11 The Teashop on the Corner (47 page)

It was over. Her little safe world was punctured and her dreams were going to bleed out and taint everything. And the irony was that kindness and affection had been the weapons of her
destruction.

The next day started ordinarily enough. Ryan went off to school happy that he only had three more days of term left and Leni got ready for work. She faced herself in the mirror
and wondered how she was going to cancel out all the dark shadows under her eyes that were evidence of little sleep. She applied her mascara and hoped that no one she knew had heard the live
transmission yesterday – Trumpet FM was hardly Radio 1, after all. She squeezed her eyes shut and pleaded:
Please, please God – don’t take it all away from me. Not yet.
I’m not ready.

She tipped her head back so that the tears threatening to come and ruin her make-up would sink back to their waiting place. No doubt they would be called for soon.

She walked into the tearoom and saw a vision of the photographers and that woman with the notepad, following Pavitar and Molly, pausing by Anne’s postcards and she felt physically
sick.

She would work in the back and not open up the shop. She couldn’t serve anyone with a smile. She didn’t have one to give today.

As promised, Pavitar arrived at Molly’s house with three copies of the
Daily Trumpet
early on Thursday morning. They had arranged to read it together and then go
over to the teashop with a copy for Leni in case she hadn’t seen it.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Molly, seeing the grim cast of his features as he unfolded his copy.

‘Oh Molly,’ he said, he looked almost tearful. ‘Poor Leni. What have we done?’

*

Shaun went against his own grain and bought a
Daily Trumpet
on the way to work. He never bought that trash, but today he made an exception. He picked up the folded copy
on the stand, paid for it, bypassed the lure of the headline about a fantasist and turned straight to the middle colour supplement, but there was no mention of the Teashop on the Corner or Leni. He
shook his head, bloody typical. All bells and whistles and no substance. He threw it down on the passenger seat and it was then he fully noticed the front page headline.

MY EX-WIFE, THE SAD FANTASIST

And underneath it was a photograph of Leni, smiling and holding a piece of cake.

*

The recent winner of the
Daily Trumpet
Most Welcoming Café in South Yorkshire award was yesterday revealed as a sad fantasist by her ex-husband Rick
Merryman.

‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard the radio broadcast declaring her the winner and what was going on,’ said Mr Merryman, 45. Originally from Bradford, taxi-driver Mr
Merryman happened to be transporting a customer to Penistone when he heard the live broadcast on the radio. ‘I heard some people talking about all the postcards she had received from our
daughter Anne and I nearly crashed. Anne died over a year ago just before she was due to fly out and spend the summer working in Greece after her A-level results.’

Tragically eighteen-year-old Anne Merryman died of SADS, Sudden Arrhythmia Death Syndrome, sometimes referred to as Adult Cot Death.

‘We had been divorced for many years. Alas, I hadn’t seen my daughter since she was five, but I thought about her every day,’ said Mr Merryman. ‘Leni refused to
accept that she had passed on. She didn’t even go to the funeral and has never visited her grave. Leni grew up in care and Anne was her world. Anne’s death made her go mental. I thought
she’d be in a loony bin by now. She should be if she is writing postcards to herself pretending they are from Anne.’

‘I can’t read any more,’ said Molly. ‘Poor darling Leni. We should go and see her, Pavitar, and show our support.’

Pavitar screwed up the newspaper in disgust. ‘They shouldn’t report something as tragic as this,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive you, Molly.’

*

Will only nipped out for five minutes to buy a
Daily Trumpet
but by the time he had returned, there were four cars in the Spring Hill car park and two more pulling in
behind him.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked Carla.

‘I’m hoping it’s people visiting the teashop,’ replied Carla excitedly, holding out her hands for the newspaper. ‘Come on, I’m dying to see it.’

Will wasn’t convinced that the
Daily Trumpet
could have that much influence. Something felt wrong. He stared out of the window and watched people getting out of the cars and
heading across the square towards Leni’s shop.

‘There’s a news team from TV,’ he said to Carla who was frantically flicking through the supplement.

‘I can’t find it. They haven’t put her in.’

‘There’s two cars with
Daily Trumpet
written all over them. What are they doing back so soon?’

Then Carla saw it. Plastered all over the front page of the main newspaper. She scanned the words and some of them stuck like barbs in her brain. ‘Sad fantasist. Ex-wife. Leni. Mental.
Anne. Died.’

*

Shaun crossed over to the group of people clustered outside the Teashop on the Corner. He recognised Ailsa, the woman who had been carrying the microphone when they awarded Leni
the prize just a couple of days ago. There were two men with cameras, another woman talking into a voice recorder. He had to stop himself from charging at them like a bull and scattering them.

‘Is she in?’ Ailsa asked Shaun. ‘The shop says closed and the door is locked but I’m sure I’ve seen someone moving about.’

‘Wouldn’t that indicate that she didn’t want to talk to you then?’ growled Shaun. ‘Haven’t you done enough damage?’

‘Who are you?’ asked a woman, holding a voice recorder out to capture what he said.

‘Never you mind who I am, just get lost the lot of you. There’s no more stories here. Have some respect for a grieving mother. You’ve got all you are getting, you bunch of
emotional leeches.’

‘It’s local news and of interest to the public,’ said Ailsa, a cocky glint in her young eyes.

Shaun’s quiet voice brooked no alternative. ‘I said go away and I meant it. Ms Merryman won’t be answering your questions today or any other day. It might be in the interests
of your crappy little newspaper, but unless you want to find yourself the subject of a harassment order, trust me – you better leave.’

There was something about the man that made Ailsa Shaw back right down. Maybe it was the clipped tone of his Irish accent, or the sub-zero look in his eyes, but she did believe that with him on
sentry duty, she wasn’t going to get any more of a story. Plus her boss had told her to forget it if there was any trouble. He didn’t need any more heat. He was in the process of being
sued by a Doctor David Thompson after the
Daily Trumpet
had reported him incorrectly as being a paedophile rather than a paediatrician.

She shrugged confidently so the team with her didn’t suspect she was cowed by this man.

‘Oh, we’ve stopped the cheque,’ she threw behind her as she walked off on her heels.

‘I’m sure Ms Merryman will be absolutely gutted,’ Shaun batted back and turned to the others. ‘Please go. Leave her in peace.’

Surprisingly they did. He’d expected to have more of a battle, verbally or physically, and he would have given it to them, but they surrendered their interest.

Shaun waited until they had all gone before he knocked on the teashop door.

‘Leni, let me in because I don’t have a skeleton key on me and I’m likely to break the door down any moment,’ he called. ‘And you know that I will.’

Through the glass he saw her emerge from the back room and cross slowly to the door. She lifted the catch and he stepped in and the sight of her hunched and red-eyed and so desperately lost
wounded him and he knew then why she had slipped past all his defences. She was of his world. She was damaged and broken and still bleeding from the trauma of her daughter’s death and a part
of him had recognised her distress signal and responded to it. His arms closed around her, crushable and fragrant and shaking and he pressed his lips into her lemon-scented hair and she felt every
bit as wonderful as he had imagined.

‘Oh Leni, you poor wee thing. What pain you must be in.’

He felt tear drops soak through his shirt.

‘What a mess,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve lied to you all.’

‘Let me just say this. You are the nicest, kindest, gentlest person I have ever met. Your friends adore you, Ryan adores you. Those bastards don’t mean a thing.’

Carla and Will appeared in the doorway and saw the big Irishman holding her.

‘Oh God, Leni. Don’t be upset,’ said Carla coming up behind her and stroking her hair. ‘You must not worry about anything. It’s all tomorrow’s chip paper, as
my mum used to say.’

Shaun pulled her to arm’s length but daren’t let go because he thought she might crumble to the floor. He bent down so he could look her straight in the eyes.

‘You’ll be all right, Leni. We’ll all make sure you’re all right.’

Then Pavitar and Molly rushed into the teashop and took her out of Shaun’s arms and into their own.

*

‘I found her,’ said Leni, after taking a sip of the tea which Carla had made for her. ‘She had her case packed and the passport was on her dressing table and
she was leaving for Athens with her friends early that morning. And I went to wake her at four o’clock because they all had a taxi booked for five to take them to the airport, and she was in
bed, snuggled in her quilt, her head on the pillow and she was so cold.’

Tears dropped slowly down her cheeks.

‘I didn’t want to believe she was gone. Rick tried to make me face up to it, but I wouldn’t. He said I needed to go to the funeral and I’d accept that she’d . . .
but I didn’t want to. Instead, I wrote postcards to myself and I pretended that she was still alive, doing what she had planned to do before she went to Cambridge. She had her whole life in
front of her. She was fit, she was healthy, she looked after herself, she didn’t take drugs – there was no reason for her to die. There was no explanation why she didn’t wake up.
They couldn’t find a cause.’

Leni dropped her head and her shoulders started shaking uncontrollably. Molly’s eyes drifted to Pavitar, for help, for enlightenment, but he shook his head, unable to think of anything he
could say that would be of comfort.

‘I think anyone with a heart would understand,’ said Carla as Will held her hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Leni. ‘I’ve deceived you.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Carla. ‘I’m sure that none of us are even thinking that. We’re concerned about you, not about a wall of bloody postcards.’

‘You should go home, Leni,’ said Molly softly. ‘You aren’t in any fit state to be here. Let this whole thing blow over. Horrible people. They’re the ones who should
be ashamed.’

‘I’ll drive you,’ said Shaun, his voice more gentle than Leni could have thought possible.

‘Thank you,’ said Leni. ‘Thank you all for your friendship.’

Carla smiled at her. ‘You have become one of my dearest friends, Leni. I should be thanking you for all the support and kindness you’ve given me. Sod what narrow-minded ignorant
people think. They mean nothing.’

‘Go and get your handbag and Mr B,’ commanded Shaun as Pavitar, Molly, Will and Carla filed out of the Teashop on the Corner after hugging her and telling her to take care. Leni went
into the back room for her bag and coat. She was struggling to put it on when Shaun came up behind her to help. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool so no one would ever harm her again. He picked
up Mr Bingley’s cat carrier in one hand and put the other around her shoulder and steered her out to his car, locking up the Teashop on the Corner behind him. Had she always been so small?
She seemed to have shrunk in the past twenty-four hours, as if all the joy and smiles had been sucked out of her.

He drove her to the cottage and walked in with her. He noticed the framed certificate on the wall and the scrolled lettering underneath –
Three Years Running.

‘Don’t worry about the boy,’ he said. ‘We’ll sort it.’

She had been in care too, he had read in the newspaper. She had buried her sadnesses deep under her smiles whilst he had buried his under work.

‘Thank you, Shaun. Thank you for all your kindness.’

She took off her coat and slumped to her sofa. She looked totally drained of everything but pain and shame. He sat down on the chair next to her and took her small hand in his. She was
frozen.

‘I was in care too,’ he said. ‘I know what it’s like. I understand. I was one of the unlucky ones, never finding a family to settle with.’

‘Me neither,’ replied Leni.

‘Surely not.’ He thought of Leni as the young girl she must have been and couldn’t believe that a family wouldn’t have been blessed to have her.

‘I was very different back then. Bit of a handful. I don’t think I knew how to love until I had Anne,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure I ever had the capacity.’

‘You?’ he said. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘Learning to love opens you up to all sorts of pain,’ she replied. ‘But I wouldn’t have missed having her for the world.’

Learning to love.
Is that what he was doing now? No one had managed to make Shaun McCarthy feel like he was feeling now. It was killing him seeing this woman in front of him suffering
so much.

‘Shall I stay with you?’ he asked.

‘I want to be on my own for a bit,’ she said, forcing out a tired smile.

He rested his hands on her shoulders and looked unblinkingly into her eyes.

‘If any one of those journalists turns up, you ring me straightaway, do you hear?’

‘I will,’ she said.

He kissed her head. His lips didn’t want to leave her.

‘Ring me, if you need me,’ he said. He would drive past her house later, to check that all was okay. ‘Remember, you don’t worry about anything. Ryan O’Gowan.
I’ll sort it. I’ll sort everything.’

And he walked slowly and reluctantly out and Leni, with no more tears left inside her, closed her eyes and savoured her memories of Anne. Before she began the process of letting her go.