The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘I feel really guilty about the article,’ Neal is saying and my stomach drops. The article he’s writing about The Sweetest Kiss must be awful. He’s slammed the service, which means nobody will take part and we’ll be back at square one. Except we won’t even have the luxury of square one – I’ll be forced to take a step back to minus one, which means closing the teashop and giving up on my dream. I’d been so confident that this was the idea that would propel us out of our slump and it hurts to realise I’ve been wrong. Again.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Victoria says, which is rubbish. It is Neal’s fault. If he writes a glowing article, it’ll at least give us a fighting chance. ‘You didn’t know they’d gone behind my back and signed without me.’

  Oh, the relief! My knees feel a little bit weak, but luckily Nicky is still clutching on tight so I don’t stumble and draw attention to our nosy parker-ing. They aren’t talking about my article. They’re talking about the back-stabbing band’s, which came out this morning. The article had been nauseatingly gushing, lording Perrie West as Woodgate’s answer to McFly. To be fair to Neal, he didn’t know the quartet were such back-stabbing little weasels when he wrote it.

  ‘I knew one of them was familiar, but I couldn’t place him,’ Neal says. ‘I meet a lot of people doing this job. It’s only now I realise I’d seen Tom at the trial run.’ Neal shakes his head. ‘The worst thing is, I didn’t even like them. They were so smug, talking about their “art” and how they knew it was their destiny to make it big. They haven’t even made a record yet and they’re already mentally collecting their Brit award for British Breakthrough Act.’

  ‘Did they even mention me?’ Victoria asks in a small voice that’s barely audible from our spying post. My heart aches for her.

  ‘Funnily enough, they didn’t mention that giving their bandmate the heave-ho was part of their destiny,’ Neal replies.

  ‘They wouldn’t want to ruin their image and shoot themselves in the foot before they’ve even released their first single,’ Victoria says.

  ‘From the way they acted during our interview, their image isn’t going to be good anyway. They’ve certainly got inflated egos. The phrase “too big for their boots” springs to mind.’

  ‘It’s so weird because they’re not usually like that,’ Victoria says. ‘They’re usually good lads. Kind. Caring. Helping-grannies-cross-the-road types. I don’t know what’s happened to them.’

  ‘The lure of fame and fortune, probably,’ Neal says. ‘If you want, we could knock them back down a peg or two. Take a pin their egos.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We could do a follow-up with your side of the story, expose them for the gobshites they really are.’

  Victoria shakes her head. ‘As tempting as that is – and it’s really, really tempting – I still want to be a singer and nobody will take me seriously if I get all whiny in the press. The best revenge I can have is being more successful than they are.’

  ‘You’re a bigger person than I am,’ Neal says.

  ‘Not really.’ Victoria slips off the counter and stands in front of Neal. When he straightens, Victoria barely reaches his armpits. ‘You’re a giant.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Neal says. ‘You’re just a shrimp. What are you, four foot seven?’

  Victoria jabs him playfully in the chest. ‘Five one, and don’t you know the best things come in small packages?’

  There’s a stifled groan beside me. ‘They’re flirting,’ Nicky hisses. She tugs me back into the safety of the kitchen, her grip slightly too intense on my arm. ‘At least now we know they didn’t sleep together last night.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’ I don’t believe for a second that they did either, but I’m interested to know how Nicky came to that conclusion after Victoria and Neal’s exchange. Did I somehow zone out while they were having a catch-up of last night’s events?

  ‘Men like Neal never flirt after the act,’ Nicky says, taking a furtive peep out into the teashop. ‘They gather their clothes and flee, never to be seen or heard from again. You heard him last night: he doesn’t do relationships.’

  ‘And you’re attracted to him because …’ I’m genuinely astounded. I’m afraid to venture into a new relationship for fear of getting hurt again while Nicky actively courts heartbreak. I always thought she’d been unlucky with her choices in men, but perhaps she’s been seeking the wrong ’uns out all along.

  ‘Because he’s divine.’ Nicky sighs, which turns into a whimper. ‘Just look at him. Uh-oh.’

  ‘What?’

  Nicky plasters a smile on her face and speaks to me out of the corner of her mouth, cartoon-like. ‘He’s looking at me. We have to go out there.’ Nicky steps forward, the smile widening. ‘Neal! How lovely to see you again. What can I get you?’

  ‘Err, you don’t work here,’ Victoria is pointing out as I join them.

  ‘I know that.’ Nicky saunters over to the table nearest the counter, her hips swaying that bit more than usual. ‘I’ll have a peanut butter blondie and a cup of tea when you’re ready.’

  There isn’t much more on offer today; I baked batch after batch of Victoria’s favourite dessert this morning in the hope of cheering her up. Plus, I was a little distracted by the whole Caleb’s underpants fiasco and I lost count of the number I’d popped into the oven. The refrigerated counter is stuffed with blondies and there are more waiting in the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll have one of those too,’ Neal says, leaning against the counter once more. ‘And a coffee, please.’

  ‘My absolute favourite,’ Victoria says before bouncing behind the counter to fulfil the orders. Nicky’s eyes bulge at me in a ‘see, they are flirting’ way.

  ‘Make that another peanut butter blondie and a cup of tea,’ I say, joining Nicky at the table. ‘Why don’t you come and sit with us, Neal?’

  ‘Sure.’ Neal pushes himself away from the counter and drops into a lime green chair. All of my chairs are brightly coloured. I spray-painted them myself in a rainbow of colours and shades so that no two are matching. ‘I wanted to speak to you actually. About The Sweetest Kiss.’

  ‘Thinking of signing up?’ Victoria asks as she picks up a blondie with a pair of tongs.

  Neal laughs and I see Nicky’s lips purse at the sound. She wants to make Neal laugh and hearing it caused by another woman is enough to bring out the green-eyed monster.

  ‘Not me,’ Neal says, oblivious to the lurking monster sitting opposite him. ‘My sister.’

  ‘You don’t have to rally around, finding clients for us,’ I say, before thinking better of it. ‘Actually, that would be a great help. Sign up everyone you know. I don’t want next Friday night to be a flop.’

  Neal laughs again, clearly assuming I’m kidding. I sneak a look at Nicky and prepare to flee should the need arise.

  ‘It was my sister’s idea,’ he says. ‘I mentioned it and she asked me to put her name down before the list fills up.’ If only it would fill up. So far we have two names on the list and both of them work at the neighbouring craft shop. Even Nicky hasn’t signed up yet. ‘Bea’s not had much luck with men. Her last three boyfriends have been an embarrassment to mankind and the last one’s lucky he’s still a living, breathing member of society. I personally think she should give up on men, but she isn’t so keen on a life of celibacy.’ Neal makes a ‘what are you gonna do?’ face. ‘So, will you put her name down?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll just grab a registration form and questionnaire from the office.’ Mags knocked up the forms and, unlike the flyers I’m attempting to design, they look professional. When I return, the blondies and drinks have been set out on the table.

  ‘I’ll drop this back off as soon as possible,’ Neal says, folding the form and tucking it into his satchel.

  ‘I’ll put your sister in on the database in the meantime,’ I tell him. Mags also set up the database that we’ll use to keep track of our clients. I’d be lost without my ever-faithful, business-minded Mags.

 
‘Thanks.’ Neal takes a bite of his blondie and groans. ‘I forgot how good these are. I was too spellbound by the sparkling company at the trial dating run to fully appreciate them.’

  I roll my eyes but I’m delighted. ‘Smooth-talker.’

  ‘Speaking of smooth-talkers,’ Neal says, wriggling his fingers over his plate to dislodge a few stray crumbs. ‘What happened between you and Caleb last night?’

  I’ve been chewing a chunk of blondie but Neal’s words distract me and a large crumb finds its way into my airway. Coughing and spluttering – way to look cool, Maddie – and with a firm palm to the back from Nicky, I manage to clear it.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I rasp. Has Caleb told him about the underpants thing? Did they have a good laugh together at my expense?

  ‘You left together,’ Neal says as my colouring loses its bluish hue.

  ‘With Nicky,’ I point out carefully. How much does he actually know? I can tiptoe around the subject as delicately as possible, but it’ll be a wasted effort if he knows everything already.

  ‘Ah, but he doesn’t fancy Nicky.’ Neal turns to Nicky with a slight rise and fall of his shoulders. ‘No offence. You’re obviously gorgeous, but he’s taken a shine to this one.’

  Nicky visibly glows from the compliment. ‘No offence taken.’ She gives her brown curls a good twiddle but Neal has already turned back to me.

  ‘He likes you.’

  ‘He does not.’ I can feel myself growing hot in the cheeks area even though I know for a fact he doesn’t fancy me. I clearly heard him telling Birdie that he wasn’t interested in me and, even if he were, I’d have put him off with my idiotic social skills last night.

  ‘He might not admit it,’ Neal says. ‘He’s had a pretty rough time with Celine over the past few months that would put anyone off relationships, but I know Caleb. We’ve been best mates for twenty-six years. He likes you.’

  ‘I’m not sure Caleb will appreciate you sharing your wisdom though,’ Victoria says. ‘Didn’t we stop doing the “my mate fancies you” thing when we left primary school?’

  Neal nods. ‘Under normal circumstances, yes. But Caleb’s been through the mill lately. He needs a foot up the arse to set him back on course.’

  If that’s true, why oh why did I have to make such a fool of myself last night?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’m not scheduled to work the following day, so I enjoy a lie-in until half past eight (which is a lie-in of Sleeping Beauty proportions when you’re used to dragging yourself out of bed before the birds start singing most days) before allowing myself a lengthy shower and taking the time to blow-dry my hair instead of slinging it into a long plait.

  ‘I’m not working.’ I hold my hands up in surrender when I pop down to the teashop and find myself on the receiving end of a death glare from Mags. She’s recovered from her hangover and is in fighting form. ‘I’m just printing off a sample flyer and picking up cake for me and Dad.’

  I don’t have any plans for the day, but I thought I’d pop in on Dad and let him take a look at the flyer before I commit to it. He won’t tell me the truth (that it’s laughably amateurish), but he will feed me lies and make me feel better about it.

  ‘I’ve surpassed myself with the cinnamon buns,’ Mags tells me. ‘Shall I box a couple up?’

  ‘Yes please,’ I say before I dash into the office. I try not to look at the flyer in too much detail before I click print, and I shove it into my tote bag as soon as the printer has spat it out. By the time I head back out into the teashop, the buns are waiting on the counter. I slip the box into my tote and half-raise my hand to wave goodbye to Mags and Victoria but freeze when I spot Rehana through the glass pane in the door, her hand reaching for the handle. For the first time in the history of Sweet Street Teashop, one of our neighbours from the letting agency steps inside.

  ‘Rehana, how lovely to see you,’ I say in full-on simpering mode. I can practically hear Victoria’s eyes rolling behind me.

  ‘I hear you’re running a speed dating night next week,’ Rehana says, sidestepping any pleasantries. ‘I want in.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Like an idiot, I clap my hands together. ‘Victoria, can you grab Rehana the forms, please?’

  ‘I would absolutely love to,’ Victoria says while mocking me by clapping her own hands together.

  ‘And a set for George,’ Rehana calls out as Victoria scurries towards the office.

  ‘Can I get you anything else while you’re here?’ Mags asks. ‘Tea, coffee? Cake?’

  Rehana scrunches up her nose. ‘No, thanks. I’ve already done the coffee run this morning. Just the forms will be fine.’

  Victoria returns with the forms, which Rehana snatches before wafting out of the teashop, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and rejection in her wake.

  ‘What’s this I hear about dating?’ Robbie, who has been quietly sipping his banana milkshake by the window, turns in his seat. He pushes his thick-framed, hipster-style glasses up his nose and leans in towards us while I explain the concept behind The Sweetest Kiss, covering the cost and times planned.

  ‘Are you interested in signing up?’ I ask in what I hope is a casual tone rather than the desperate, pleading vibe going on inside my head.

  ‘Yes,’ Robbie replies quickly before clearing his throat and throwing his right shoulder up towards his ear in a shrug. ‘I mean, it sounds okay. A laugh.’

  ‘Another set of forms, please,’ I say to Victoria, who salutes and heads back to the office.

  I feel light of foot as I leave the teashop, tote bag swinging (but not too much in case the cinnamon buns get squished). We haven’t even started to advertise yet and we already have four girls and two boys interested. I have a promotion plan up my sleeve, so imagine how many will sign up once I really get going! I just have to get the awful flyers to the printers first …

  Dad isn’t at home when I arrive, which is troublesome but not entirely unexpected when I haven’t actually called ahead to make sure it’s okay to drop round. I could never do this with Mum – she likes her days to be structured and planned to within an inch of their lives – but Dad and I have a much more relaxed relationship. Plus, it’s no big deal. I can simply hop back in my car and call again another time.

  ‘Hello. It’s Maddie, isn’t it?’ Dad’s neighbour says as I’m about to step back through the gate.

  ‘Hello, Jane.’ The neighbour seems pleased that I’ve remembered her name, her face registering first surprise, quickly followed by delight.

  ‘Your dad left around half an hour ago,’ she tells me. ‘He had his wellies on, so I think he was heading to his allotment.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll try there.’ I step through the gate, but Jane hasn’t finished with me yet and scuttles out of her own garden to meet me on the pavement.

  ‘He’s a very talented gardener, your dad. He brought me some surplus potatoes and cabbages over the other day and they were delicious.’ Poor Jane. It isn’t Dad’s potatoes and cabbages she’s interested in. I wonder if she knows about Birdie? ‘Will you tell him I said hello?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Jane’s eyes crinkle as she smiles with gratitude. She edges back into her garden while we both give an awkward little wave. I climb back into my car and head for the allotment, stopping at a teashop for a couple of takeaway teas on the way. It’s a bog-standard, all-day-breakfast type of teashop and not a patch on Sweet Street Teashop. Not that I’m biased or anything.

  Parking the car just before the turning towards the dirt track, I grab the teas and my tote bag and walk across to the allotment. I spot Dad in the distance immediately, his khaki-floppy-hat-clad head bent over one of his raised beds. I’m about to call out when I spot somebody else lurking by the shed. The woman is wearing Mum’s pink-and-white-spotted wellies and matching gardening gloves, her hair held back off her face with a sunshine yellow scarf. There is a little dog circling around her ankles.

  ‘Dad, Birdie,’ I call as I make my way o
ver. I try to wave when they look up but my hands are full.

  ‘Hello, love.’ Dad straightens and pulls me into an earthy-scented hug. ‘How did you know we were here?’

  ‘Jane told me.’ Though she didn’t say anything about Dad having company. ‘She said to say hello from her.’ I lower my voice so Birdie doesn’t overhear. ‘I think she’s still keen.’

  ‘Stop teasing your old dad or I’ll give you a list of gardening chores, starting with weeding.’ Dad kisses the top of my hair and releases me.

  ‘I brought tea and cinnamon buns, but there’s only two. I didn’t know …’ I look towards Birdie, who gives a wave of her hand.

  ‘Not to worry. I have a flask of tea in the shed.’

  ‘We could share the buns,’ I suggest, placing the teas down on an old, slightly wobbly and very rusty patio table. Pulling out the boxed buns, I tear them both in half, feeling a bit Jesus-like as I share out the portions, though I’d take Mags’s delicious cinnamon buns over loaves and fish any day.

  ‘No way, mister,’ Birdie tells Franklin when he eyes up the spare piece. ‘Maybe Gerry would appreciate it. Gerry!’ I hadn’t noticed Dad’s allotment rival, but he pops his head out of his own shed (which is smaller than Dad’s, as Dad likes to point out). Despite the sun making a welcome visit today, Gerry is wearing a ratty old sweater and a thick bobble hat.

  ‘We’re having cake,’ Birdie tells him. ‘Would you like to join us?’ She proffers the box with the leftover cinnamon bun and Gerry grunts in response. I’m not sure whether it’s a yes grunt or a no. ‘Come on, perch yourself next to Maddie here – she won’t bite, I promise – and I’ll pour you a cup of tea from my flask.’

  Remarkably, Gerry follows Birdie’s instructions and he shuffles over to lower himself gently on the side of the raised bed while Birdie nips into the shed, returning with the promised flask and an extra plastic mug. I think Birdie has actual magical powers. Not only is she healing Dad’s broken heart, but she seems to be healing the rift between Dad and his allotment neighbour as well.