‘Derek,’ Ruby said to him, gently. ‘We’ve got a visitor. This lady is Alison.’
Derek got up from the armchair and stood to greet her.
‘Hello my dear,’ Derek said, with a smile. ‘Welcome. How nice to have a young guest. Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Yes, do,’ Ruby said warmly. ‘And there’s some Battenberg in the cupboard, could you pop that on a plate too?’
Before she’d arrived, Alison had worried she’d be intruding, but right now she felt like the Queen on a state visit. Ruby plumped the cushions on another armchair nearer the sofa, then motioned for Alison to sit down.
‘So dear, the tea things,’ Ruby said, as Alison took a seat. ‘Yes, I do remember them.’ She paused, and looked a little more misty-eyed than she had by the front door. ‘Derek,’ she called out, louder, ‘you remember our old teaset, don’t you?’
Derek peeped through the strands of the bead curtain by the kitchen. ‘What was that dear? Tea’s nearly ready, yes.’
‘No, darling. Not that. This young lady and her friends bought our teaset. You remember the one we gave to Gareth along with the books?’
‘Oh yes, the one with the flowers. I do.’ Derek ducked back into the kitchen. Alison could hear him pouring the boiling water into a teapot. A moment later he reappeared carrying a tray with sliced Battenberg, plates and three cups and saucers and put it down on the table between them. Alison looked at the cups, admiring them – each one had a tiny picture of a thatched cottage with a country garden on it and the saucers matched. Derek sat close to Ruby on the sofa and Alison took in the picture – Ruby’s hair was styled into perfect white curls and a delicate gold locket hung around her neck.
‘Help yourself to some cake,’ Ruby said, motioning to it.
‘Yes,’ Derek said, as if continuing something he’d already been saying. ‘We needed to clear some space. The problem is we can’t get up the stairs like we used to. So last year our son and his wife helped us bring the bedroom downstairs, did a conversion. It works for us, doesn’t it, Rube?’
Ruby nodded, and gave Alison a little wink, clearly used to her husband’s long stories.
‘We didn’t want one of those stairlifts.’ Derek shook his head, dismissing the idea.
‘Andrew and Julie asked us recently if we’d let them convert the top part of the house into a flat for our granddaughter, Suzie. She’s a student, you see, and it’ll mean she can move out of her parents’ house without it costing a fortune.’
Alison nodded, smiling.
‘We liked the idea,’ Derek continued, ‘Suzie is a gem. Anyway – long story short, sorry, dear, I do go on sometimes – we realised there was far too much clutter up there. Still is, we’ve only just started really. We were fond of lots of the things, but time passes, doesn’t it? Some things start to matter less.’ He leaned forwards and poured the tea, then milk, and passed Alison a full cup.
‘But that teaset saw us through many years,’ Derek said, a faraway look in his eyes.
‘Oh yes,’ Ruby chipped in. ‘We used to get it out when friends were round, and every Sunday after church.’ Alison bit into a slice of cake as she listened. ‘Lots of happy times here,’ Ruby said, with a smile.
‘I can imagine,’ Alison said. There was something welcoming and easy about the atmosphere in the Spencers’ modest, cosy home, as if the walls themselves carried memories of music and laughter. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘We moved in just after the war,’ Ruby said. ‘Derek had been away in Germany and I was here, working at the factory. At the time, in the first flush of love as we were, the wait seemed to go on for ever.’
Looking at the two of them Alison wondered how they could ever have been apart – they were even holding hands as they talked.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ Ruby continued, ‘but during that time apart we both made a lot of friends – friends for life.’ Ruby pointed to a colour photo on the wall of a group of ladies as old as she was, her in the centre, all smiling for the camera. ‘And when Derek came back …’ Ruby looked at her husband and Alison noticed her squeeze his hand gently. ‘Well, we didn’t want to wait around any longer, did we?’ she laughed. ‘After all those romantic letters back and forth, we could finally get married and make a home together. We got that set as a wedding present, didn’t we, dear?’
Derek nodded, ‘That’s right. My Aunt Brenda gave us that.’
‘A wedding present?’ Alison said, the words tumbling out. ‘Then you should have it – I’ll get it back to you.’
Ruby laughed kindly, her cup rocking a little in her hand.
‘Oh no, dear. Don’t you worry. It was the 1940s. We didn’t have wedding lists like now, and everyone would end up buying you the same thing. Four china teasets we got for our wedding! Who needs that many? Not us. I’m happy that your one has gone to a good home. It’s funny though, isn’t it? Four teasets for little old us and then you three ladies having to share.’
Alison noticed then that above the couple, on the little bookshelf over their heads, there was a black and white wedding photo.
‘Is that photo of you?’ she asked, curious, before she could stop herself.
‘Yes,’ Derek said. ‘Pass it over to Alison, Ruby.’
Ruby reached behind her and gave Alison the silver framed picture to look at. Ruby and Derek, younger but still recognisable, stood on the steps of Charlesworth church.
‘Lovely,’ said Alison. She took in the slender, dark-haired bride in a long-sleeved white lace gown, the man next to her handsome in a dark suit and horn-rimmed glasses. They were standing as close then as they were sitting now, two halves of a whole. It was so different from the pictures Alison had collected and pinned around her dressing table mirror – there was no awkwardness to them at all; here was a couple who, now as then, were meant to be together. In the photo Ruby’s slim hand was enveloped by Derek’s. They were looking directly at the camera, but it seemed as if all they really wanted to do was look at each other.
‘You look very happy,’ Alison said.
‘Yes,’ Derek said. ‘We still are.’ He used the tongs to put two cubes of sugar into his tea and stirred it, then took his first sip. ‘I always leave it for a bit. I don’t like it too hot, you see.’
‘Derek’s right, we are happy. But even in that photo, well the smile’s only ever half the story, isn’t it?’ Ruby said. She hesitated for a moment, then carried on.
‘While Derek came home from the war, my brother David never did. He was killed over in Germany, you see.’ There was a distance in Ruby’s eyes as she spoke. ‘When we got the telegram just before the war ended, I thought it would be the end of my mother and father too. Losing David was a reminder of how important it was not to wait about, but I missed him terribly. In those first few months of our marriage I wasn’t really all there, was I, Derek?’
‘No, you weren’t yourself back then,’ Derek said. ‘The girl I’d left when I set out in uniform loved dancing and good times, but the life went out of you for a while, didn’t it?’ He rested a hand on Ruby’s knee.
‘War is cruel,’ Derek continued, ‘we all know that. It was strange for me too, coming back to Charlesworth, the peaceful town I’d lived in all my life, but having seen things that other people hadn’t.’
‘But then our Jimmy came along,’ Ruby said. ‘And things got better. He reminded me of David from the day he was born, and I still feel like I got a piece of my brother back that day. Anyway, things change when you become parents, and we just got on with it. So we’ve had bad times and good,’ Ruby said, ‘like any couple. But we’ve always tried to be there for one another. Work through things as a team. Not give up.’
‘Sometimes she drives me round the bend,’ Derek said, earning himself a playful jab in the ribs from his wife. ‘But I wouldn’t be without her. Not for a minute,’ he smiled. ‘She’s my – what was it that Spanish fella at work used to say? – my half orange. That’s right. That’s my Ruby.’
Alison finished the cake on her plate and took another sip of tea before putting the cup back on the tray. She saw Ruby’s eyes rest on her wedding ring as she did so.
‘It looks as if you’re married too, Alison. You’ll know what it’s like then, the ups and the downs.’
Alison nodded, smiled.
‘Any children?’ Derek asked.
‘Yes, two lovely girls, twelve and fifteen,’ Alison said, then corrected herself with a wry smile, ‘I mean, I say lovely …’
Ruby laughed. ‘I know what you mean. Our sons were pretty boisterous at that age. But you don’t love them any less, do you?’
‘Not for a second,’ Alison said, realising how true it was. ‘Anyway, Ruby, Derek,’ she went on, ‘I should be off. But it’s been so wonderful to meet you.’ Alison sat forward in her chair and smiled.
‘OK then dear,’ Ruby said. ‘I’m sure you’ve got lots to do today. But it’s been a pleasure.’
Alison got to her feet and said goodbye, Derek held her hand affectionately between the two of his for a moment. When he let go, Ruby led her to the door.
‘You’re welcome any time, you know, if you’re ever passing,’ Ruby said, seeing her out.
‘Thank you, Ruby.’ Alison turned to go, then stopped and turned back as she remembered something. ‘Did you say you had more things to clear out of your attic?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Ruby said. ‘Lots of old furniture and things. None of it is any use to us anymore, and Gareth said the things are too big for the stall. It’s just all quite heavy, you see.’
‘I think I know just the person to help you,’ Alison said, a smile coming to her face. She took a piece of paper out of her bag and scribbled down a note. ‘Here’s my phone number, perhaps you could give me a call to fix a time?’ Ruby accepted the paper with a grateful smile.
Alison turned and took her first steps back towards home.
Chapter 23
Maggie
Maggie sat back on the sofa and surveyed her living room. On the coffee table a copy of Dazed and Confused sat alongside her Elle House and Garden magazine, a leather jacket was slung across her piano stool, and scribbled notes cluttered the surface of the breakfast bar.
One of the biggest changes since Dylan had moved in was the way that his music came back with him. She was still adjusting to coming home to the sound of raw guitar riffs when he had an afternoon off. This Sunday he’d given in, though, and it was her Nina Simone album they were listening to as they sat together reading the papers. As planned, they had the day all to themselves; they’d even switched off their phones and computers and resolved to let work wait till Monday for once. Dylan had made eggs Benedict and they’d eaten out on the terrace, sipping fresh orange juice and freshly brewed coffee, the sun creeping over the lawn and warming the patio. After breakfast Dylan had gone out for the papers and they had spent most of the morning on the sofa together reading them. Maggie surveyed the cosy disorder of the living room and caught Dylan’s eye. He squeezed her foot and put down the culture section he was reading, a broad smile on his face.
‘Maggie, I’ve got a surprise for you.’
As he got up, she pulled her cream satin dressing gown tighter around her and sat up.
‘A surprise?’ she asked. ‘How come?’
‘It’s a housewarming present, of sorts. Hang on a minute.’ Dylan left the room and went outside. A couple of minutes later Maggie heard his car door slam shut. He returned with two very big flat packages, wrapped in brown paper.
‘Here you go,’ he said, propping them gently against the cushions of the sofa she was sitting on, and grinning. ‘Go on, open them.’
Maggie opened the smaller of the two first, ripping the paper carefully. She saw a hint of the silver frame, then ripped more to see the picture inside: a photo of a New York street scene. It was a doorstep sale outside a tall brownstone house, a young family selling lamps, pictures and other bric-a-brac on a makeshift stall, their little boy playing on the front step and his sister playing hopscotch on the street in front. The colours were vivid and the kids looked as if they might leap right out of the frame.
‘This is one of yours, isn’t it?’ Maggie said, turning to Dylan.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I took it last year and thought you might like it. No teacups there I know, but it still looked like the kind of place you might enjoy looking for bargains during a weekend in the Big Apple.’ Maggie reached over and gave him a kiss.
‘I love it,’ she said.
Dylan beamed. ‘Good. Open the other one now,’ he said, impatient.
Maggie opened the second package, which was slightly larger. It took her a moment to work out that it was a photo of the view through a large, warehouse-style window. Through the glass was a leafy park, and at the sides of the photograph she could make out the interior of the room, a laptop, and some books on a desk, large photos and a street map pinned to the wall. The green foliage outside was so bright that the room itself seemed faded by comparison. Maggie cast her eye over the detail, the pictures within the picture, prints of models in swirling fabrics, adverts, a curled photo of a beautiful blonde in a Seventies floppy hat.
‘Is this your studio?’ Maggie said, the picture coming together as a whole now.
Dylan smiled. ‘Yes. What do you think of the view?’
Maggie nodded, rearranging her position and looked at it again. ‘Nice,’ she said. It was interesting, in a way. But it was his world, she thought, the one that didn’t include her.
‘I thought we could put that up in the bedroom,’ Dylan said. ‘So that we both have our views to look at in the morning.’
‘OK,’ Maggie said, ‘sure. Yes, if you’d like that.’
Dylan picked up the two pictures. ‘Have you got a hammer?’
By the middle of their first week living back together, Dylan had woven himself into the very fabric of Maggie’s home. Her bedroom and en-suite were colourful with traces of him – discarded T-shirts, boxers, aftershave, a shower gel in black packaging that made the bathroom smell of man, and a razor. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Maggie would feel unsettled, the change had come so quickly and she was struggling to adjust. But then she’d feel Dylan’s warm skin next to hers, move closer and put her arms around him, and the doubts would disappear.
On Wednesday evening, with Dylan over in Amsterdam on a work trip, Maggie got her wedding ring out of its box on a shelf and looked at it again. The first time she’d put it on, during their small wedding ceremony at Islington town hall, she’d felt like the luckiest woman alive. She closed the box gently and put it back down on her dressing table.
As she drove around a corner Maggie glanced in her rearview mirror to see steam billowing out from her Beetle’s engine. She’d put her foot down on the brake and had just started to slow down when the car spluttered to a complete stop.
After closing the shop on Thursday, Maggie had taken a trip out to a church over in Easton. A young couple, Hannah and Ian, had contacted her about doing the flowers for the christening of their baby girl Anya, so they’d decided to meet and walk through the venue together and talk about what displays might work. The village church was beautiful; the evening light threw diamonds in stained-glass colours across the tiled floor and wooden pews. In front of the seats were hand-embroidered prayer cushions.
The couple had been full of enthusiasm, full of pride for Anya, and excited about sharing the day with their family and friends. After the demands of bridezillas like Lucy, and the complicated wedding she was working on in Hove, this was a welcome relief to Maggie. Wandering up and down the aisle with them, suggesting yellows and reds to match the jewel shades in the windows, she had been reminded of why she’d got into the flower business in the first place. When Anya, cosy in Hannah’s sling, finally began to get restless, they had said their goodbyes and agreed to talk again soon.
It was dusk by the time Maggie had got on to the A-road back to Charlesworth and her engine had begun to protest.
When it cut out completely, she had managed to pull over into a layby and out of the way of the tractor behind her. She went around to the back of the car, opened it up and steam poured out – it was too hot to get close enough to see what was wrong.
Typical. She hadn’t had a problem with the Beetle since she bought it new, so yes, it was probably about time – but why here, where she had no phone reception and couldn’t call the AA? She got her mobile out of her pocket just to check – yep, not a bar. She put it away in her bag.
She imagined Dylan sinking a cold Amstel by the Dutch canals, sun sparkling on the water, and recalled how he’d urged her to close the shop and join him. If only she had. She held back the urge to kick the car in frustration and tried to think practically. She looked up at the sky, which was darkening quickly now. There were no streetlights for miles, and she knew from experience that soon she wouldn’t be able to see her own hands in front of her face. This route was a familiar one – it was a long walk back to Easton, at least an hour and a half, and an even longer one to Charlesworth. Nothing but fields for a good distance, but she could see a couple of farmhouses, on the route back to Easton, where she might be able to use the phone. At least she was wearing flats, she thought. She grabbed a cream jumper from the back seat and locked up the car.
She’d been walking for about half an hour on the near-empty road when a car behind her tooted its horn. She was already at the very edge of the road, with the bramble scratches to prove it, so presumably the driver was simply showing his appreciation of her rear – and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of turning around. As the car neared her it slowed right down, pulling level with her. She kept her eyes focused on the road ahead. The sky was a little darker now though, and her irritation was tinged with an edge of anxiety. Here she was, walking on her own without even a functioning mobile. She was strong, yes, but not invincible. The vehicle continued to crawl along beside her. Her heart and mind were racing. Looking up, after what felt like an eternity but must only have been a second or two, she saw it was a truck, rather than a car, and that the broad-shouldered driver was leaning across the cab to wind down the window.
The Vintage Teacup Club Page 15