11 The Teashop on the Corner (20 page)

Why decorate a room for her then if she’s hardly likely to use it
? he thought but didn’t say.

‘When you moved away from your home in Ireland you never went back to live there again, I presume?’

Shaun put his cup down and picked up his drill to take out the screws.

‘Yeah. I moved away from exciting Ireland and came to exciting here,’ he said. It sounded brutally sarcastic and he jumped in immediately to temper it. ‘South Yorkshire always
suited me fine. I came here for work, found plenty of it and stayed. I’ve been lucky.’

‘How often do you go back?’ asked Leni.

‘I don’t,’ said Shaun, pressing on a screw until it twirled upwards out of its home. ‘It wasn’t exactly a scenic part of Ireland I came from. No rolling green hills
or quaint villages.’

‘What about family?’

‘I have none,’ said Shaun and took out another screw. Then another.

‘Ah, that’s sad,’ said Leni, lifting the cup to her lips and picking up the tone in his voice that intimated no further questioning on the subject would be welcome.
‘Would you like some cake, Mr McCarthy? I’ve got some milk chocolate or . . .’

‘No thanks,’ replied Shaun. ‘I’m nearly done.’

‘Shall I pay you now, or at the end?’

Shaun waved his hand. ‘It’ll do later, when I find out how much the hinges are.’ He looked for somewhere to rest the door.

‘Against there is fine,’ Leni pointed. ‘The only thing it will block is access to the airing cupboard.’

Leni went back downstairs soon to be followed by Shaun and his toolbox. Mr Bingley had moved onto the sofa and looked like a fat orange cushion. Shaun handed her the cup.

‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said, noticing what a strange colour her eyes were – like mud with green flecks. Chocolate mint.

‘A slice of cake for your supper,’ said Leni, handing over a wedge wrapped in a cream serviette. ‘An interim payment.’

He took it because it would have been rude not to, but he knew he wouldn’t eat it.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll be around tomorrow at the same time.’

‘It’s Saturday night,’ she said, ‘I can wait. I wouldn’t want to drag you out again at the weekend.’

‘Doesn’t matter to me,’ said Shaun. ‘My work-life doesn’t have an off switch.’

Leni knew that feeling. Off switches were dangerous things. They gave you time to think.

‘Well, if you’re sure. Good night, Mr McCarthy.’

‘Night.’

Shaun called in for fish and chips on the way home to his large, empty house. After supper he ate the cake and wished it had been a bigger slice.

The next morning Shaun walked past Leni’s empty shop, took a casual glance through the glass in the door and saw someone with his hand in the till who wasn’t Leni.
It was a boy, with light brown hair and a green T-shirt. And he’d seen that boy before. He couldn’t remember where or when, but the fragment of memory didn’t have a good vibe to
it.

Shaun barged in through the door and marched so fast to the counter that Ryan, on his first morning at work, had no chance to react as his collar was grabbed and he felt himself being marched
between the tables.

‘I think you’re in the wrong place, laddie. Come back here again and you’ll find my boot right up your backside,’ he growled.

‘Let go of me, you knobhead,’ said the kid, struggling now, but his skinny limbs were no match for the strength of Shaun.

‘Mr McCarthy, what on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Leni’s voice from behind his shoulder arrested his movement.

‘This little swine had his hand in your till,’ yelled Shaun, thinking that she didn’t sound very grateful considering he’d probably saved her week’s takings. About
ten pounds in her case.

‘He’s my Saturday boy,’ shrieked Leni.

‘Yeah,’ Ryan affirmed, swinging from side to side to break free of the hold on his collar.

‘Saturday boy?’

‘Yes, it’s his first morning. Let him go, Mr McCarthy.’ Leni slapped Shaun’s hand and his fingers sprang open.

‘Why the hell didn’t he say?’ snapped Shaun.

‘Maybe he would have if you’d given him a chance.’ She addressed Ryan. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘I’ll carry on putting the change back in, shall I?’ and he gave Shaun a pointed look of annoyance.

‘Please,’ said Leni, giving him a comforting rub on his arm as he walked past her. Then she turned to Shaun and for the first time, she wasn’t smiling.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I thought . . .’

‘It’s fine,’ said Leni. ‘Crisis averted.’

‘Where did you get him from?’

‘He called in to see if I had a job.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘Why all the questions, Mr McCarthy?’

‘I’ve seen him before and I can’t place him.’

Leni sighed. ‘He’s from somewhere near Wombwell.’

‘Bit vague.’ Shaun called across to him. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Near Wombwell,’ replied Ryan, not looking up.

‘Whereabouts near Wombwell?’ Shaun pressed. The boy was being deliberately unclear and there had to be a reason for that.

‘Sort of just outside it.’

Shaun made an intelligent stab at a guess. ‘You’re from Ketherwood, aren’t you?’

Ryan’s head jerked up. ‘No,’ he said. But the upward inflection gave him away.

That’s why I know his face
, Shaun groaned inwardly.

‘Tell me he’s not one of the O’Gowan lot,’ he said to Leni. ‘I knew I’d seen him before. Although I bet I haven’t. I’ve probably seen one of his
brothers because they all look the f . . . same.’

Leni opened her mouth to answer, but Shaun didn’t leave her space to.

‘You wanna get rid of him now before you come in one morning and your stock is all gone.’

Then Ryan ran forwards, butted between Shaun and Leni and addressed them both, his head turning from one to the other.

‘Yes, I am from Ketherwood. I knew if I said I was from there, you wouldn’t give me a job. And yes I am one of the O’Gowan lot but I’m not like them. I won’t end up
in prison or selling drugs. I want to make something of me’sen. I’ve never been in trouble with the police, you can check.’

No one said anything and Ryan took it that his speech had fallen on stony ground.

‘Aw, I’ll get my coat,’ and he turned away.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Leni. ‘You’ll carry on sorting out that change if you want a job.’

Ryan turned back to her and the corners of his lips lifted in gratitude, then he went over to the till.

‘You’re mad,’ said Shaun, raking his large hand through his short greying hair.

‘Sometimes you have to give people a chance. They don’t always prove you wrong, Mr McCarthy. None of us is perfect.’

Shaun lifted his hands in surrender and his blue-green eyes flashed as big a warning to Leni as his next words did. ‘Don’t come running to me when it ends in tears. But if there is
any damage or thefts on my land, I’ll come straight here for him.’

And then he was gone, muttering the O’Gowan name under his breath.

By eleven-thirty that morning, Harvey was stir crazy.

‘Shall we go out into the sunshine? Have tea in a café somewhere?’

Molly huffed. ‘You’re supposed to be resting.’

‘I have been resting and I can rest again when I pop off,’ said Harvey, hoisting himself out of the chair. ‘But I can’t sit here and watch another
Columbo
.’

‘There is a little teashop I sometimes go to,’ said Molly. ‘It doesn’t have any outside seats yet but it’s very nice.’

‘Then lead the way,’ said Harvey. ‘I’ll even pay.’

*

It was quite odd to have a man she didn’t know at all moving into her house, Carla thought, but it would have felt a lot stranger had it been Rex Parkinson instead of Will
Linton. The more she thought about Rex, the more she was glad he had been so stubborn on the rental price.

She had thought about asking Will if he wanted a hand moving in, then stopped herself because she knew she should keep her distance. But Carla, being Carla, found herself outside on the drive
asking if he needed any help, and he gratefully accepted, as long as she left the heavy stuff to him, he said.

He didn’t have a great many things to move in with. She wondered if, like her, he had walked out of his old life with only the bare essentials, ready to start afresh. She presumed from
their conversation yesterday that he was newly separated or divorced. She noted that when he carried in the massive armchair, he managed it without any exertion. He might not have had bulging
muscles in his arms, but he was obviously very strong.

‘I need to get a bed and a sofa and things but I wanted to see where I ended up living and how much space I had first,’ said Will, explaining why he had so little furniture. He
looked embarrassed. Carla wanted to jump in and tell him that there was no need.

‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea or coffee?’ she asked.

‘Thanks, but I’ve got a kettle and I’ll put it on here and get acclimatised to my new living quarters.’

‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she smiled. ‘Oh, here are your keys. And your rent book. And your list of do’s and don’ts.’

He looked slightly stunned.

‘Joke,’ she said, her turn to be embarrassed, admonishing herself for being too familiar. She was probably coming across as a total loon.

His face broke into a smile. ‘Phew,’ he said. ‘I’ve stayed in enough boarding houses on jobs with those sorts of lists pinned to the back of the door to last me a
lifetime.’

He was an attractive man, thought Carla. Crinkles around his eyes that aged him but in a good way. Cheerful grey eyes.

‘Well . . . thanks,’ said Will, taking the book and keys and thinking it was good to be in the presence of a female who smiled. He realised then that Nicole had never once made him a
cup of tea or coffee in all the years they had been together.

*

Half an hour later Carla set off into town to buy a present for Theresa’s birthday but the road into the centre was jammed with cars because there was a food fair on in
the market. Carla took the first opportunity to double back up the road. Maybe she would find something in that lovely teashop on the corner.

She was thrilled to find Molly in there and not alone but with a gentleman, the one she had been talking about, who was ill, she presumed. He was very thin and had dark crescents under his eyes
but he was working his way through an enormous piece of chocolate cake. Carla noticed that there was a young lad helping Leni today. He was walking very slowly towards Molly’s table with two
cups of coffee.

‘Oh good morning, Carla,’ said Molly. ‘Harvey, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Harvey, this is Carla. For some strange reason we always seem to turn up here at
roughly the same time.’

Harvey stood and extended his hand. ‘Goodness and beauty gravitate towards themselves, I always think. Good morning, Carla,’ he said. ‘Charmed to meet you. Do join us.
We’re having coffee and cake.’

‘Yes, and I’m not sure that triple chocolate gateau is on your diet sheet,’ tutted Molly.

‘Then I must have picked up the wrong one,’ replied Harvey, casting a wink in Carla’s direction.

Carla couldn’t help smiling. How long did Molly say they’d been apart? And yet they looked like
a couple.
She wondered if people who saw her and Martin thought of them as a
couple. Then again, who would have seen them? She couldn’t think of the last time they had been out together – for dinner, lunch or even for a coffee or a walk.

‘And Carla, I’d like you to meet the newest addition to my staff,’ said Leni. ‘This is Ryan. He’s our Saturday lad.’

‘Nice to meet you, Ryan,’ greeted Carla. Ryan nodded shyly by way of return, obviously not enjoying the attention.

The table next to Molly’s had a half-eaten scone on it and a teapot.

‘Mr Singh is in the loo,’ said Molly. ‘How strange we should all be here today.’

‘He’s in a very good mood,’ smiled Leni. ‘He’s had a letter from his daughter.’

On cue, Mr Singh emerged from the toilet, jolly-faced as usual.

‘My goodness,’ he said on seeing Carla. ‘We are meeting here yet again.’

‘We’ve fallen into the same orbit around the teashop,’ laughed Carla.

‘Yes, well you can laugh, but I believe that happens,’ said Mr Singh, retaking his seat. ‘I have three times been on holiday to different places and met with people whom I
knew. Quite extraordinary.’

‘You look very happy today, Mr Singh,’ said Carla, giving him the opportunity to show off his news.

‘Ah well, I have a letter from my daughter.’

‘How lovely,’ said Carla, infected by his jollity. ‘I didn’t know anyone wrote letters any more.’

‘She rings on the telephone,’ he replied. ‘But she knows her papa likes letters, so every month she writes to me too.’ He sat down with a groan of contentment and took
out an envelope from his pocket.

Molly watched Mr Singh holding up the letter, savouring the shape of it. She recognised that wonderful anticipation. When they were courting, Harvey would send her notes in the post, even though
he lived just a short bus ride away. He knew she read his letters over and over again. She wished now she had kept them, not been persuaded by Margaret to burn them in the garden in a bid to rid
her heart of his spectre. It hadn’t. It had only served to make her wish she hadn’t destroyed them. All that remained was that postcard that said . . .

‘Wish you were here, papa-ji’ said Mr Singh, in complete synch to Molly’s thoughts. ‘She always writes that on the back. I wish she were here, but at the same time I want
her to spread her wings and take flight in the world. Like your Anne. Doesn’t it make you proud, Leni, that your daughter, like mine, is living, really living, life and seeing the
world?’

‘Oh my, yes, it does,’ agreed Leni.

‘Have you travelled much, Pavitar?’ asked Molly.

‘I always liked to travel very much with my wife,’ replied Mr Singh. ‘But not now. I don’t want to travel alone.’

Molly drew from that that Mr Singh was a widower. She wondered if it was worse to be alone for so many years and be acclimatised to it, or suffer the shock of losing a partner late in life. She
and Harvey had once made plans to travel all over the world when they could afford it, see the Northern Lights, drift on the canals of Venice, visit the Vatican, climb the Statue of Liberty, have
champagne at the top of the Eiffel Tower. She had crossed a couple of these off her list, but it wasn’t the same going with her sister and Bernard. Life with Harvey had been feast and famine
– depending on whether his gambling paid off. It was mainly famine.