The Vintage Teacup Club

by Vanessa Greene

  ‘OK,’ I relented. ‘But I’m going to hold you to that; we’re definitely going on Thursday,’ I said, smiling. ‘I want to be more toned than this for the wedding – even if I do have the corset to hold everything in now.’

  ‘Fox and Pheasant?’ Chloe suggested, and together we walked out of the air-conditioned Sussex Living offices and into the warm evening air. It was only Monday, but the pavement outside the pub opposite, our regular, was already crowded. Charlesworth’s shop and office workers were enjoying the unexpected balminess, white wine spritzers and bottles of Magners in hand. Chloe and I crossed the street and I went into the pub to get a glass of white wine for each of us, while Chloe nabbed an empty bit of bench to sit on.

  ‘So,’ I said, when I returned from the bar, settling myself on the seat and tucking my unused gym kit under the table. ‘How was that thirtieth you went to on Saturday?’

  ‘Ahem, yes …’ Chloe started, wrinkling her nose a little.

  I knew that face. ‘Chloe …’ I started, in the schoolmarmish voice that I seemed to adopt whenever we had this conversation.

  ‘I know, I know.’ She held her hands up. ‘But the men at the party were all such idiots, Jen. It was mainly Nikki’s banker friends down from London. It was like they expected us country girls to leap straight on to hay bales with them at the mere mention of champagne,’ Chloe said, unclipping her hair and raking her hands through her chestnut curls. ‘So when I got a text from Jon at midnight saying come over, I did.’

  I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘He was so lovely when I got there.’

  ‘Right. Of course he was,’ I said, before I could stop myself.

  ‘I know, Jen. You don’t need to remind me.’ Chloe looked a little defeated.

  Chloe and Jon had been on and off for as long as I’d known her. Jon had swept her off her feet when she met him online dating three years ago, and according to Chloe their first year together had been a dream. From what I’d witnessed, though, he’d spent the following two years breaking all of his promises and breaking up with her. Then, without fail, just when she was getting back on her feet again, he would decide he wanted her back.

  ‘He was really apologetic about missing Jo’s wedding,’ Chloe said. ‘And the thing is, he’s not great with weddings anyway, so perhaps it was best he wasn’t there after all, like he said.’ Chloe sipped her wine and smoothed down her peach pleated skirt.

  ‘Jen,’ Chloe said after a pause, ‘how do you and Dan make it look so easy?’

  ‘Do we?’ I said, genuinely surprised that she thought that. ‘I’ve no idea, Chlo – because it isn’t, not always. Ask him what it’s like going out with someone who alphabetises his DVDs and “disappears” items of his clothing she isn’t keen on. We have our moments, believe me.’

  ‘OK, but you don’t have doubts, do you?’ Chloe asked, ‘I mean big ones.’

  ‘No,’ I replied, mulling it over. ‘Not big ones. I’m pretty sure this time.’ I thought about how different things had been with my ex – I’d had a catalogue of doubts back then. But when I met Dan things just seemed to fall into place, and while it wasn’t all perfect, for the most part loving him felt like a lazy Sunday, not a battle.

  ‘Good,’ Chloe said, cheering up. ‘Because as it happens I’ve had some really good ideas for your hen night, so we can’t have you bailing out now.’

  I smiled. ‘Not a chance.’

  Chapter 8

  Maggie

  Hearing his voice was the hardest part, but it definitely helped that Dylan had picked up a stupid-sounding transatlantic twang.

  ‘Hey, Maggie,’ he said, as soon as she answered the phone. ‘So where are you living now?’ he asked her, once they’d exchanged a few pleasantries. ‘And what about work, did you start up on your own like you always wanted to?’

  Maggie was sitting on the edge of her sofa, her bare feet pressed into the soft rug and a glass of wine on the table next to her. It was eleven pm and rain was battering against the French windows. The hot weather had broken earlier that evening and the storm was still going strong. The branches of her apple tree knocked against the glass. Maggie had been trying not to watch the phone since replying to Dylan at the weekend, but from time to time her eyes would drift over to it, wondering if and when he would call.

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie answered, trying to keep the tone of her voice even and steady. ‘I did move. I’m down in Sussex now actually, in an old market town.’ She was grateful that her voice came out sounding calmer than she felt.

  ‘Ah, right, Sussex,’ he said. ‘Nice. But I bet country living hasn’t knocked the city girl out of you yet.’

  ‘Look,’ Maggie cut in, steeling herself. ‘Let’s not mess around, Dylan. Why was it that you wanted to speak to me?’

  They fell silent.

  ‘OK, Maggie, you’re right,’ Dylan said at last. ‘To the point.’ She heard him take a deep breath. ‘I never meant for it to be so long before we spoke again, but like I said, I needed some time completely apart.’

  Maggie took a sip of her wine and listened.

  ‘I’ve been living in New York for the past three years. With my international client list it was easy enough to set up a studio over there. I’ve been photographing everything from car adverts to book covers. I know you always thought I let my work take over, but I suppose there were just some things I needed to do.’

  Each word about Dylan’s success was like a stab to her chest.

  ‘I’ve got an apartment in Brooklyn,’ Dylan continued. ‘And the city is amazing, there’s a real buzz here. I wake up each morning and can’t wait to get started.’

  Hooray for you, Maggie thought. Her thoughts flicked to the adored wedding ring she’d put away in a box a few summers before. Dylan had put so much energy into his career back then that it had felt to Maggie as if there hadn’t been any left for their marriage. And now she had to listen to Dylan celebrating all he’d achieved without her? Really?

  ‘But the truth is it doesn’t feel right anymore, Maggie.’ Dylan’s voice softened. ‘None of it does. I don’t want a bachelor lifestyle. I want what the two of us had together. Every woman I meet, every flower arrangement I see, every flash of red hair in the street reminds me of you.’

  Oh. Maggie took a gulp of wine this time.

  ‘I’m ready for something more,’ Dylan continued. ‘Something I wasn’t ready for when we broke up. I know you never wanted for us to get divorced – I made that happen and Maggie, I’m so, so sorry.’

  Maggie mustered up a hesitant ‘OK’, although it really wasn’t.

  ‘Maggie, look, this is how it is. I’m coming to London at the end of next week. I want for us to talk face to face. Please hear me out. Will you? I hope that what we had is worth that?’

  Dylan’s words hung in the air.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ Maggie said.

  *

  The morning sun streamed in through Maggie’s white muslin curtains as she woke to Mork mewing gently for food. She felt as if she’d hardly slept, the storm had been battering at the windows till the early morning and Dylan’s words had been going around and around in her head. Barely moving from the position she was in, she lazily reached out a hand to stroke the cat and caught sight of her alarm clock. The numbers glared, reprimanding her. Five past ten. Oh, darn it. She was due at Darlington Hall in twenty-five minutes and it would take her at least that just to drive there.

  She’d been in a daze when she’d finally gone to bed last night and now she realised she must have forgotten to set the alarm. She got to her feet quickly and pulled her satin dressing gown off the hook and around her. Sweeping Mork up in her arms she headed downstairs, poured him out some cat biscuits and grabbed a glass of water. Where had she put those sketches again? She found her linen notebook on the breakfast bar and some other loose pages she’d made sketches on, and put them in her leather satchel alongside her Netbook, BlackBerry and diary.

  There was definitely no time for a showe
r. No time at all. But could she really face turning up at Darlington Hall in this state? She ran upstairs, switched the shower on to warm up and tied her hair back in a pink sequinned scrunchie her niece Maisy had left on the side the last time she’d visited. She washed in a zingy grapefruit shower gel that made her feel a whole lot more ready to face the world. Back in her bedroom she peeked out of her window – after the storm there were pure blue skies and sunshine. She chose a pale green silk dress with Chinese-style fastening at the top and brown leather gladiator sandals. She pulled on her chunky gold bracelet and headed downstairs, satchel in hand. She got into her Beetle and looked down at the clock. Ten twenty-five. Argh.

  As the gravel crunched under her tyres she saw there was another vehicle already pulled up at Darlington House – a battered pick-up truck with gardening tools in the back. She parked next to it, hopped out and walked, as fast as was dignified, up to the front door of the house. The bell rang grandly and Lucy opened the door.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Lucy,’ Maggie began. Lucy looked her up and down, unimpressed.

  ‘Look,’ Lucy began, ‘you’ve missed the pastries and we’ve started already, but come in. We’re in the drawing room.’ Maggie followed her through to a sunny room furnished with a chaise longue and a rocking horse. Two dark red velvet sofas faced each other in the far corner next to the French windows, and Maggie saw Jack and another guy with dark hair – presumably his friend, the landscape gardener – sitting together on one. Maggie walked with Lucy and took a seat beside her on the other sofa. ‘Maggie, this is Owen, Owen, Maggie.’ Owen looked like he was in his late twenties. He was lounging back in a scruffy checked shirt and khaki combats as if he had no need to make an effort even at a manor house. When Maggie shook his hand, his dark eyes met hers, but he didn’t smile. His gaze was so steady that it unsettled her. Looking away, she noticed that Lucy’s father, Jeremy Mackintosh, was out on the terrace, pacing up and down and talking on his phone.

  ‘Owen’s put together some really good designs here,’ Lucy began, pointing to some papers on the coffee table. ‘He’s planned out where to put the mushrooms and which way the guests will walk.’

  Maggie opened her satchel and produced her linen notebook and sketches. ‘Ah, that sounds interesting …’ she said, not looking over. ‘Lucy, there’s something I wanted to show you both too.’

  Maggie put her designs on the other half of the table and opened out her sketchbook. She ensured she had all of Lucy and Jack’s attention before she spoke. She glanced at Owen too, but got the sense he couldn’t care less about what she had to say. It didn’t help when his gaze drifted away from her designs towards the garden, where Lucy’s dad was standing. Maggie pointed at her first drawing. ‘I thought we could have the guests walking from this main door –’ she pointed to the drawing room door, ‘down the steps to hit the display like—’

  ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Lucy said. ‘I much prefer what Owen’s done here, with the lakeside rose display and the candlelit area by the herb garden, don’t you Jack?’

  Jack nodded, then caught Maggie’s eye and stopped.

  ‘I like them both, to be honest, Luce. They’re just different.’

  Maggie carried on, regardless. ‘But you see what I’ve done here with the wicker hula hoops will make the display a really interactive—’

  ‘Wicker hula hoops?’ Owen said, laughing as he turned back to the table and looking at Maggie straight on, his dark eyes resting on hers again. ‘Really?’

  OK, perhaps that had been a step too far, Maggie reflected, but was there any need to be rude?

  ‘Didn’t you say I’m doing the garden and she’s handling the flowers, Jack?’ Owen continued. ‘I thought that was what we agreed?’

  Maggie seethed, a flush of frustration and fury coming to her cheeks. She glared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Actually we did say that, didn’t we Maggie?’ Lucy said.

  OK, so they had, but after their first meeting she’d realised she was more than capable of doing some of the designing herself. She shouldn’t have been so daunted by it. Now Owen was acting as if she was treading on his toes, when it was just as much her event to organise. She wanted the wedding to fit with the Bluebelle brand, and if Owen started to take over too much she knew she could risk compromising that.

  ‘Yes, we did, but I thought you’d still like to see …’ Maggie started.

  She looked from her drawings over to Owen’s designs, and was irritated to see that they did look quite carefully thought through. But he was clearly far younger than her, what did he know about planning events of this scale? He drove a pick-up truck, for God’s sake! Maggie was surely far better suited to working on a wedding of this kind, with this calibre of guest.

  ‘Look. No offence, but weddings really aren’t my thing, as you two know.’ Owen looked from Jack to Lucy. ‘There’s nothing sustainable about one big, blowout day of indulgence, even in the name of love. But like I said, I’m willing to do this for you guys as a favour.’

  Jack was starting to look a little uncomfortable now, shuffling in his seat.

  ‘But if I’m going to do it,’ Owen continued, ‘it has to be my way. Leave the garden stuff to me,’ Owen said to Jack. ‘That’s what we agreed, and that’s what I’m trained to do. And she,’ Owen waved his hand dismissively in Maggie’s direction, ‘can do the flower-arranging.’

  ‘OK,’ Jack said, hurriedly trying to make amends and placate his friend. ‘Maggie, we really want your input on the flowers, though, like we said.’

  When Maggie looked up to argue her case, Owen was staring at her, at the top of her head his brown eyes glinting.

  ‘Nice scrunchie,’ he said.

  ‘Mini pork pie?’ Maggie asked, passing the plate.

  ‘That would go perfectly with my bowl of Quavers,’ Jenny said, with a giggle, putting a tub of ice cream into Maggie’s freezer and picking up a pie.

  Alison picked up the three full glasses of lemonade, and the women took their plates and a large pizza box over into Maggie’s pristine living room.

  ‘Thanks for coming over,’ Maggie said, getting comfy on the armchair, tucking her legs up under her. ‘And for bringing the junk food extravaganza.’ In front of them was an array of comforting carbs, including an enormous pizza. Maggie hadn’t really expected Alison and Jenny to be free on a Friday night, but after the day she’d had at Darlington Hall she was longing for some friendlier company and so had invited them round on the off-chance. When she’d answered the door to find them laden down with snacks and smiling with slumber-party glee, Maggie’s blues were all but forgotten.

  ‘Pah!’ Alison said. ‘Don’t worry, Maggie, we’ve all had one of those days.’ Jenny nodded and took a mini sausage roll from the pile on her plate, her blonde ponytail bouncing.

  ‘It’s been a while since I had a good junk food feast anyway,’ Jenny said, with a wink. ‘They’re wasted on hangovers, don’t you think?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Maggie said, ‘and it’s the lesser of two evils. It’s a good job you came around really, or I’d probably be a bottle of wine down by now. Honestly, Lucy Mackintosh’s wedding was sent to test me.’

  ‘Is she really that bad?’ Alison asked, brushing a crumb off her checked shirt.

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie replied in an instant. ‘Only now it’s not just her.’ She paused, recalling the disaster that had been that day’s meeting. ‘She’s got this really arrogant upstart on board to do the landscaping and … No,’ Maggie shook her head with determination, ‘I’m not wasting valuable snacking time even thinking about them.’ A wide smile took the place of her scowl as she took a slice of pizza from the box.

  ‘Anyway, Alison,’ Maggie said, through a mouthful of mozzarella, ‘your friend Jamie from the charity shop popped into the shop the other day for some freesias. Said he might be starting up a café over the street. Did you know about that?’

  Alison beamed. ‘Yes, and to be honest I’ve been desperate to blab about it – I’m thinking
of going in with him as a partner,’ she took in her friends’ intrigued expressions. ‘But there’s a lot to think about before then. I’ve got to talk to Pete first really, but I’ll keep you posted.’ She stroked Mork’s arched back as he sniffed at the pork pies. Looking around the room, Alison changed the subject, ‘Anyway, this place is stunning, Maggie,’ she said. ‘White carpets, blimey, the stuff of dreams when you have kids.’

  Maggie smiled warmly, ‘Well, I guess there are advantages to living alone.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Alison said, laughing. ‘I think every piece of our furniture is practically wipe-clean.’ She hopped to her feet to inspect the framed photos on Maggie’s mantelpiece. ‘So are you sure there’s no one on the scene, man-wise?’

  ‘Nope, no one. I’m absolutely certain,’ Maggie said, focusing on taking another bite of pizza without cheese dripping on her chin.

  ‘Nosy,’ Jenny said, directing the comment at Alison.

  ‘Look,’ Alison said, picking up a photo of Maggie with Kesha and Sarah for a closer look. ‘Let me live vicariously a little. With two kids and an elderly mum to think about, I need all the kicks I can get.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Maggie said, smiling. ‘I only wish I could provide a bit more in the way of entertainment for you. But it’s a romantic desert round here I’m afraid.’

  Alison narrowed her eyes as if she didn’t entirely believe what she was hearing.

  ‘Seriously!’ Maggie confirmed. ‘Haven’t you spotted all the scented candles and cushions I’ve got in this place? Single woman’s prerogative.’

  ‘OK, we believe you – it’s true there are a lot of candles. But still, I’m amazed. Well, enjoy it while it lasts, I say. Family life can really take it out of you.’

  ‘Does your mum live nearby, Ali?’ Jenny asked, lifting her glass to her lips.

  ‘Close-ish, yes,’ Alison replied. ‘I’m popping round to see her with my brother tomorrow actually. She’s OK most of the time, but she’s stubborn as you like and she isn’t ready to accept that she’s not as strong as she once was.’ Alison’s eyes drifted, then her gaze came back with a smile. ‘It’s a good reminder to enjoy being young and healthy while we can, isn’t it?’