Leila was fussing around the store now, straightening stock on shelves and nipping off dead or dying leaves from the greenery with a small pair of sharp scissors. Kate ran water into a metal watering-can that had been painted white with yellow daisies. She was looking forward to a day of work, doing what she did best—serving customers, dreaming, creating, styling. It was her touchstone, the place she could return to when she needed to remember why she’d taken on this huge brain-taxing business challenge.
The front door opened; the bell jangled. And it was something in the sound of the bell and the forceful puff of air that made Kate’s skin prickle, even though her back was to it. She turned to see a policeman standing squarely just inside the shop, his face set, and his hand hovering near his weapon.
In a single moment, Kate’s mind jumped to various wild scenarios. There was a bomb threat in the street—they seemed to have a lot of those in London. Her husband was dead. Her children had been in an accident.
‘Ma’am,’ the officer said, directing his gaze at Kate and glancing briefly at Leila at the back of the store. ‘I’m here to advise you to consider leaving your shop today.’
Kate’s brain clunked. ‘Why?’
The officer glanced back over his shoulder. ‘The rioters are spreading quickly through the streets, breaking into stores, looting and setting fire to buildings. It might not be safe for you.’
She struggled to process this. Back at home last night after their trip away, they’d talked about the riots of course, but in a theoretical, ‘Oh, isn’t that terrible . . . now, what’s for dinner?’ kind of way. They hadn’t considered for a moment the violence might reach them too. They’d moved straight on to moaning that the courier company hadn’t got the ads to them on the day they said they would. Everyone was so hyped to see them. Leila left a message with Quentin asking him to send through the courier’s tracking details straight away so she could sort it first thing in the morning.
Now Leila weighed into the conversation, striding to the front of the store. ‘Shouldn’t you be stopping them?’
A flicker of annoyance crossed the officer’s face but his voice remained steady. ‘We’re doing our best, ma’am. But we’re outnumbered at present. It’s best to let these things burn themselves out.’ And with that, he turned and left, moving next door to Angelique in Elegance.
Kate and Leila gawped at each other and then simultaneously made for the door, peering outside. Directly across from them, Lady Heavensfield was doing the same, her fingers clutching the string of pearls at her throat. She caught Kate’s eye and Kate offered a weak smile, the type she might give one of her children when they were about to have an injection.
Lady Heavensfield turned away, making a hurry-up motion to her two waitstaff in black and white uniforms.
A ferocious smash of what sounded like glass and wood made Kate and Leila jump. Yells came from a distance and a car alarm went off. Kate’s blood ran cold.
‘I think we should go,’ Leila said, rushing back to flick off power switches and turn off the laptop. She grabbed their handbags and took Kate by the elbow and marched her to the door.
Outside, the day was cold, with blasts of wind hurtling down the street, carrying with them an array of unpleasant industrial smells, like burning oil or chemicals, that made her mouth and eyes water. There were mob chants and yells, and the voices of the authorities booming over loudspeakers. They weren’t coming from Kings Road, but they were close.
Manu burst from Roulette, tugging at his bow tie, striding towards Kate. Randolph scurried behind him.
‘Come back inside now,’ Randolph scolded.
Manu gripped Kate’s hands in his fleshy ones. ‘You’ve heard?’
She nodded.
‘What will you do?’ he said.
‘Leave, I guess. I didn’t really think we had much choice.’
Manu straightened and rubbed his bald head in circles. ‘We’re staying,’ he said, his expression resolute. His words made her fret. If Manu and Randolph were brave enough to stay then maybe she should too.
‘No we’re not,’ Randolph countered, his hands on his hips, glaring at Manu. ‘Don’t be childish, Manu. We’re not exactly the baseball-bat-wielding types. It’s not worth risking our safety.’
‘Go if you want to,’ Manu said petulantly, waving him away. ‘But I’m staying to look after our shop and our livelihood.’ And with that, he turned on his heel and went back inside.
Randolph gave a small whimper and turned to Kate, beads of sweat on his brow. ‘You’d best get going,’ he said, just as an explosion of some sort made them all jump. The noise was piercing. In fact, it sounded like a gunshot. Kate’s ambivalence vanished. It was time to go.
‘Are you going to stay too?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘It seems so. I can’t leave him here alone.’
She nodded. ‘I suppose not.’ She rushed forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Good luck then.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, his face paling as yet another siren began a high-pitched wail. ‘We’ll do our best,’ he said, gesturing to The Tea Chest. ‘You know, to help you too.’
‘Thank you.’
Kate and Leila hurried towards Sloane Square tube station, close together, their eyes scanning ahead for trouble.
‘I can’t believe this,’ Kate gasped. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
Leila shook her head in shock.
‘Last night they were on the south side. How did they get here?’
‘Walk now, talk later,’ Leila ordered as they made a beeline for the station entrance, passing the newspaper seller who called out the headlines. People grabbed at the papers, wanting to make sense of what was happening to the city.
Kate made a move to take one too but Leila pulled her past the melee and through the turnstiles towards the edge of the platform just as the train arrived. They pushed their way on and stood amid a mass of visibly nervous people. A couple of youths down one end of the carriage shouted and jeered and Kate hunched her shoulders and looked at the floor, wishing for the ride to be over, and wishing she wasn’t wearing high heels but rather something easier to run in.
They changed tubes at Victoria and again at Stockwell to head south-west to Clapham North station, a trip Kate could do in her sleep now, but that seemed to take an age this morning.
They burst in through the front door at Hemberton Road, puffing, a sharp stitch in Kate’s left ribs.
Elizabeth was dressed in a powder-blue vintage dress she’d been planning to wear to work, but now paced the floor anxiously.
‘Thank goodness you’re back,’ she said, wringing her hands. ‘They’re asking people to stay indoors. I was just about to call you.’
In the background, Bill and Victoria were in lounge chairs, their eyes fixed on the television. Utter chaos filled the screen: arson, angry men with face coverings and hoods, looters smashing shop windows with planks of wood and ripping flat-screen televisions from the walls, home invasions, riot police on horses chasing rebels, who threw marbles at the animals to bring them down, a mother clutching crying children to her side as she hurried along a street full of debris, burning cars, a burning double-decker bus, a burning police car.
It was a war zone.
‘I’ve got to call Quentin,’ Leila said, and left the room.
A map of England came up on the screen and icons of fires dotted around the country showed where the riots were. There seemed to be more fire than spare land.
‘Blimey,’ Victoria breathed, still wrapped in a pink dressing gown, a mug of coffee in one hand. She was tucked into the corner of the three-seater lounge.
‘Why aren’t you smoking?’ Elizabeth said. ‘Isn’t that what smokers do in times of crisis?’
‘I’ve given up.’
‘When?’
‘A while back. I just realised I didn’t enjoy it that much.’
‘Well, that’s great,’ Elizabeth said, rubbing her forehead in a classic gesture of overload.
Kate felt an unlikely mixture of numbness, fascination and distress. She thought of Mark and the kids at home; of her precious shop, beautifully crafted to every last detail; and of the flowers she’d planted in the window boxes at street level one day when she’d felt she’d taken on the world and probably shouldn’t have. That simple act of pouring earth and potting the gerberas had lifted her spirits and calmed her. And now they were out there, exposed. The shop, a unique wonderland she’d so lovingly brought to life, now sat alone, vulnerable to attack. Then there was the money they would lose not only in today’s sales but in the event of damage to the shop and loss of productivity time during repairs. And she was so far from home.
Leila returned to the room, her heels muffled in the carpet. ‘I can’t get hold of him,’ she said, strain in her voice. ‘I hope he’s okay.’
‘Mum,’ Victoria said suddenly. ‘Has anyone spoken to Mum?’
Bill, Elizabeth and Victoria all looked at each other and Bill shook his head.
Victoria jumped to her feet to fetch the phone.
Elizabeth clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Haruka,’ she whispered.
Kate squinted, searching her mind for a reference to Haruka. She’d only been away a few days.
She turned to Elizabeth at the same time as Leila and they both said, ‘Who?’
Elizabeth blushed. ‘He’s . . . a long story.’ And she too left the room, presumably looking for her phone.
Kate’s phone chirped. It was a text from Mark.
Have just seen news. You ok? The shop?
‘Oh, it’s made the news in Australia,’ Kate said. She quickly sent a message back confirming she was okay but they were in lockdown inside the house. She asked him whether he’d heard from Judy.
Not yet.
Kate wasn’t sure whether to be pleased Judy hadn’t thrown any rocks into the pool yet or irritated that Mark so clearly believed it would happen.
Victoria returned. ‘Mum’s not answering her phone.’
‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ Kate said. ‘She’s probably distracted by the news.’ Then she remembered Quentin’s ads. ‘Damn, the couriers will be held up now, too.’
They settled in to watch more of the coverage, as reports of injuries began, including footage of people with head wounds and the injured being carried away on stretchers.
Kate got up to put the kettle on. While it boiled, she ferreted around in the cupboards for food. They might be in the house for a while and some primitive instinct (or maybe just a mothering instinct) had kicked in, driving her to check supplies and feed and water the flock.
Elizabeth came into the kitchen, now changed out of her beautiful dress and into more practical jeans and a shirt, just as Kate was opening a packet of pasta. ‘Here, let me help you,’ she said, taking out a pot.
‘Is your friend okay?’ Kate said.
Elizabeth smiled and Kate could see immediately the relief she felt was huge.
‘Yes, he’s fine. He was so wrapped up in his work he didn’t even know what was going on. He’s on the tenth floor of an apartment block. He’ll be fine. We were going to meet up today, but we’ve rescheduled for tomorrow. This should all be sorted by then, surely.’
‘Are you going to tell me about him?’ Kate teased, reaching past Elizabeth for the cheese grater.
So together they made macaroni cheese, and Elizabeth talked about Haruka and their dates and how they’d ended up in bed and how great he made her feel.
‘Sounds amazing,’ Kate said. ‘I wouldn’t worry about how quickly it’s been moving. When it’s right, it’s right. Why wait?’
Haruka might well be a rebound guy. But maybe not. Maybe it was fate they’d sat next to each other on the plane. And even if he was a rebound guy, it didn’t mean it was anything other than wonderful.
‘What was he doing in Brisbane to have you both end up on the same flight?’
‘He’d been in Sydney, actually, for a huge ceramics show and he just happened to catch a connecting flight through Brisbane.’
They’d just started roasting some vegetables when Victoria padded into the kitchen in her slippers. ‘I still can’t get hold of Mum,’ she said, her brow creased. ‘What should we do?’
Wordlessly, as only sisters could do, she and Elizabeth moved to the window together to look down the street, like cats peering from a kitchen sill.
‘It’s pretty empty out there,’ Victoria said. ‘Eerie.’
‘Maybe she and Angus have taken cover somewhere and she’s forgotten to take her phone,’ Kate suggested.
They continued cooking in silence, Victoria now pulling out tins and packets from the pantry, searching for cake mix. Leila moved into the kitchen as well, clutching her phone to her chest.
‘Any word?’ Kate said.
Leila shook her head.
‘Oh. How about some music?’ Kate suggested brightly, and sent Victoria off to organise something that would lift their spirits. She chose an ABBA collection, and Frida and Agnetha’s voices snapped everyone to attention. Kate smiled, the disco beats relaxing her a fraction, helping to take her mind off things.
They were about to sit down for some lunch when Bill came into the room, wearing a brown coat and a cap.
‘Dad, where are you going?’ Elizabeth said.
‘I’m going to look for your mother.’ He fished his car keys out of the fruit bowl.
‘You can’t be serious,’ Victoria said.
‘Dad, you can’t,’ Elizabeth echoed.
‘Don’t bother,’ he said, holding up his hand. ‘You can’t change my mind. I’ll be fine. But we need to know she’s alright.’
‘But where will you go?’ Elizabeth protested.
‘To her flat—Angus’s flat,’ he corrected. ‘No one’s going to hurt an old man out for a wander. They won’t even notice me.’
‘Dad, you can’t go alone.’ Elizabeth rose to her feet. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘Listen, kitten,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m the father and it’s my job to protect you.’
‘Dad, I’m thirty-one!’
‘And you’re still my daughter. What good is it to rescue my wife if I just go and put my daughter in danger?’
Leila replaced her fork quietly on the table beside her plate. Elizabeth looked stricken. Bill straightened.
‘Rightio. I’m off,’ he said, moving into the hallway.
‘Dad!’ Elizabeth leaped up to go after him and the others followed her until they were all wedged in the narrow entranceway. ‘Please don’t go.’
Bill began yet another protest but halted at the sound of a scratching at the keyhole in the front door. They all froze.
He found his voice first. ‘Who’s there?’
21
The front door opened to reveal Margaret Plimsworth, key in hand, her hair freshly curled, and her boyfriend Angus hovering behind her.
‘Mum!’ Victoria was clearly relieved.
There was a stiff pause as everyone else assessed the situation and Margaret hesitated in the doorway. Bill and Margaret locked eyes and she crossed her arms around her body. Bill looked from her to Angus and back again.
‘For Pete’s sake, get inside and close the door,’ he said, and then turned and strode down the hallway.
Margaret and Angus hurried inside.
‘Dad was just about to go looking for you,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ She took her mother’s bag. ‘Hi, Angus,’ she said, seeming to recover from the shock of her mother and her mother’s lover turning up at her father’s house. ‘I’m Elizabeth.’ She held out her hand. ‘Can we get you a cuppa?’
‘Thanks,’ he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. He had ginger whiskers and greying ginger hair and a wiry, lean body, and he was a fraction shorter than Margaret.
‘What are you doing here?’ Elizabeth said, leading the way to the kitchen. ‘We were worried about you. We couldn’t get hold of you.’
‘I dropped
my phone in a gutter,’ she said. ‘We ran. Literally. The riots were coming closer to Angus’s flat. It’s on the ground floor, which you’d know if you’d bothered to visit. And we couldn’t find anything strong enough to bar the door or windows.’ Margaret’s voice wobbled and she tugged at her red and black tartan scarf, the colours strong against her pale face.
Beside her, Angus sat stiffly on the edge of the chair. His face was grim, but Kate wasn’t sure if that was normal for him or if it was something new.
Elizabeth put her arm around her mother.
Margaret plucked a tissue from her bag. ‘I hope it’s okay, us being here. I don’t want to upset your father. We just didn’t know where else to go.’
‘Ssh.’ Elizabeth patted her hand and Kate made ginger tea from fresh gratings. ‘Everything will be fine. He was really worried about you. The important thing is you’re safe.’
Kate delivered the pot and teacups and excused herself to let them talk in peace. Back in the lounge room, Bill hovered, as though unsure whether to sit back down in his chair or head to the kitchen to join them for tea, or perhaps disappear to his room.
She gave him a smile. ‘That was very brave of you.’
‘Piffle.’
‘I just made a fresh pot of tea.’
‘No thanks, love.’ He finally decided on standing with his arms crossed, facing the television.
‘I’m going to phone the hotel,’ Leila said from the corner of the room where she’d been standing with her mobile phone, fingers whizzing around the keypad. ‘Hello, could you put me through to Quentin Ripp, please? Room 401.’ She waited, tapping her foot. ‘What do you mean he checked out? Well, do you know where he went? Where would he go with these riots going on?’ There was another long pause during which Kate’s fists clenched into involuntary balls. ‘The airport?’ Leila turned her huge eyes to Kate’s, her mouth ajar, and then ended the call without saying goodbye.
It was at this moment that Kate felt the last wisps of self-belief vaporise like the acrid smoke billowing up from the streets outside.
The Tea Chest Page 22