The Tea Chest

by Josephine Moon

  9

  One of the good things about being back in London was the shopping. It was almost seven o’clock and Elizabeth and her sister were still at it. Elizabeth swung her five bags of loot from the shops in Covent Garden, Regent Street and Oxford Street and wished she had a driver to hand them over to while she kept going.

  ‘While you’re splashing cash, how about shouting me a new wardrobe too,’ Victoria said, walking and texting at the same time.

  Elizabeth was just about to protest, thinking of the rates bill that was coming next month, the plumber’s bill that still hadn’t been paid, and the protein powder she’d promised to order John. But then she realised none of it mattered because none of it existed in her life anymore. It was John’s problem now.

  And this credit card wouldn’t last forever either. So she might as well get what she could. After all, didn’t she deserve it after what he’d put her through?

  ‘Sure.’

  Victoria’s thumb paused and she looked up at Elizabeth with wide eyes. They were so filled with excitement that Elizabeth had a flashback to her sister’s face on Christmas Day when she was small and Elizabeth a teenager.

  She was suddenly deeply grateful Victoria had organised Annie to rescue her, brush her hair and hold her hand as she wept her way through the airport. Grateful Victoria had met her at Heathrow. Grateful that she didn’t ask a lot of questions and had just got on with quietly adding to her life with gifts of hair dye and coffee. It was just possible that her annoying little sister wasn’t quite as annoying as she used to be.

  She put an arm around Victoria’s shoulders, still swinging a large John Lewis bag containing her new strappy dress for the English summer, and pulled her sister close.

  ‘You deserve it,’ she said, ‘as thanks for organising to get me out of Brisbane. You’ve actually been helpful and even a bit of fun.’

  They’d just made their way into Crabtree & Evelyn, looking for perfume, when Victoria’s phone rocked out a phrase of a Lady Gaga song to signal a text message.

  ‘It’s from those two larks the other night,’ she said.

  ‘Which two larks?’ Elizabeth said, her insides seizing as she immediately thought of her behaviour with the beer man.

  ‘You know. The two Aussies. Leila and Kate.’

  Elizabeth frowned. She couldn’t remember them exchanging phone numbers. But then there were quite a few blank moments from that night. Sadly, giving the beer man coy smiles wasn’t one of them. Nor was her divulgence of the sordid details of the many sexual positions she’d tried in her efforts to conceive.

  ‘They want to catch up tomorrow for coffee.’ Victoria began tapping out a reply.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m telling them to meet us at Bar Italia at eleven o’clock.’

  ‘And what if I don’t want to?’ Elizabeth snapped, childish sibling defences kicking in, her new affection for her sister vanishing as fast as it had arrived.

  ‘Tough,’ Victoria said. ‘Besides, what else are you going to do? Stay home and watch the telly with Mum and Dad?’

  Elizabeth quickly racked her brain for something else she could do the next day, just to spite Victoria. But the problem was it would mean she’d be doing it on her own. And Victoria’s endless chatter was a fantastic distraction from the thoughts that circled her mind like sharks.

  ‘Fine. But make it midday.’

  Bar Italia was a long, narrow shop jammed with people and equally jammed with deli goods, cakes and gelato, strings of garlic hanging from the ceiling and a fusion of smells. The wall mirrors along the length did a good job of giving the impression the room was bigger than it was but the noise, physical closeness and jostling at the counter did not.

  The four seated themselves outside on the footpath under the greyness of threatening clouds and a chill wind.

  ‘Thanks so much for coming.’ Kate smiled at them. She was wrapped in a huge oyster woollen shawl that should have made her look granny-ish, but teamed with a bright turquoise bracelet and earrings, it just made her look arty. ‘It’s really nice to see you again.’

  Elizabeth sipped a cappuccino with a love heart in the froth. She had to admit she was pleased to be here. In the past few days she’d begun to feel a little homesick for her friends back in Brisbane. Especially Annie. More than once, Annie’s lunchtime sushi wisdom had helped Elizabeth to see the light ahead when sadness and desperation had darkened her cubicle at work.

  They’d been emailing and texting, but it just wasn’t the same. And it was all so humiliating that talking to Annie just seemed to poke at the painful spots. Yet somehow she’d managed to blurt it all out to Kate and Leila. Having it out in the open was both disappointing—she didn’t want potential new friends to see her as the scorned, broken woman—and a relief she didn’t have to keep dodging questions or concerns.

  ‘Leila and I have done some recon,’ Kate went on, nodding at Leila. Elizabeth looked over Leila’s chocolate-coloured pantsuit and smoothed-back hair. The ‘L’ necklace was really quite pretty. It sat on her smooth brown cleavage between the lapels of her jacket and added a feminine touch to the ensemble. Actually, looking a little closer, she could see the marks of a well-tailored suit. It clung to her in all the right places and moved beautifully with her. Leila was clearly a person who lived in these suits and knew how to make the most of them.

  ‘And we’ve made some decisions. First, we need help and fast. We’re on a tight deadline and the tea shop is in much worse shape than we’d like, frankly. We’ve got issues with the contractors and we need someone with local London knowledge to help us muddle through.’

  Victoria leaned back in her metal chair and lit a cigarette, watching Kate with mild interest. Elizabeth glared at her.

  Kate paused for a moment and looked at Elizabeth and Victoria. ‘I’d like to offer you each a job,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ Elizabeth was shocked.

  ‘Yes, really. We don’t have time to advertise and interview people. We need to start work as soon as possible.’

  ‘Today,’ Leila chimed in, tapping a French-polished nail on the side of her cup. Victoria’s gaze drifted to the nail and she tilted her head to one side, studying it.

  ‘So I’m just going to call our meeting at the pub the other night an interview and jump straight to hiring you, if you’re interested,’ Kate finished.

  Elizabeth knew The Tea Chest’s products well, always having at least one blend in her own tea chest at any given time. She and Annie had often shared a pot of Inspire tea in the afternoon. And she’d been working in sales already—with beauty products, granted, but it was all about feeling good wasn’t it? And she needed a new job, thanks to her louse of a husband. It was perfect.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, giving Kate a big grin as excitement surged through her. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Great,’ Kate beamed. She turned to face Victoria. ‘What do you think, Victoria? You interested?’

  Victoria squinted and exhaled a long plume of smoke.

  Elizabeth waited, unsure of what her sister would say. As far as she could tell, her sister had successfully avoided any form of work at all for the past two years. Even if she said yes, Elizabeth had no idea if she could actually hold down a job successfully. Maybe she was just too irresponsible.

  ‘I’m interested, but I don’t know much about tea,’ Victoria said. She sounded vulnerable and Elizabeth wanted to reach and out and squeeze her arm.

  ‘Would you like to learn?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then that’s all you need. We’ll teach you as you go.’

  Victoria hesitated for a moment before stubbing out her cigarette. ‘Okay, I’m in.’

  ‘Wonderful. Just no smoking during work hours, okay?’

  ‘No problem.’ Victoria sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes fixed on Kate’s face as though waiting for an instruction so she could get going straight away.

  Kate held out her hand. ‘Welcome to The Tea Chest.’


  The Hindu man in a bright ochre turban, the Buddhist with red prayer beads around his neck and the Muslim with a knitted white head-covering shrank within the Holy Trinity office when Kate announced who they were.

  She and Elizabeth were there alone, having left Leila and Victoria to go and buy industrial-level cleaning products so they could get started on The Tea Chest.

  Elizabeth took in the recycled government-looking furniture and grey walls of the one-room office, noting the only colour on the walls was provided by religious images depicting their three denominations.

  The Hindu man closed the book on the front counter and held up both hands in surrender.

  ‘Sorry, Madamz, but we cannot help you,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘But we have a contract,’ Kate insisted. ‘It was signed with Simone Taylor and the commencement date is long past. We have a shop in urgent need of repair and there’s no way we can find another contractor at such short notice.’

  Elizabeth could hear the strain in Kate’s voice.

  The Buddhist fiddled with the prayer beads at his chest. ‘So sorry, ma’am. Things change.’

  ‘Can you tell us what exactly has changed?’ Elizabeth asked.

  The three men turned to each other and spoke in a mixture of English and other languages Elizabeth couldn’t identify. There was much gesticulating and fluctuating of tone.

  At last they broke away and the Buddhist gave a tiny bow to Kate and Elizabeth before walking calmly out of the office.

  The Hindu man straightened his tall and wiry body, resolute. ‘No contract,’ he said, and passed his hands over each other in a gesture of no more.

  Kate turned to Elizabeth, her gaze rigid with controlled panic.

  ‘Can you tell me,’ Elizabeth said, intrigued now, ‘have you actually been out to the shop? You must have seen it to offer Simone a quote?’

  He stiffened and dropped his eyes to the counter, stroking his beard with his thumb and forefinger.

  There was a long silence.

  Then he nodded once.

  Elizabeth looked at Kate and raised an eyebrow. ‘And did something happen while you were there?’

  There was something rumbling in the back of Elizabeth’s mind. Something she’d read in the newspaper not long after arriving in England.

  ‘Like vot?’

  Yes. She had it now. It was a news article on the British government’s attempt to crack down on illegal immigrant workers.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Did anyone say anything to you?’ she prompted.

  Kate was looking confused now and the Muslim was pacing back and forth.

  Elizabeth waited patiently, her eyes fixed on the Hindu man in a staring contest, which one of them had to win. Her eyes were watering by the time he looked away, prompted by the Muslim’s tugs at his shirt.

  More words in broken English passed between them and she only caught one or two, but one word seemed to mean something to Kate because she suddenly jerked towards them across the counter, with her hand gripping the metal edge.

  ‘Did you say Heavensfield?’ she said.

  The men returned to vibrant word exchanges and gestures.

  ‘What’s Heavensfield?’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Lady Heavensfield. She’s the woman who owns the tearoom across the road from us. We met her on the first day.’ Here, she blushed. ‘We were confused, actually, and thought her place was ours. It’s beautiful. But then she came out and sent us packing in no uncertain terms. She clearly didn’t like us.’

  ‘Huh. Do you think she might see you as competition?’

  Kate shrugged. ‘It’s possible. She was pretty down on the state of the shop and not helpful in any way.’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘I think I might know what’s happened.’

  Leila and Kate now shared a room in Hemberton Road, Clapham, boarding with Elizabeth and her family. It was one of the first tasks Kate had given Elizabeth—to help Kate and Leila find some accommodation for the next three months or so.

  ‘Done,’ Elizabeth had said immediately. ‘Mum and Dad were thinking of renting out one of their rooms to make a few pounds. It’s on the ground floor. It’s nothing special, but it would be cheap and comfy and help keep your costs down. If you can stand my parents, that is.’

  Kate had waved her hand casually. ‘We’ll be working so hard we’ll hardly ever be there.’

  So they’d moved in. The room had beige walls and heavy brocade duvets. It was once the sewing room and was located behind the television room, where Bill’s crime shows played at all hours.

  It was over scrambled eggs at the kitchen table one morning that Leila first mentioned Lucas.

  ‘Lucas pours honey on his eggs. Don’t you think that’s weird?’

  Kate had frowned, chewing. ‘Lucas? The same Lucas I spoke to after your interview?’

  Leila’s hand had paused with the fork in the air. ‘Ah, yes.’

  ‘So you two know each other well then?’

  Leila relaxed her shoulders. ‘We’re mates, yes.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No. I guess not.’ And Kate continued to eat her eggs in silence.

  10

  Fullerton Frat House report: Minor incident with boys on a chocolate bender. Coaxed them out of gutter with Hair of the Hotdog. All is still well. I promise. xx

  Kate studied Leila’s hand-drawn chart of a risk assessment for The Tea Chest, including the schedule, budget and marketing.

  ‘Growing a business organically can take many years of slow development,’ Leila said, her eyes bright. She and Kate were in their pyjamas, sitting on their beds in their room at the Plimsworths’ place.

  ‘Competition will surface all around us and we need to be ahead of the pack so we’re not swallowed whole by businesses that have more capital behind them. It’s sad, but it won’t matter how wonderful The Tea Chest is, how much you love it and believe in it—the business models that have the capital will outstrip us.’

  Leila’s words sounded familiar, a lot like Judy’s criticism of Kate’s zodiac tea all those years before. It didn’t matter how much she felt it was right. Good business relied on more than that. It relied on figures, numbers, statistics and projections.

  All the things Kate had tried to avoid. Until now.

  This was what she had fought for the right to do. This was what she’d risked her finances and her family life for. To prove that she could step up and be more than just a designer and could take this business to a new level; give herself the chance to do more.

  ‘The window of opportunity is small,’ Leila said, opening a pot of night cream and rubbing it into her face and décolletage. ‘Both Richard Branson and Sam Walton advocated that whenever there was a cash flow crisis the answer was not to contract but to expand. We need to act in a timely fashion and take advantage of our market position. Strike while the teapot is hot,’ she finished.

  ‘So what do you propose?’

  ‘Capital. Investors. Big marketing campaign—television, radio, magazines, bus shelters. Expensive and thorough market research. Bling. Red carpets.’

  Although the sound of this made Kate squirm, she also knew she had to embrace bold ideas. She was a leader now.

  ‘Where would we get money like that?’ she said, pointing to the red square marked Budget on Leila’s chart. ‘We’d never get another loan. Venture capitalists? Is that what they’re called?’

  Leila shook her head. ‘From what I know, venture capitalists wouldn’t like us. We’re too small and the wrong type of industry for a start. They normally go for high-tech industries, like IT and biotechnology. We want an angel investor. I’ve done some research and found a website where we can post a proposal.’

  Kate thought it was only polite to keep her co-owner informed of such a big financial decision, given that The Tea Chest would likely have sunk years ago if Judy hadn’t been there to cover Simone’s transgressions. Whether she liked it or not, Kate woul
dn’t be the owner of this company today if it hadn’t been for Judy’s input.

  But Judy laughed heartily at the idea of an angel investor when Kate told her.

  ‘An angel investor? Oh, Kate. Maybe you can find a fairy godmother while you’re at it.’

  Kate had a moment of excitement, just as she had when Judy asked if the zodiac tea would mean they’d be reading tea leaves. Another avenue sprang to mind. The fairy godmother idea wasn’t as silly as it sounded. She’d read about a fairy godmother in Tasmania who helped people achieve their dreams and made life better. Maybe they could approach her.

  ‘Good luck with that, Kate,’ Judy continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Only divine intervention can save you now.’

  Fullerton Frat House report: Have decided to teach Keats how to wash clothes. Fullerton boys are thriving. (But not so much we can do without you.) xxx

  ‘I know this will sound like a strange idea,’ Kate said, addressing her crew, ‘but I think we should make tea.’

  The Holy Trinity contractors were due to begin work tomorrow, so Kate had called a team meeting. They were perched in a circle on top of crates, stools or chairs, their hair pulled back from their faces and their most unattractive, yet practical, cleaning clothes on.

  She had enlisted their help that morning to make the shop prettier. They’d scrubbed, swept, mopped, dusted and de-cobwebbed and finally felt the place was ready for the contractors to begin their makeover.

  ‘There’s no reason we should have to look at ugly bits while we’re progressing,’ Kate had said, handing out packages. Inside were strings of paper lanterns lit from within with LED lights, strings of pale-pink cloth flowers with small lights at their centres, and some posters with motivational quotes to tack to the bare walls.

  Now, they found themselves smiling, their spirits lifted by the small touches of beauty amid the chaos.

  ‘Tea?’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Yes.’ Kate began to distribute teacups and glass teapots from a large box. ‘Actually, not tea—chai. We’re going to have a chai tasting.’