11 The Teashop on the Corner (27 page)

‘Ugh,’ said Molly and Carla together.

‘Of all the lovely poems that Keats wrote and you pick that one out, Ryan,’ tutted Molly. She saw Ryan stifling a giggle as she picked up the menu and fanned herself with it.

‘My, it’s warm outside,’ Molly said. ‘That storm last night has really cleared the air.’

‘I’d like a pot of vanilla tea, please,’ asked Carla. ‘I think that will be more refreshing than coffee today. Nothing to eat for me. I had fish and chips last night and
I think I’m still digesting them.’

‘I haven’t had fish and chips for ages,’ said Molly, drawing in a whistle. ‘Make that pot for two. Sounds lovely.’

As Leni poured hot water over the vanilla tea-leaves she noticed Shaun through the window. He was wearing khaki combat trousers that showed off strong calves and a white short-sleeved T-shirt
that stretched over his muscular frame. Leni dragged her eyes back to the task in hand. She found herself secretly looking at Shaun McCarthy too much these days.

‘Why don’t you take a break, Ryan? Grab yourself a piece of cake and there’s some cans of pop in the back fridge,’ she said.

‘Can I go and sit on the grass outside?’ he asked.

‘Of course you can.’

‘So Ryan, when do you break up for the summer holidays?’ asked Molly as he lifted the dome up over a very tall chocolate cake and began to cut himself a slice.

‘End of July,’ he said.

‘Are you going on holiday?’ asked Carla.

He looked at them both as if they were mad. ‘No. We don’t go on holiday.’

Carla and Molly and Leni exchanged glances of silent sympathy. Every one of them could have hugged the boy.

‘Well, you can always make up for that,’ said Molly with a rush of positivity. ‘I didn’t really go anywhere until I was in my twenties. I was over forty when I went on a
plane for the first time.’

‘I’d like to travel,’ said Ryan, going into the back for a drink. ‘I will, one day.’

‘Good for you,’ said Leni, bringing a tea tray over to her customers.

Carla poured. Leni had given them an accompanying plate of tiny cherry shortbread biscuits. Life felt good today. It was as if some of the outdoor sunshine had found its way inside her. Ryan
took his cake and can and went to sit on the grass square outside the shop.

‘What a lovely boy,’ said Molly, her eyes following his slight frame. There was something about the lad that made the tears well up in her eyes. She thought of what Harvey had told
her about his early loveless life with not a lot of food on the table.

‘He is,’ Leni agreed.

Molly wiped her eyes on a serviette, apologising to the others as she did so.

‘Don’t you worry,’ said Carla, reaching over to give her arm a comforting rub. She suspected – rightly – that Molly was ready for crumbling under the pressure of
trying to be brave.

‘Oh, I feel silly,’ said Molly, sniffing back tears that refused to stop. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’

‘Is it Harvey?’ asked Leni. ‘Is that what’s upsetting you, Molly?’

Molly dropped her head and nodded.

‘Oh, you poor love.’ Leni handed her a fresh serviette.

‘He’s fine, the picture of health,’ half-laughed Molly then. ‘He gets a little tired now and then but he seems far more robust than the rules say he should be. It’s
me who’s losing sleep.’

‘What exactly is wrong with him?’ Carla asked softly.

‘It’s a heart condition,’ replied Molly. ‘Nothing can be done except to keep up with the medication. I feel as if I’m living with a time bomb. He’s accepted
what’s going to happen, I can’t.’

Molly wiped furiously at her eyes. They were starting to become sore. She was angry for disgracing herself in public like this.

‘Trying to keep a stiff upper lip constantly must be very difficult,’ said Leni, taking a seat next to Molly.

‘It is,’ Molly agreed. She didn’t add that she thought she was losing it and that she’d been on the brink of accusing Harvey of stealing her jewellery when he
hadn’t. At least he hadn’t
this
time. And from what he said recently, he didn’t believe he had stolen from her before either. That had confused her. She didn’t know
if he was wily or going funny in the head as well.

Carla nudged the cup of tea closer to Molly’s hand. ‘Have a drink,’ she urged, then immediately felt annoyed with herself. As if a slurp of tea would make this situation any
better. And she thought she had problems not being able to get a job. But Molly lifted the cup to her lips anyway.

‘That’s lovely,’ she said.

‘How British of us,’ smiled Leni softly. ‘Cup of tea cures all.’

Molly let loose an unexpected burst of laughter. ‘How kind you both are,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anytime you want to escape and have some space, you come here,’ said Leni.

‘Look, here’s my mobile number,’ said Carla, scribbling onto a serviette. ‘You call me if you want a natter. And don’t think twice about it.’

Ryan came back in and Molly turned her head away so that the boy couldn’t witness that she had been crying.

‘That was quick,’ said Leni.

‘It’s too hot,’ he said. ‘I like it better inside.’

‘You could do with some sun on that pale skin,’ Carla teased him.
And some meat on your bones
, she added mentally.

‘I suit being this colour,’ he grinned. ‘My dad’s girlfriend is orange. Except for her hands that are whiter than me.’

Carla let loose a hoot of laughter and Molly’s and Leni’s joined it. It was a moment of jollity that was well needed and they all blessed young Ryan for giving it to them.

Leni was pinning up another postcard when Molly and Harvey walked into the teashop.

‘Oh please let me see,’ said Harvey. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Don’t be so nosey, Harvey Hoyland,’ Molly admonished him.

Leni handed over the postcard. She had cut the stamp out of the corner as usual.

‘Ah, Crete. What a lovely island. Not my favourite but close to the top.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Molly, opening her handbag. ‘I’ve got a bag of stamps for you to add to your collection for the blind dogs. Only ordinary first and second class,
I’m afraid. No foreign ones.’

‘Blind dogs?’ Harvey laughed until he set himself off coughing.

‘Oh, you know what I mean.’ Molly sighed as she thought about Anne’s postcard. ‘How lovely to be young with all your life in front of you. I planned to do so much with
mine. Funny how it works out in the end.’

Mr Singh was already in situ and pouring a cup of tea. ‘At last, my literary friends are here for Bram Stoker Tuesday.’

‘Don’t you go working yourself up,’ Molly gave Harvey a quiet warning as he sat down. ‘I don’t think Bram Stoker would appreciate your death on his
conscience.’

‘Oh sit down, woman,’ twinkled Harvey. ‘I feel as if my heart could go on forever when I’m battling with Pavitar.’

Mr Bingley was asleep on the next chair and Molly gave him a stroke. He woke up momentarily, though not enough to open his eyes. He raised his head lazily and then replaced it on his paws.

‘The specials today are Vampire red velvet cake and Whitby white chocolate and raspberry pie,’ Leni announced.

‘I’ll have them both,’ chuckled Harvey, casting his arm in a large flamboyant arc.

‘You will not,’ said Molly.

‘Not good for the body but very good for the soul,’ said Mr Singh, lifting up a spoonful of the white chocolate pie to his lips.

‘I’m past caring about that,’ replied Harvey, banging his chest wall. ‘Restrictive cardiomyopathy. With complications. Doctors can do bugger all which gives me more or
less carte blanche to do what I like.’

‘Really?’ said Pavitar Singh, putting down his spoon. ‘Are you taking your medication regularly?’

‘I am,’ Harvey said firmly. ‘I am not, however, going for check-ups just to be prodded and poked. I hate hospitals. I hate waiting around in hospitals watching thin, poorly
people in cheap dressing gowns. I hate drips, medicines, those bleepy machines, the food. I never realised that anyone could make such a cock-up of marrowfat peas but they seem to manage it in
hospital.’

‘Then perhaps we should not argue so forcibly,’ said Pavitar Singh.

‘Oh yes we should,’ replied Harvey, wagging his finger. ‘You won’t use the poorly card against me. I thought better of you than that, Pavitar.’

‘As you wish. Prepare for war then, friend.’

Mr Singh lifted up his cup and toasted Harvey’s prolonged good health. Harvey was grateful that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to lecture him. Pavitar Singh was already high up in
his estimations, but he went a little further for not pulling out the doctor advantage and using it.

Leni had just served Harvey and Molly with tea and cake when Carla walked in.

‘Oh Carla, turn back and go out,’ Molly waved at her. ‘It’s about to kick off in here this morning.’

Carla smiled and wasn’t deterred.

‘Good morning,’ said Mr Singh and Harvey together.

‘Morning. And what trouble are you two causing today?’

‘Well, it’s Bram Stoker day, although I think our conversation could extend to other books about the supernatural,’ said Harvey, pulling down on his jacket lapels as if he were
a professor about to deliver a lecture.

‘Like what?’ asked Carla, taking a seat next to Mr Bingley.

‘Cathy’s haunting of Heathcliff,’ Harvey replied.

‘And Jane Eyre, hearing Rochester calling out her name three times when she is on the brink of saying that she will marry Mr St John Rivers,’ added Mr Singh.

‘Frankenstein,’ Carla clicked her fingers with enlightenment.

‘Marley’s ghost,’ suggested Molly.

‘Coffee?’ Leni mouthed at her.

‘Yes please and a slice of . . . is that red velvet cake?’

‘It’s vampire cake,’ winked Leni.

‘Of course it is. I’ll have that please.’

‘I do like a bit of the supernatural in my books,’ admitted Pavitar. ‘I am quite fascinated by psychic phenomena.’

‘Molly’s twin sister is a psychic,’ said Harvey without thinking, much to Molly’s obvious horror. He immediately covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Sorry, I forgot
it was a secret.’

But it was too late. All eyes were eagerly fixed on Molly to explain.

‘Big mouth,’ grumbled Molly.

‘Molly, I am so sorry,’ said Harvey, but his apology was making everyone extra keen to discover to what he had been referring.

‘She isn’t a vampire, is she?’ asked Pavitar with a twinkle in his large brown eyes.

‘Well, Molly?’ said Carla. ‘You can’t leave us in suspense like this.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Molly, wafting her hand as if she was wasting everyone’s time by trying to explain. ‘She just . . . sees things.’

‘Dead people,’ put in Harvey, much to Molly’s added annoyance.

‘Dead people?’ echoed Mr Singh, wiping cake crumbs from his beard.

‘Oh fiddle . . .’ Molly puffed out her cheeks. Harvey really had put her in an intolerable situation.

‘This stays in this room and goes no further.’ Molly waited for everyone to nod in agreement before she started.

‘When my sister started nursing in her teens, she used to see people sitting at the sides of patients in their beds at all times of day and night and, though she presumed they were
visitors at first, she couldn’t help feeling there was something different about them,’ she began to explain under duress. ‘They brought a prickle of electricity into the air, she
said. It didn’t take her long to realise that she was the only person who saw them. When she reported them to the sister for being present after visiting hours, the sister thought she’d
gone loopy because she couldn’t see what Margaret saw, so Margaret learned to keep her mouth shut and hoped whatever was causing these visions would go away. All the patients the
visitors
stayed with died very soon afterwards. The only possible conclusion was that they were people who had already passed, who had been close to the patients and had come to take them
on – to the next place. Margaret never mentioned it to anyone outside the family. She is a private and down-to-earth woman and it upset her for many years, until she learned to live with it.
There, now you know.’

‘Wow,’ said Carla. ‘What a gift.’

‘It was a long time before she recognised that it
was
a gift. She could give the patients with the visitors at their side the sort of end-of-life care they needed and a little bit
more of her time. It was hard for her to see medical staff battling to keep them alive when she knew it was useless and yet her nursing background compelled her to try also. There was never an
instance where a patient with one of those visitors didn’t die. You can’t beat death.’

‘Nope,’ said Harvey. ‘But you can give him a good run for his money.’ And he lifted the last piece of his cake to his mouth.

‘But, please will you forget what I’ve just told you all?’ asked Molly. ‘I would feel very disloyal if she ever found out I’d told anyone.’

‘It’s forgotten, Molly,’ said Carla, wondering if someone had been hanging around the garage on the day that Martin had his heart attack, and who would be most likely to come
for him. His mother, she supposed. Horrible, great nasty lump of a woman. Maybe, when she came down to the garage, she tripped and sat on him and that’s why he went so fast. A giggle bubbled
up in her throat and she coughed it down. What the hell was the matter with her?

Molly felt Harvey’s large warm hand fall over her own.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘It was out before I could stop it.’

‘Oh, I don’t suppose it matters,’ sighed Molly, turning to Mr Singh. ‘Maybe you knew my sister, Mr Singh. Margaret Brandywine. She was a matron before she retired. At the
Northern General Hospital in Sheffield.’

Mr Singh raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, I did know her. Very efficient nurse.’

‘Of course Margaret is much larger,’ put in Harvey. ‘More your Peggy Mount type of figure to Molly’s Pat Coombs.’