The Tea Chest

by Josephine Moon

  ‘Phew.’ He grinned.

  ‘And yes, we can start making babies to fill the flat as soon as you want.’

  He tipped his head and his eyes began to roam down her body. His hands cupped her shoulders, fingers caressing her back. Shivers ran through her and she moved towards him.

  ‘How about we start right now?’ he said, laying tiny kisses on her throat.

  ‘No arguments here.’

  And that was when they created their first little duckling.

  Ko Pha Ngan, Thailand

  It was hot. But not so hot it made them miserable. In the week they’d been in Thailand, Leila’s skin had turned a flawless golden brown and she’d begun to wear sarongs and cotton singlets every day. She revelled in their softness, the bright colours and the way they moved around her body. She’d never realised how much clothes could change her mood. She moved more freely, breathed more deeply.

  She sat on the corner of the king-sized bed, the rattan fan clicking gently above her head. Lucas paced the wooden floor, his hands behind his back. He paused for the hundredth time and gazed out through the sliding wooden doors to the dazzling white sand that nudged the footings of their own private deck.

  Leila had long given up trying to console him. His nerves were making him tetchy and a little snappish and so she concentrated on trying to calm herself. This was the moment she’d been both fearing and longing for since the moment she’d hit delete on that email.

  ‘Perhaps we should go wait on the beach,’ she suggested. ‘Get out of this room.’

  He stopped his pacing. His brows crossed and he looked as though he was about to argue but instead he took a deep breath. ‘Okay.’

  They sat on the sand under the shade of a tall palm tree and watched the rhythmic rolling of the azure water and Leila felt her heart rate slow. Thailand was a sensory feast of spices, deep blue skies, crystal-clear waters, green-clad islands, brown skin, white sands, red and purple clothes, gentle breezes and cooling rains. She could feel herself uncoiling.

  She reached over and took Lucas’s hand in hers and squeezed it.

  He turned to look at her and she gave him a smile. ‘I think it’s going to be okay.’

  He squeezed her hand back. ‘Yeah.’

  She was just about to speak again when she saw them. Nootsara was slender, shorter than Leila, in a printed sleeveless dress, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. And beside her was a young girl in a white T-shirt and a pink skirt. Achara was skipping, her jaw-length hair swishing around as she leaped. She was holding her mother’s hand and their hands swung back and forth. The girl was chattering. A lot. And Leila could see her huge smile even from a distance.

  They were about a hundred metres away and were moving towards them, their bare feet splashing through the shallows. The woman held two pairs of shoes in her free hand as they walked.

  ‘Look,’ Leila said.

  Lucas swung his head in their direction.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  He nodded. Then shook his head. ‘She’s here.’ He rose to his feet, white sand plastered on the back of his shorts and Leila stood beside him, looping her arm through his.

  Nootsara looked up, stared at them for a few seconds, then raised her hand with the shoes in it and offered a wave. Lucas raised his hand in return. Nootsara stopped walking and turned to face her daughter. She bent down and spoke to her and pointed to where they stood.

  Achara, her body still now, looked over at them. The sunlight reflected off her dark hair. She moved a little closer to her mother and they resumed walking.

  Lucas and Leila made their way slowly down the beach.

  Nootsara and Achara stopped a couple of metres from them. They were near the water’s edge and the froth from a wave washed over Leila’s feet.

  ‘Hi,’ Lucas said, his voice gravelly.

  ‘Hello, Lookis,’ Nootsara said.

  She smiled and then dropped her eyes to the ground, her long lashes brushing the perfect skin of her face as she dipped her head slightly. She put her arm around Achara’s shoulders.

  ‘Achara, this is Lookis,’ she said. ‘And his Laylar.’

  ‘Hi,’ Lucas said.

  ‘Hello,’ Leila said, smiling in what she hoped was a universal assurance of friendliness.

  Lucas held out his hand towards his daughter. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

  Achara considered his hand then turned her huge brown eyes up to her mother’s face. Nootsara spoke a few rapid words to her, nodding and gesturing towards Lucas.

  Leila waited, holding her breath, willing Achara to respond.

  Achara took a moment, looking from Lucas to Leila and back to her mother.

  Then she stepped across the sand and reached out her small hand to place it inside Lucas’s large one. ‘Meet you,’ she said, and an enchanting smile lit up her whole face, followed by a tinkling giggle.

  It was storming. A summer thunder and lightning show that darkened the sky and promised to bring relief from the intense heat of the day.

  Inside The Tea Chest, the air conditioning had been an appealing choice for the Christmas shoppers, who hung around a little longer than they needed to, inhaling aromas of seasonal spices and touching the boxes tied with red ribbons and, ultimately, ringing up inspiring quantities of purchases.

  Kate and Mark sat alone now, at the small distressed wooden table and chairs near the street window, next to the living Christmas tree from which hung small boxes of tea for decorations. Susan had just left for the day, off to meet up with another new man in her endless search for love. And Bryony was leading the Sydney store through to a midnight Christmas shopping event.

  Heavy spatters of rain percussed the road outside.

  Kate plonked down the purple folder that contained her research on their secret project, the one no one else knew about yet.

  ‘I love this time of day,’ she said. It was their once-a-week Fullerton Futures meeting, where they got to bring all their ideas to the table for The Tea Chest’s growth and development. It was at this table that she’d come up with the Wisdom Tea concept, a range of blends that included a card with an inspirational message in the box. It had taken off like a jet plane.

  Now that Elizabeth was firmly established as the manager in the London store and Leila was due to move to Sydney next month and begin as assistant manager down there (time would tell if she and Lucas would survive a long-distance relationship), Kate and Mark had their eyes and hearts set on a new adventure.

  A year out of Australia. Learning a different language. Immersed in a different culture. The boys in a foreign school. Both she and Mark had been researching cities they thought could offer a great business opportunity and a great opportunity for Keats and James.

  ‘So,’ Kate said, ‘I’ve made up my mind.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Mark, pumping the air with his fist. He dropped his own folder of research onto the table. It was even thicker than Kate’s.

  ‘Impressive,’ she said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I try.’ He leaned back in his chair nonchalantly.

  ‘You can go first,’ she said, catching a whiff of nutmeg as it wafted across her face on the current from the air conditioner.

  ‘No, no. Ladies first.’

  ‘I insist,’ she said.

  They faced each other like friendly gunslingers. ‘Together then,’ he said.

  ‘Fine. On the count of three.’ She held up her fist and unfurled first her thumb, then her forefinger, and when the middle finger joined them for the count of three they both spoke at once.

  ‘Hong Kong!’

  Kate squealed and clapped her hands.

  ‘Great minds,’ Mark said.

  ‘Are we really going to do this?’ she said, clutching her hands together at the thought of packing up to spend a year in an Asian city.

  ‘We must be nuts thinking we can sell tea to the Chinese,’ Mark said, rubbing his head.

  Kate shrugged. ‘We’re selling tea to the English.’


  ‘It’s a big chance to take,’ he said, his voice serious now.

  ‘Yep. It is.’

  Outside, there was a burst of shouting and laughter from a group of people dressed in business suits dashing through the rain with umbrellas, probably on their way to a Christmas function. Kate watched them for a moment, thinking how ordinary and safe a thing to do that was.

  ‘Doubts?’ Mark said.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Lots.’

  Later that night, Kate wandered barefoot down the hallway of the upper floor of their house in the Paddington hills, enjoying the feel of the new cream woollen carpet under her feet. It really wasn’t a practical choice for a home with two young boys, but it was one of her celebratory purchases, one that made her feel successful and nurtured.

  A pang of homesickness struck her at the thought of being in another country, so far from this beautiful house they’d worked so hard for.

  But it’s not for long. Not really.

  She poked her head into the boys’ room, standing in the shadowy doorway and watching them sleep, listening to them breathe.

  It was her nightly ritual, one she took her time to enjoy. Because this was what it was all about. All the hard work and the fatigue and risk-taking. It was all to make a better life for herself, her marriage and her boys. And it was working.

  A satisfied smile crept across her face as she continued on to the master bedroom, pausing to listen to Mark’s breathing too as she slid across the smooth cotton sheets and tucked herself up against his back, enjoying the few moments of serenity she had each night as she ended another creative, successful day alongside the love of her life, before sleep came.

  Trust yourself, Simone had said.

  And that’s exactly what she would keep on doing.

  Acknowledgements

  Heartfelt thanks to the lovely Monica McInerney for plucking my manuscript from obscurity and placing it in front of her agent, Fiona Inglis of Curtis Brown, who then became my agent too. Thank you both for being willing to take a chance on me.

  Thank you to the entire Allen & Unwin team for making me feel so very welcome in your house and throwing your belief, energy and expertise into the book. Very special thanks to Annette Barlow for being so sensitive and insightful and giving me the gift of brilliant editorial counsel. Thank you also to Kathryn Knight, Ali Lavau and Sarina Rowell for taking great care of my words as they made their way to the pages, and to Patty Di Biase-Dyson and Marie Slocombe for your publicity and marketing skills and enthusiasm, which are so important in bringing an unknown writer out into the world. And to Lisa White for the mouth-watering cover design.

  Kate Smibert, whose exceptional foresight, critical analysis and targeted feedback helped to direct early drafts of this manuscript to the place it is today, and for telling me right from the start that this book absolutely would get published. You are a fellow writer’s angel and a treasured friend. Thank you also for the description of the man with more facial piercings than face.

  Kathleen Lamarque, who patiently read my manuscript, assisted with London specifics, caught errors and answered endless questions, loaned me jewellery, took author and publicity photos, and was an all-round champion of my journey.

  My sister, Amanda Wooding, for being unreasonably enthusiastic about this book (and every manuscript before this that hasn’t made it to the shelves), reading an early draft, helping all my characters find homes in London, and, most importantly, drinking cocktails and sharing high teas with me on the pretence of vital research.

  Michele Cashmore, for reading and advising on early drafts, drinking loads of coffee, and supplying tissues and pep talks over the years for every rejection and disappointment along the way.

  Geraldine Schoenwald, Brian Schoenwald and Pamela Schoenwald have all been important in this book’s journey, from allowing me to live rent-free while I wrote my first novel, to pep talks and enthusiasm, through to airport runs and much-needed childcare and grassroots promotion. I am so incredibly grateful.

  My son, Flynn, for being an endless source of joy and wonder and making every day a diamond day. I see the world anew through your eyes.

  And most important of all, my husband, Alwyn Blayse, for brainstorming scenes and plot twists with me in the middle of the night, for making me laugh every day, for painting the house while I went away for weekends to work, who did more midnight feedings with the baby than was fair, and for always having the right things to say at the right times. And for simply being the best support and cheer squad a girl could ever want. I love you forever and a day longer than that.