The Tea Chest

by Josephine Moon

  ‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said. ‘She sent through another long list in an email last night. I printed it out. I’ve got it here somewhere, if you want to see it?’ She gave a cursory glance at her bag then looked at Kate questioningly. They both erupted into giggles.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Kate said. ‘You just keep working on your own ideas. I know Leila’s a bit full on right now. She’s taking this seriously, which is what we need. I couldn’t be doing all this without her.’

  Elizabeth thought about that for a moment. ‘I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,’ she said. ‘We’re all doing our bit, but it’s really all about you, Kate. This is your baby now. Simone left it to you for a reason.’

  ‘Yes.’ She turned back to Elizabeth and looked down at her book. ‘Do you mind? Can I see?’

  ‘Sure.’ She passed the book to Kate with a small flurry of nerves. The four of them had had a long meeting about the themes and designs of The Tea Chest and all the marketing support material: flyers, advertisements, business cards and the website. It was a meeting they’d combined with painting the new walls of the store at night, with their iPods blaring and pizzas to keep them going. Kate had a strong vision for the store but it was a huge task and they agreed they needed a graphic designer and interior decorator on board. The difficulty was going to be keeping them to task so close to the opening of the store.

  ‘You know what these artistic types are like,’ Kate grinned. ‘All about the dreaming but not a business bone in their body.’

  They knew they’d have to do a lot of the grunt work themselves to make sure all the different elements came together.

  Elizabeth had been appointed as the coordinator to keep the designers happy and working towards their timeline goals and to help them source whatever they might need. She’d started keeping the sketchbook as a journal of ideas as they developed and morphed into what would be the most beautiful project Elizabeth had ever had the chance to work on.

  ‘Wow,’ Kate said now, flipping through the pages. ‘These are really great ideas. You’ve got real artistic flair.’

  ‘It’s always been a bit of a hobby of mine,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I thought for a while I might actually pursue a career in design. But then I got caught up in working in Brisbane, met John, and the rest is history. But even at my old job at Beautification I’d started to carve out a bit of a marketing niche for myself.’

  ‘How’s your wardrobe going?’ Kate said. ‘I’m hitting the shops again later this afternoon if you’re keen to come. I still don’t quite have a full set of clothes in our theme yet.’

  ‘I found the most gorgeous piece at the Camden Stables Market the other day. A beautiful pale pink. It’s been wonderful, actually, to be thrown into a whole new style of dressing. I’m creating a whole new me.’

  A small boy let out a shriek as a labrador on a lead snatched his hot dog from his hand. They watched the scene play out for a few moments, with mothers and dog walker and crying child all gesturing and consoling.

  Then Kate spoke again. ‘I’m so excited. Really. I know this part is stressful. But it’s going to be stunning.’

  ‘How could it not be? You’re a visionary, Kate. Your design is amazing.’

  Just then, Victoria pushed her way to the front of the stall. She was wearing a faux-suede jacket over skinny jeans and sandals. Her face was screwed up in concern and she puffed as if she’d be running.

  Elizabeth jumped up. ‘Victoria! Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘You need to come home,’ her sister wheezed. ‘Mum’s gone insane.’

  Twenty-seven years earlier

  Simone was here again, standing at Judy’s door, carrying a blue paper bag with more boiled lollies, Judy presumed. Simone smiled, and somewhere in Judy’s foggy mind she knew she should force herself to smile back, but it was still all too hard.

  ‘I like your hair,’ Judy managed to say. It wasn’t true. She didn’t fancy the modern trend of tight poodle curls, but she knew she had to say something and it was easier to lie than to speak the truth.

  ‘Thank you,’ Simone said, her eyes alight with hope that today their conversation might be different. She pushed her sunglasses up on top of her springy hair.

  They walked up the wooden stairs and headed to the couch—the green one with white palm trees that matched the curtains in the lounge room. They sat as usual, with Simone near the window and Judy facing the television, which currently flickered with an American daytime soap.

  ‘I was just in the neighbourhood, on my way to see a new client, and thought I’d stop in,’ Simone said, leaning forward and straightening magazines on the coffee tables, and casually pulling a tissue from her handbag and rubbing at a coffee stain on the wood.

  ‘Oh,’ Judy said, picking at a food scrap on her T-shirt and wondering how long it had been there.

  ‘Convenience stores are just going crazy for this stuff,’ Simone said, passing Judy the bag. When she didn’t take it, Simone opened it and held it under Judy’s nose so she could see and smell it. It wasn’t boiled lollies this time. It was actually a bag full of packs of sherbet.

  ‘I’ve got a great overseas supplier,’ Simone said. ‘It’s shamefully cheap and I can’t get it into the country as fast as I’m taking orders for it. My house is jammed floor to ceiling with crates of the stuff. I think it’s the reason I can’t find a housemate.’ She grimaced.

  Judy took the bag and placed it on the couch beside her. She studied her stepsister’s open, carefree face, and wondered how the tables had turned so quickly. When had Simone become the competent, organised, motivated woman and she’d become the one whose life was a shambles?

  Of course, she knew the answer. The first chips had fallen when her mother died last year. And then Erin. A daughter born too soon. Her tiny body lying lifeless in Judy’s hands. A prolapsed uterus and a hysterectomy. All hopes for the future gone.

  Graham had work to go to with new prospects on the horizon. She, on the other hand, had given up her job as the bookkeeper for a large milk-delivery business, had painted the house and sewn curtains, filled a nursery and prepared for motherhood, finally, after so much struggle.

  And now there was nothing but the darkness of every day looming ahead. A future that didn’t look anything like it was supposed to.

  Her friends were busy with families of their own, small children who demanded their time and tuckshop duty at school. They were uncomfortable with her grief, and fidgeted nervously on the edge of the couch, waiting for a polite time to make their excuses to leave.

  But not Simone. For some strange reason, she came every few days, bringing gifts and stories of the outside world, stories that had nothing to do with family life and provided relief from having to think about it.

  They were both orphans now, she and Simone. By a twist of fate, they’d both lost their parents, their homeland in England and were childless. It was a strange bond that held them together. A bond of what they didn’t have rather than what they did.

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Simone said, reaching into her bag. ‘I just dropped into the video store down the road and picked up a couple of new releases. I got Romancing the Stone and Ghostbusters. I know Ghostbusters probably isn’t your thing, but I heard it was funny.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Judy said, reaching for them.

  Simone checked her watch. ‘Well, I’d better be off. But I’ll be back in a couple of days so if you think of anything you need, just give me a call.’

  Judy suddenly seared with envy. She’d give anything to be going with Simone right now. To get out of these dank clothes and stuffy house and into the sunshine and bustling traffic. To have somewhere to go. Something to do. She was just about to open her mouth to say so when Simone pushed herself off the couch to leave.

  The moment had passed.

  Judy nodded. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’

  Margaret Plimsworth stood in the kitchen. It looked as though her dress was made out of heavy plum-coloured curtain
material that ran from her neck to her wrists and below her knees and had been recycled from the fifties. Or maybe last century. Her mouth was set into lines of determination and a bulging carpet bag sat near her court shoes. Elizabeth’s heart jumped. Perhaps her mother truly had gone insane. She belonged somewhere in the past. Or, at best, in a V.C. Andrews novel.

  She cast her eyes upwards, wondering if there was perhaps an attic above their house she never knew about and whether she had strange incestuous siblings who had been hidden there for years.

  She shook herself.

  ‘Mum, what’s going on?’

  ‘Elizabeth, dear, you shouldn’t have bothered coming. It’s too late.’

  ‘What’s too late?’

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘Where? Why?’

  Margaret straightened her white gloves and adjusted her pearl earrings before folding her hands calmly in front of her like a choir girl.

  Beside Elizabeth, Victoria took in a sharp breath and slapped her hand to her mouth. Elizabeth followed her sister’s gaze to the back of the wooden chair at the kitchen table. There were three bloody fingerprints on it.

  Then Elizabeth realised something. Something awful. The television wasn’t on. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. The house felt completely empty. Her thoughts returned to the imagined attic.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’

  Margaret shifted. ‘Somewhere you don’t need to worry about.’

  Elizabeth looked down at the carpet bag at her mother’s feet.

  ‘Mum, what’s in the bag?’

  Her mother’s eyes flickered. There was stiff, awkward silence.

  Elizabeth lunged for the bag. Margaret blocked her. Elizabeth darted to the side. Margaret blocked her there too. Elizabeth’s heart hammered. She felt completely out of her body, as though she’d stepped into a bad dream.

  ‘Mother, let me see what’s in the bag.’

  Margaret drew herself up to her full height. ‘It’s private.’

  Seconds ticked by while Elizabeth and Margaret held each other’s gaze. Then Victoria leaped through a small gap and threw herself on top of the carpet bag like a rugby player landing on the ball. She hugged it tightly to her chest. Margaret wailed and began slapping at her youngest daughter’s head.

  ‘Get off it, get off it!’

  Victoria shrieked under her blows and Elizabeth tugged at her mother’s arm to pull her away.

  Victoria began to push herself along the linoleum floor with her feet, scooting herself towards the pantry and the door that led to the lounge room. Margaret clambered after her and Elizabeth after both of them.

  Margaret stumbled and fell heavily to the floor, letting out a yowl as her knee collided with the ground. Victoria took her moment to spring to her feet, dragging the heavy bag with her. She stood gasping for breath near the doorway, defending the bag against further attack.

  ‘Go on then,’ Margaret dared. ‘Open it.’

  Victoria cast wild eyes at Elizabeth.

  ‘Go on,’ Elizabeth said, her hands shaking from the adrenaline. ‘Open it.’

  Victoria squatted and fumbled with the zipper. Slowly, she tugged, slicing open the bag and tipping it so it could spill its horrible contents to the floor.

  Margaret whimpered as she did so, clutching her knee and screwing her face up in agony.

  Before them all, rolling across chequered white and brown squares, was her father’s entire unicorn collection.

  Margaret reluctantly accepted an ice pack for her knee. She sat in the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea in front of her, a slice of lemon floating on top. Elizabeth and Victoria also sat. Unicorns covered the table top and a few still lay scattered at their feet. They’d been sitting in stiff silence for some time, Margaret’s gaze fixed at some point on the wall.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. ‘Mum, do you want to tell us what’s going on?’

  Margaret snorted like a teenager.

  ‘Where were you going?’ Elizabeth tried again.

  ‘And where’s Dad?’ Victoria demanded.

  ‘Your father is out for a jar, I should imagine,’ Margaret said.

  The sisters exchanged a look.

  ‘Does he know what’s, um, what’s going on with you?’ Elizabeth said.

  Margaret snapped her head around to stare directly at her eldest child so fast it made Elizabeth jump. ‘Of course,’ she hissed. ‘That’s why he’s down at the pub.’

  ‘Mum, look, you’re really going to have to do a little better here,’ Elizabeth said, suddenly irritated. ‘What’s going on?’

  Margaret sniffed and adjusted the icepack on her knee. ‘I’m leaving your father. Simple.’

  ‘No, not simple. Why? And why do you have all of his unicorns?’

  ‘Why?’ Margaret said, as though having to explain trivial matters to a four-year-old. ‘Because I don’t love him anymore, that’s why.’

  Elizabeth blanched. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m in love with someone else, actually,’ her mother said smugly.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Angus Reiner. He’s the group leader at the local Alcoholics Anonymous group. That’s where I met him.’

  If Elizabeth thought she was confused before, she was dumbstruck now. Her mother an alcoholic? But she’d never been a drinker really. Just an occasional sherry. But maybe that was how it started.

  ‘Wait,’ Victoria said, slapping the table. ‘You’re an old lush, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No, dear,’ Margaret said, using her patient voice again. ‘I’m a caterer.’

  Elizabeth thought her head would explode, both with the absurdity of this conversation, the insanity-inducing slowness with which her mother was divulging information, and the crazy notion that she could cook anything other than sausages and beans or bacon and eggs.

  Victoria burst out laughing. Hysterical laughter. The kind that turns to tears if you let it keep going. Elizabeth felt herself ripple too. She placed a hand on her sister’s arm to try to settle them both. Now it was her turn to adopt a patient voice.

  ‘Oh, well, that makes sense. And you met this Angus man at a catering job.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Margaret said, appearing relieved that someone was finally understanding her. ‘I take sandwiches and refreshments down to the hall each day for their meetings. Everyone’s always so grateful. Nothing like sharing one’s secrets with the world to make one ravenously hungry. Angus always said it was my cinnamon toast that really made the difference on a difficult day.’ She began to preen at the thought of Angus.

  Elizabeth tried not to gag.

  ‘What about the blood?’ Victoria said, pointing to the fingerprints on the back of the chair.

  ‘I cut myself accidentally, chopping pumpkin last night. I must have forgotten to clean it off.’

  ‘Okay, so you’re leaving Dad for Angus. But what about the unicorns? Is that some sort of revenge?’

  Here, Margaret turned a watermelon pink. ‘No. They’re not your father’s. They never were. They’re mine.’ She bit her lip and looked over at the wall again.

  ‘Then why’d you say they were Dad’s?’

  ‘And why are you collecting them in the first place?’ Victoria said.

  Margaret closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was small.

  ‘I suppose I was embarrassed.’ Her eyes welled. ‘I was just looking for some magic to come back into my life.’

  And Elizabeth was sure, right then, her own heart might break too.

  14

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  Leila sat alone on the bus on her way back to Clapham. She jumped when her phone rang and she pulled it from her messenger bag. It was Kate.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Kate said, and Leila could hear the tension in her voice. The days were quickly rushing towa
rds the grand opening.

  ‘Good. Quentin’s given me details. I just need to put all the paperwork together, meet up with him again to check it’s what he wants, then I should have it all ready for you sign.’

  She searched her mind and heart to see whether or not she should tell Kate about Quentin’s one big condition. It was likely to throw Kate off balance and that wasn’t in their best interests right now. The fourth red square of her risk-assessment chart was all about Kate and her tendency to get the wobbles. Leila believed Quentin’s plan was reasonable. But she didn’t have time to assess her conundrum further because Kate was moving on, her voice energised.

  ‘Great. That’s great.’

  ‘How’s the shop looking? I feel bad having to work away so much, at meetings and at home on the internet. Maybe I should stop networking and come and do some labour?’

  ‘No, we need you out there. We can’t exist without an infusion of money so your job right now is arguably more important than ours. We can get this place up and running but without more cash it will fall over before the first hurdle, I’m afraid.’

  There was a lot riding on Quentin, especially since he was the only serious bite she’d had in the timeframe she had to work in. For some reason, he’d chosen The Tea Chest as his latest target and was committed to following through. It had to be a good sign, surely. He must be convinced of the value of the company.

  ‘Would you like me to tee up a time for you to meet with Quentin?’ Leila said.

  ‘That’s a good idea. I’ve no idea when we’ll fit it in. Time is rushing by so fast. Let me get back to you on that one.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘By the way,’ Kate went on, ‘Elizabeth and I have put together some press releases. I’ve left them on the computer for you to look at with your editor’s eye, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Of course. I should be back at the house soon and I’ll print them out and make them all shiny.’

  Kate paused. ‘Look, things were a bit strained at home when I left this morning. Bill’s not in good shape, obviously, so I think it’s probably a good idea if we give him as much space as possible. Can’t feel good to have your wife of more than thirty years leave you for another guy in front of an audience of young women.’