggie said, reaching out to touch the blue and white china teapot.

  ‘A find from Teacup Summer,’ Alison smiled, recalling the time they’d spent together collecting teacups from auctions and charity shops, feeding a passion for vintage they shared with Jenny. After the cups were used for Jenny’s wedding, and the wedding Maggie was arranging flowers for, Alison had turned most of them into teacup candles and sold them from her craft site. The remainder were here, at Blitz Spirit.

  ‘That time feels like a world away now,’ Maggie said. ‘So uncomplicated.’

  ‘How are things going?’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘The honest answer? I’ve barely slept the last couple of nights with Stan’s teething.’

  ‘You do look a bit tired,’ Alison said, her forehead creased in concern.

  ‘I can’t think straight, Ali. I just popped into Bluebelle to make myself useful.’ A lump rose to her throat as she spoke. ‘But I couldn’t do a thing.’

  Alison reached across the coffee table and touched her friend’s hand gently. ‘Go easy on yourself. It’ll take a bit of time, that’s all.’

  ‘I know you’re probably right,’ Maggie said. ‘But how long? I feel like such a mess.’ She held out the sleeve of her green tea dress so that Alison could see the stain on it. ‘Look, brand new and there’s baby sick on it already.’

  Alison smiled. ‘Maggie, you, even after a few late nights in a dress with stains on it, are still more glamorous than the rest of Charlesworth after hours scrubbing up. You’re not getting any sympathy from me.’

  Maggie laughed, surprised at the sound after a few days of not hearing it. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m being self-indulgent and vain. How I look doesn’t really matter. But my brain – that does. And it seems like I can barely remember what day it is at the moment. It’s hard to be a good mum when you can’t think straight.’

  ‘You’re doing a great job, Maggie. Don’t push yourself so much.’

  ‘I want to do it perfectly,’ she said. ‘But whatever I do with Stan seems to result in chaos – and at the same time, I don’t know if I can face putting him in nursery, handing him over to a stranger.’

  Alison nodded, as if she recognised the feeling from her own time as a new mum.

  ‘I feel bad about it, but I also miss the shop, working, meeting people – talking to grown-ups. I know I should be treasuring every minute with him, and I’ll never get this time again. But – Ali, I used to have these big dreams, setting up a sister shop for Bluebelle down in London, do you remember? And now, well, I’m lucky if I get out of the house once a day, and even that seems to take three hours.’

  ‘This stage won’t go on for ever,’ Alison said soothingly. ‘You do get your brain back. A bit.’

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. ‘Promise me?’

  Alison nodded. ‘And then they find new ways to destroy you,’ she smiled.

  Maggie laughed. ‘So how are Sophie and Holly?’

  ‘I shouldn’t speak ill of them, they’re being lovely at the moment, actually. We bought Sophie a screen-printing kit and she’s been squirrelled away in her room making greetings cards. A nice change from me and Pete having to drag her back from parties and apprehending secret boyfriends in our hallway. Holly’s in a production of Guys and Dolls at school, so she’s rehearsing for that at the moment.’

  ‘How’s Pete?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘He’s doing well.’ Alison’s eyes lit up at her husband’s name. If Maggie hadn’t witnessed some of their ups and downs the previous summer, she would assume they’d always been blissfully happy. ‘He’s been really supportive of the extra hours I’ve been doing here, and if me and the girls ever get a square meal I have to say it’s down to him.’

  ‘What a keeper.’

  ‘Yes, I think so. You know what, I’ve been thinking more about that suggestion you made, about the screenings.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Jamie really liked it, and it turns out we probably do need something to keep us ahead of the competition.’ Alison nodded across the road.

  ‘Love Latte?’

  ‘Yes. Although we don’t love them that much at the moment. Look – they’re packed. Business definitely slowed over the weekend, and I saw a couple of our regulars in the queue there this morning.’

  ‘It’s just curiosity. It’s the first coffee chain we’ve had in Charlesworth, after all. People will soon come back,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Fingers crossed they will – but no harm in offering them a little something extra, a weekly event where they can catch up with friends and have a unique experience to boot. We can project the films on the wall over there’– she pointed – ‘then dress the café to fit the film. Teacup cocktails, treats, the works.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Maggie said.

  ‘I’ve already been publicising the launch online, and on the night Chloe’s promised to do a feature for Sussex Living. Hopefully it’ll draw in a few out-of-towners.’

  ‘It sounds perfect,’ Maggie said. ‘Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do to help.’ Just then Stan started to grizzle, and she reached into his buggy and undid the straps to lift him out. He clutched at her banoffee pie with his chubby hand. ‘Hey, hands off, Stan. That’s mine.’ She moved it out of his reach, and replaced it with a rusk from her bag.

  ‘Shame Jen won’t be able to make it,’ Maggie said. ‘I haven’t heard from her, but I think she must be off on her book tour already. She sounded on top of the world, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, the lucky thing. Let’s hope she still remembers us when she’s rich and famous.’

  Jenny

  Tuesday, 10th September

  The hospital waiting room smelled of bleach, and orderlies hurried down the corridors wheeling trolleys and holding clipboards.

  Chloe had called me twice this morning. I felt awful not picking up, but I couldn’t face lying to her again. The other day, after I left Chris’s flat, I’d told her he was fine, just caught up with his work and in need of a bit of space.

  ‘Christopher Davis?’ the receptionist called out. Chris caught her eye and nodded. ‘The doctor will see you now.’

  I took hold of his hand and squeezed it. It was the same hospital that Dad and I had taken him to for appointments when he was little. I hadn’t expected to be back again now.

  ‘You still want me to come in with you?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, managing a faint smile.

  We went together into the small, minimally furnished room.

  ‘Good morning,’ the consultant greeted us. Chris wheeled up to her desk and I took a seat next to him. The doctor’s hands were steepled in front of her as she leaned forward. Her face was familiar to me, but I noticed she was older now, with grey strands in her hair.

  ‘So how are you doing, Chris?’

  ‘Not that great actually, Dr Kilbride,’ he said, shuffling a little. ‘The pain in my back has got a lot worse, and my legs are weaker. I’ve been in my chair the whole time, whereas normally I’m OK some of the time on crutches. I’ve managed fine for years, but this is different – much worse. I know you said to try resting, and the anti-inflammatories, but I don’t think any of that is helping.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the consultant said.

  I tried to gauge from the doctor’s face how serious this was, but her expression did
n’t give anything away.

  ‘A tethered spinal cord isn’t an uncommon complication in adults with spina bifida, and it seems likely to be what’s causing your symptoms. As you know, we like to explore non-surgical options first, but there are times when, in order to prevent symptoms worsening, we may choose to operate.’

  Chris looked nervous, and I covered his hand with mine again. It was rare that I thought of him as my little brother, given how often he was the one looking out for me, but right now I felt it acutely. He was the vulnerable toddler Dad and I had taken to appointments, and who I’d shared sweets with on the way home.

  ‘What are the risks of that?’ I asked.

  ‘Any operation carries risks,’ Dr Kilbride said. ‘If all goes well, we could see some improvement in your brother’s condition after the spinal cord is detethered. But, among other things, there could be some nerve damage, and if so, it can be permanent.’

  ‘You mean operating on his spine could actually make things worse?’ I asked. In my anxiety the words just slipped out, and Chris glanced over at me, a trace of fear in his eyes.

  ‘There is a chance of that,’ Dr Kilbride said. ‘Which is why it’s something Chris needs to think about carefully. But if we don’t operate, it may be that his condition continues to deteriorate all the same.’

  I tuned out slightly as she talked Chris through the operation, the length of hospital stay and the time he’d need to rest afterwards. My mind was crowded with worries about what could go wrong. After about fifteen minutes we said goodbye to the consultant, and went back out into the fresh air. The day was overcast and it had started to rain.

  I helped him back into my car, and got into the driver’s side. ‘You will tell Chloe about this, won’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chris said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t really want her to see me like this. Weak. Sick. I hate it. I want her to see me how I was. I want things to be the way they were before.’