‘Speaking of a death wish.’ Mags leans in to join our hushed conversation. ‘Don’t let me near a cocktail tonight. I don’t want to be rolling home again. And the hangover! I’m not as young as you lot. My body can’t hack it.’
‘Plus, you want to be as fresh as daisy for your date tomorrow,’ Victoria points out.
‘That’s if there is a date,’ Mags mumbles.
‘Don’t start this again.’ I nudge Mags with my elbow and give her a mock-stern look.
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ Victoria asks and I fill her in on Mags’s fears. ‘Don’t talk rubbish. He’s mad about you. He’s been flirting with you for weeks.’
‘But why? That’s what I want to know.’
‘Because he fancies you, you daft woman,’ Victoria says.
‘See! Right there!’ Neal is pointing at Victoria and practically bouncing up and down in his seat. ‘They’re friends and Victoria has just called Mags a – and I quote – daft woman.’
Nicky splutters. ‘You can hardly compare “daft woman” and “knob” and all the other, far more sordid things you refer to each other as.’
‘And she is being daft,’ Victoria says.
‘So it’s okay if the label fits?’ Neal asks.
Victoria nods. ‘Of course it does. But you don’t think Caleb is a knob. He’s your best mate.’
I’d almost forgotten about Caleb’s imminent arrival during my furtive convo with Victoria and Mags, but I’m reminded of it now and feel butterflies attempt to take flight in my tummy. I hope my make-up is still intact. Perhaps I should nip to the ladies’ and apply a fresh coat of lipstick …
‘All right, all right, I give up.’ Neal holds his hands up. ‘You’re all ganging up on me now.’
‘Aww, poor baby.’ Victoria reaches over to stroke Neal’s hand and I half expect Nicky to bat it away. Or worse – wrench Victoria’s arm from its socket and toss it over her shoulder. Luckily for all involved, Nicky behaves herself and neither bats nor wrenches. I’m proud of her. And mightily relieved.
Caleb arrives part-way through the next round, wearing a pretty formal outfit for a Friday night, which consists of grey trousers, a blue-and-white checked shirt with a navy tie and a buttoned-up cardigan. I’ve never fancied a man in a cardigan before (my dad wears cardigans, for goodness’ sake), but this is teacher-chic at its best. He just needs a pair of sexy specs and I think I’ll actually swoon. I’m so absorbed in my ogling, I don’t notice Caleb looking directly at me.
‘I’ve come straight from school,’ he says by way of explanation as he loosens and then removes the tie. ‘Whose smart idea was it to volunteer for the summer talent show?’
‘Hard work?’ Nicky asks and Caleb holds up his hand so he can count the misdemeanours on his fingers. He needs both hands. The children at Caleb’s school, it seems, can be a bit of a handful.
‘I’m so glad I chose a career in hair and beauty,’ Nicky says. ‘You don’t get many pre-teens coming in for a mani-pedi. Let me get you a drink while you recover.’
‘I’ll have a pint, thanks.’ Caleb shoves his tie in the rucksack he’s brought with him. ‘It’s at times like these I wish I’d stuck with my original career plans.’
‘It’s never too late,’ I tell him. ‘Look at me – just over a year ago I was miserable doing admin jobs while dreaming of opening my own teashop.’
‘I’m not sure how it would work out. It isn’t like I can quit my job – I have Cara to support.’
‘But it’s something to think about,’ I say. ‘You’re really talented and you shouldn’t give up on the idea of having a career you love.’
I think about the teashop, about the hard work and frustration, and I know I wouldn’t want it any other way because the joy of reaching my dreams far outweighs the difficulties.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’m slightly hung-over the following day, but I don’t have the luxury of sleeping until noon and spending the rest of the weekend on the sofa, watching Friends repeats and eating bacon sandwiches. It hurts, but I peel my eyes open at too-early-o’clock and shuffle downstairs to the teashop, where I make a start on the morning’s baking.
I think about Caleb (as I’ve found I often do these days) and his career dreams. Despite the early mornings, I’m lucky to have a job I adore and I know that I’ll do anything to keep my teashop going. With renewed vigour, I plough through my baking list, knocking out batches of croissants and gooey maple and pecan pastries, blueberry muffins and chocolate chunk cookies. I prepare biscuit dough to chill in the fridge, pancake batter and fruit salad. I’ve just set the ice cream maker going with a blueberry cheesecake flavour mix when Mags arrives, looking bleary-eyed but smiling.
‘Do you know what?’ she asks as she takes off her jacket and replaces it with an apron. ‘You girls are giving me a new lease of life. I haven’t felt this rough since before the kids were born and it’s marvellous. Who wants to sit at home watching EastEnders with a mug of hot chocolate when you can be out with friends?’
A few weeks ago, I’d have voted for the TV and hot chocolate option, but I know what Mags means. I feel like I’ve been brought to life too.
‘Brian’s distraught. He thinks I should be at home, knitting jumpers in my slippers.’ She chuckles. ‘I think he’s worried I’m going to pop up in one of the clubs he and his friends go to. He’d be mortified.’ She chuckles again. ‘Cup of tea, sweetie?’
‘Yes please.’ I’ve been so busy, I haven’t stopped for breakfast yet. ‘I’ll take it into the office while I catch up on my emails.’
Most of the plans are in place for The Sweetest Kiss, which will be kicking off in just six days. We have the database set up, the menu has been planned and I’ve been shouting about it all over social media. Our website has an online registration form, plus the questionnaires I’ll use to create the groups for each event, which I print off now and add to my growing pile. Neal’s article will be going out on Wednesday which – fingers crossed – will give us another boost. I’m also planning to distribute more flyers next week, including canvassing the local college.
‘Another cup of tea?’ Mags asks, popping her head around the door. I’ve been in the office for a couple of hours, working my way through the questionnaires and updating the database. Once we’re up and running, I’ll have to put an automated registration process in place (perhaps with that special algorithm I made up yesterday), but until then I’ll have to do all this manually.
‘Please,’ I say, rubbing at my neck, stiff from being hunched over the desk for so long. ‘Are we busy out there?’
‘So-so.’ Mags does the see-sawing hand movement. ‘Marjorie and Annette from the florist’s are in, and that guy who sieves all the blueberries out of his blueberry muffins. Imogen has just left with takeaway pancakes for her and Zoe and we’ve just had a couple of tourists in. I think they were lost but they bought a cookie each.’
‘I’ll come and have that tea out in the teashop.’ My eyes could do with a rest from the screen and my legs are in need of a stretch. I make the tea while Mags serves a couple of customers, who I recognise as regulars from the salon. They eat their cake with careful fingers, the freshly coated tips protected from any kind of damage.
‘So, it’s your date with Owen tonight,’ I say once the manicured munchers have left. Annette, Marjorie and the blueberry picker have also gone, leaving the teashop empty again. Mags grabs a damp cloth and starts to wipe down the tables while I gather the dishes.
‘It is.’ Mags’s tone is coy, but it doesn’t have the defeatist air it had yesterday.
‘Have you spoken to him?’ I ask and Mags nods, her eyes still focused on the swishing cloth in her hand.
‘He phoned me while we were at the pub last night.’
‘You never said anything.’
Mags pauses her table-wiping to grin at me. ‘You were looking rather cosy with a certain young man. I didn’t want to disturb you.’
I rub my neck again, although it’s no
longer stiff. ‘We were just chatting.’ I take the cloth from Mags and finish wiping the table. ‘Anyway: Owen. Tonight. Are you looking forward to seeing him again?’
‘I am now I know why we haven’t seen any of The Builders for a while.’
‘And it’s nothing sinister?’
‘Not from my point of view, but it’s a bit of a pain for Owen and the guys. It seems the developer has arranged for viewings to start on the show house next week, only the show house isn’t anywhere near ready. The Builders have been working flat-out to get everything finished in time.’
‘So they haven’t had the chance to pop in for treats,’ I say.
‘Exactly.’ Mags pulls out a chair and sits down, resting her chin on her hand as she looks up at me. ‘So are you going to tell me about Caleb?’
‘Caleb?’ I slip my hands into the pocket on the front of my apron and pull out the notepad I use for taking orders, flipping through the old, scribbled-on pages. I had a rather raunchy dream about Caleb last night involving dripping icing sugar, but Mags can’t know that. Can she? ‘What do you mean?’
Mags laughs and wags a finger at me. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject just then, moving on to Owen.’ She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. ‘That was sneaky, but not sneaky enough for your Aunty Mags. Come on, lady. Spill.’
I pull out a chair of my own and drop down into it with a sigh. ‘I like him.’
There. I’ve said it. I like him. I like a guy for the first time since Joel and I’m excited, scared and confused all at once.
Mags is trying not to smile, but she can’t help herself. ‘Like him as in fancy the –’
I hold up a hand to silence Mags. ‘I’m begging you not to say pants.’ I have a fuzzy yet mortifying flashback. ‘But yes, I fancy him.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘Do you want a list?’
Mags shrugs. ‘If it helps.’
So I start to reel it off to her, starting with the fact Caleb told his grandmother he wasn’t interested in me.
‘He actually said that?’ Mags asks.
‘Yes.’
‘About you specifically?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right.’ Mags nods slowly, weighing this fact in her mind. ‘What’s next?’
I tell her about the underpants thing, which makes Mags laugh. I whip her with the damp dishcloth as punishment.
‘That was clearly you being a little bit drunk and a little bit waffle-y because you like him. We’ve all been there. We fancy someone and get all muddled in the brain-to-mouth department. We can’t help it. We certainly can’t stop it. I bet Caleb can’t even remember it happening.’
‘He can.’ I grimace and start fiddling with my notepad again. ‘He thinks it’s hilarious.’
Mags holds her hands out like a magician revealing the conclusion to their trick and is smugly awaiting applause. ‘There you go then. Nothing to worry about.’
‘How about the fact his nan is seeing my dad? That’s a bit icky, isn’t it? That would make us …’ I try to calculate how Caleb and I would be related if Dad and Birdie got married. It hurts my head and I resort to mapping out a rough family tree in my notepad. ‘Step-aunty and step-nephew?’ I shudder. This can’t happen. I feel appalled at myself for even contemplating it.
‘It isn’t as bad as you think,’ Mags says. I disagree. Strongly. ‘It isn’t as though he’s grown up with you being his step-aunt. It’s fine, really. I think you’re plucking at straws now.’
‘Plucking at straws?’ I’m agape. ‘We’re going to be related. You never, ever date a relative. This isn’t a Brookside storyline from the nineties.’
‘Your dad and Birdie have only known each other a couple of weeks,’ Mags points out. ‘Do you know if they’re actually seeing each other? Maybe they’re just friends.’
I shrug. ‘Maybe.’
‘Is there anything else?’ Mags asks and I think about revealing all about Joel and Penny, to explain that I’m scared of putting my heart back out there on the free market, making myself vulnerable again. But the door to the teashop opens and who should stumble in, clutching each other as they laugh about some joke, looking completely at ease with each other and quite possibly in love? Dad and Birdie, of course.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘You’ll keep an eye on your dad while I go and have my shampoo and set, won’t you?’ Birdie winks at me as Dad eases himself into a mustard-yellow chair. ‘I’ll take Franklin with me. The girls like to have a fuss and he doesn’t complain at all the tummy rubs.’ She holds a hand up in a goodbye gesture before she ambles out of the teashop.
‘I didn’t expect to see you two in here today,’ I say as I sit opposite Dad. I didn’t actually see Dad or Birdie yesterday as I was out spreading the word across our little part of Manchester with my flyers.
‘Birdie couldn’t make it yesterday,’ Dad says. ‘They were desperate for cover at one of the schools so she went in. Luckily, Nicky was able to fit her in this morning so we’ve come for a Saturday treat for a change.’
‘Apple crumble?’ I ask Dad. ‘There’s almost a full one left in the fridge.’ And now I know why.
‘I’ll hold off until Birdie gets back,’ Dad says. ‘But I’d love a cup of tea while I wait.’
I make Dad’s tea in a blue-and-white striped mug the size of a small fishbowl and place it in front of him at the rubber-duck-patterned table. I join him with my own cup of tea, taking out my phone as I lift my red-and-white spotted mug up.
‘What are you doing?’ Dad asks.
‘Taking a selfie. Say cheese. Or should that be teas?’
‘You’re crazy,’ Dad says, but he poses for the shot anyway. I upload it to Instagram:
Enjoying a cup of tea with my dad! I’m a PG Tips kind of girl. What’s your tea of choice? #SweetStreetTeashop
I’m about to show Dad the photo when the teashop suddenly fills up with fluorescent jacketed bodies. Owen leads the gang of builders, including regulars Little Jordan and Connor, plus a couple of less familiar faces.
‘Mags,’ I hiss, poking my head into the kitchen. ‘Owen’s here.’
I’ve never seen Mags move so fast. She could give the Rio Olympian sprinters a run (no pun intended) for their money as she barrels past me, smoothing back her hair and checking her teeth for lipstick with her tongue as she goes. She casually leans against the counter, her normal breathing belying the dash she’s just undertaken.
‘Hello, boys,’ she purrs. ‘What can I get you today?’
‘How about a date?’ Owen asks, which is the right answer, judging by the girlish giggle that follows from Mags.
‘I’d rather have the American-style cheesecake,’ Little Jordan says, which earns him a clip around the ear from Owen. ‘Ow. Fine, I’ll have a date then.’ He ducks so the second clip misses.
‘You’ll have to wait for your date,’ Mags tells Owen. ‘It isn’t quite ready.’
‘Then I’ll have the cheesecake like the boy while I wait.’
‘Are you eating in or taking away?’ Mags asks.
Owen sighs. ‘As much as I would love to stay and stare at your face, I can’t. We’re lucky we’ve managed to nip out at all.’
‘Takeaway it is then.’ Mags smiles despite her disappointment and grabs a box, placing two slices of the American-style cheesecake inside.
‘Hey, Jordan,’ I say, pulling the lad to one side while Mags serves the others. ‘You enjoyed the date night we had, didn’t you?’
Little Jordan’s eyes widen. ‘Did any of the girls want a second date?’
I place my hand on his shoulder. ‘It was just a trial run, remember? There aren’t any second dates.’
‘What about theirs?’ Little Jordan points at Mags and Owen, who are giggling at something.
‘That’s different,’ I say. ‘They liked each other before the date night.’
Little Jordan shrugs. ‘I suppose.’
‘
The thing is,’ I say, ‘we’re running the date nights for real, starting next Friday. So hopefully there will be lots and lots of second dates. I was wondering if you’d like to take part, for real this time?’
‘So date five girls, in one night, for real?’ Little Jordan grins. ‘I’m in.’
‘As it’s the real thing this time, it won’t be free,’ I remind him, but Jordan shrugs again.
‘Take my wallet. I don’t care. Will Nicky be there?’
‘Not this time,’ I say. ‘But we have some really lovely girls taking part.’
‘Zoe or Imogen?’
‘I can’t tell you who’s taking part,’ I tell Little Jordan. ‘It’ll ruin the surprise.’
‘I don’t like surprises,’ he says. ‘Will they be there?’
‘Perhaps.’ I wink at Little Jordan but receive a blank look in return.
‘Is that a yes or a no?’
I decide to ignore the question. ‘Do you think any of the others will want to take part?’ I nod towards the other builders, who Mags is still serving in between her chat with Owen.
‘Connor’s married, so he won’t. Vic’s married too, but he’ll probably give it a go anyway.’
I shake my head. ‘No, that’s okay. I’ll just go and grab your forms from the office. If you don’t have time to fill them in now, just drop it off when you get the chance, or you can do it all online. But be quick – the first event is on Friday.’
With their takeaway cakes and Little Jordan’s forms in hand, The Builders file out of the teashop. The room is plunged into sudden silence without their presence, though Mags’s dreamy glaze remains on her face for the rest of the day.
I’m gasping for breath when I reach the outer door to the flat, sweat pooling in my armpits, in the dip between chin and bottom lip and in places I’d rather not mention, thank you very much. After waving Mags off to get ready for her date with Owen, I gave the teashop a quick blitz before going for a run to counteract the double helping of apple crumble I had with Dad and Birdie and now my legs feel like jelly.
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 18