The Tea House on Mulberry Street (5 page)

Brenda was shocked. It was so unlike Penny to be outspoken. She was usually the most docile of creatures. There was something about her today, some bright look in her eyes that disturbed Brenda. Were her words an omen? Brenda believed in omens.

Suddenly, she bolted from the shop to the postbox outside and thrust the letter into the slot. Then, immediately, she was sorry. She peered into the postbox, but it was too late. The letter was gone, down into the darkness at the bottom. It was now the property of the Post Office.

With knees that had turned to jelly, she tiptoed back inside, and sank into her chair. Her tea was cold. She looked hopefully towards the counter. Penny usually gave her a free refill, but her luck was out today. Penny was back at the sink and there was only Daniel at the counter, with a frown of concentration on his face as he carefully sliced up a big cake with fancy icing on it.

Brenda began to breathe very softly, to calm the panic that was making her heart flutter. And she waited for the postman to come, to make the ten o’clock collection.

Chapter 4

H
ENRY
B
LACKSTAFF
’
S
D
ILEMMA

Henry Blackstaff was the next customer in Muldoon’s Tea Rooms that day. He came in just as Brenda was leaving. She did not return his smile. He settled in to his favourite spot by the window and sat down. Daniel was at his side at once. Henry said hello and ordered a full Ulster fry with extra soda bread and a pot of coffee. Daniel was pleased to take down the first decent order of the day. He brought Henry his cutlery and set it down on the table with a showy flourish. An old big-tip gesture from his hotel days at The Imperial.

Henry pulled a copy of
The Guardian
from his jacket pocket. He spread the newspaper on the table, and began to read.

Henry was forty-one and a failed novelist who spent his days sitting behind a large desk in his antique bookshop on Great Victoria Street. He had inherited the shop, his lovely home and a substantial sum of money from his uncle, Bertie Blackstaff. Bertie had made his money building railways in England and when he died without a family of his own, Henry got the lot. He sat in his shop, writing his dreary novels, and selling the occasional book, and living a peaceful life. Then he met Aurora.

She came into his shop one day, hoping to find a first edition of
Jane Eyre
, or a signed copy of anything by Charles Dickens, and found Henry instead. It was love at first sight for both of them. Aurora Blackstaff was an institution in her school. All-Girls of course, and only the brightest students were admitted each September. English and Drama were her subjects, had been for twenty years, and she was now Deputy Head Teacher. She had dedicated her life to the abolition of regional accents, and the promotion of classic English Literature of the Nineteenth Century. In her spare time, Aurora formed a literary appreciation society and called it The Brontë Bunch. The members of the society met at Aurora’s house twice a month, when they all squeezed into the sitting-room for a cup of tea and a reading.

Aurora wore her long blonde hair in a tight bun and swept along the school corridors wearing floral-print dresses. She was forty-five but looked older. Once, she thought she heard the voice of Emily Brontë calling to her when she visited Haworth Parsonage in Yorkshire, with a group of her students, but it might have been only the wind moaning over the moors.

They had no children. Aurora was too busy for that, and Henry’s days were filled with dreams of a prestigious publishing deal that never came true. Aurora often commented that Henry was not as tall as he used to be, and Henry assumed that this was due to his disappointment in life in general.

Now Aurora was embarking on her most ambitious plan to date. She was going to have an enormous conservatory built on to the back of the house. She planned to hold the society meetings in it. The Brontë Bunch was growing in popularity.
The Irish News
wrote an article about the society for their culture section, and in the days that followed, a small mountain of letters dropped through Aurora’s letterbox. There were twenty people in the society already, and another fifty new applications. Aurora sorted through them carefully. She did not want any social climbers or lonely hearts milling around her Victorian mansion on the Malone Road, or eating her iced cakes and cucumber sandwiches.

Henry Blackstaff did not like the man who came to the house to give them a quotation. He thought that Arnold Smith was oily and brash, and he had a habit of touching things that did not belong to him. Henry remembered that the man had picked up an antique vase and inspected the underside of it, before setting it down again in the wrong place. Henry wanted to ask Arnold Smith to leave the house at once and never come back, but unfortunately
Walley Windows and Conservatories of Distinction
were the only firm in Belfast who could build the huge conservatory that Aurora wanted. Henry remembered that day in photographic detail. That was the day his whole life changed.

“I don’t like that man. He’s a greasy little charlatan,” said Henry, when Arnold Smith’s blue Jaguar went silently down the tarmac driveway. “He’ll say anything to get a sale. ‘Are you an actress, Mrs Blackstaff? Your face is so familiar…’ He must think we are idiots!”

“He is a colourful character, I’ll give you that,” said Aurora. “But one must expect a little drama from these trade types.”

“When will we know how much they are going to charge for this white elephant? That’s what I want to know. I don’t see why you couldn’t just rent a hall. Or meet in a pub and have a few drinks while you’re at it. That’s what other people do in these situations. In these clubs.”

“Henry, dear, I cannot hold the meetings in some dim and draughty hall or in a smoke-filled public-house, with drunken males swearing in the background. The atmosphere would be entirely wrong. It is not simply a book club. It is more than that. It is a society.”

“Oh, pardon me! A society, no less.”

“Yes, indeed. And a society calls for dignity, Henry dear. A conservatory will be the answer to all our problems. We will have plenty of room to spread out, and you won’t have to run away and hide in that little tea house of yours.”

“Well, you know I can’t stand them all. Especially Mrs Johnson, trying to look like Queen Victoria with her fingerless gloves and her silly black cloak.”

“Stop making such a fuss, Henry. Honestly, you are quite obsessed with Mrs Johnson and her darling cloak. That garment is a genuine piece of Victoriana, a family heirloom, if you must know. What a fantastic eccentric she is! We might all attend in costume some day. That is an excellent idea, though I say so myself. Now, be a dear, and brew a pot of tea. I want to read over these brochures before dinner.”

After dinner, they had a blazing row. That was when Aurora told Henry that most of his beloved garden would have to be removed by the mechanical digger, to make way for the conservatory. He hadn’t realised it was going to be so big.

“Mr Smith assures me,” said Aurora, “that his company has years of experience in the safe removal of mature trees. Now, won’t that be nice for you? You won’t have to worry about the gardening any more. It’s ruining your posture, if you must know.”

“But, my greenhouse, Aurora! My little greenhouse! Surely it can stay? It’s full of rare specimens – I’ve all kinds of grafting experiments going on in there –”

“Oh, Henry! You’re too much! You can’t honestly expect me to read aloud to the society with that decrepit eyesore spoiling the view. Ha, ha! The thought of it!”

“So that’s it? It’s not even up for discussion? You’re just going to throw my prize plants away?”

“A few old bits of half-dead twigs? What do you think? I’m doing you a favour, my darling. And by the way, I thought you might like to grow a moustache; it would look so in-period when you’re serving the refreshments.”

There was nothing Henry could say to that little speech, without using the kind of language that would make Aurora faint.

Remembering that moment, Henry shook his head. He couldn’t concentrate on his newspaper. Maybe he was a chauvinist, like Aurora said. Maybe it offended him to see his wife make important decisions involving large sums of money.

He looked up as Penny brought him his breakfast. She was carrying the hot plate carefully, with a clean tea towel. It made him feel guilty, to be waited on by this gentle woman. They’d become good friends in recent months. Penny knew all about The Brontë Bunch, and how much Henry resented it.

“Will there be anything else, Henry?” she asked.

He shook his head. “This looks absolutely delicious,” he said, to show his appreciation. The cafe itself has seen better days, he thought, but the food is second-to-none. It was worth the long walk from the Malone Road. “It’s Aurora,” he said, as Penny turned to leave. “Another mad scheme. A very expensive scheme, this time. A conservatory, to be precise. Huge bloody thing. The whole garden will have to be bulldozed. But she won’t listen to me. Oh, no!”

“You’re a sweet man. You dote on that woman. I’m very jealous, you know.” Penny did not tell Henry what she’d read in a magazine: that buying a conservatory was a sign that a couple needed more space. That perhaps their home was becoming claustrophobic. Daniel maintained that magazine editors made half of the stuff up as they went along. Penny agreed with him, this time. After all, what could possibly be wrong with a lovely conservatory? Penny would love one, herself.

Henry was pleased. Penny’s comment made him feel like a romantic fool, a rich husband indulging his pretty wife. That was the line he would take. He would pretend he had changed his mind, and he would tell Aurora to go ahead, and buy the best model on the market. No matter what the cost. Then, when faced with actually writing the cheque, she would hesitate, and worry about spending her life savings. She would announce that the whole project was cancelled and Henry would be gracious and not say ‘I told you so’. And she would adore him again.

He would make it up with Aurora, he decided, and they would laugh at her silly scheme to build a conservatory. Yes, he thought. By this time tomorrow, she would have abandoned the idea. It was an outrageous extravagance, to spend so much money on what was, after all, a hobby. Uncle Bertie’s monkey-puzzle, and all the other trees, ripped out on a whim? Surely she wouldn’t be able to go through with it?

Feeling much better, he shook salt and pepper onto his breakfast, and began to eat.

Chapter 5

T
HE
S
ECRET
L
IFE OF
S
ADIE
S
MITH

Unknown to Henry Blackstaff, the long-suffering wife of that greasy conservatory salesman, Arnold Smith, had just come into the shop. Her name was Sadie. Head cook in the Smith household. Chief bottle-washer, solitary carer of Arnold’s bored parents and all-round general martyr.

After making sure there was no-one she knew in the place, she removed her headscarf and dark glasses, and made her way to the counter. Sadie Smith was on a diet, but Muldoon’s Tea Rooms served the best home-made cheesecake in the city.

Today, they were serving cherry cheesecake, Sadie’s favourite. There it was, behind the glass. Huge, black cherries on the top, dripping glistening sauce down the sides of a pale, yellow base. Sadie willed Penny or Daniel to hurry up and serve her. They were dithering in the kitchen, and didn’t return to the counter for at least thirty seconds. Sadie was weak with desire by the time she caught their attention. She asked for two slices of cheesecake, fresh cream, two scoops of vanilla ice cream – and a cappuccino, chocolate powder on the top. She whispered her order to Daniel, like a spy revealing national secrets. As Penny heated up the milk at the coffee-machine, Sadie sat with her back towards the other tables and she waited, with her stomach in a knot of anticipation. When the food came she set upon it like a starving woman. Daniel gave her a wink, the old charmer. He knew what she was up to. Starving women on crash diets were very good for business.