Miss Potterton's Birthday Tea

by Amanda Prowse

  Marley nodded.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking – that we might be a bit light on guests?’ Ian held Tina’s gaze.

  ‘Don’t! I’m hoping they’ve just got held up.’ She blinked.

  ‘Yes, possibly.’ He nodded. ‘But what do we do if they’re no-shows?’

  ‘We…’ She looked around the kitchen for inspiration, staring at the beautiful iced fruitcake with the ivory bow and pearl detail. ‘I don’t know!’ she squealed, dreading the thought.

  ‘Who are we waiting on?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Oh, Gawd.’ Tina hated having to recite the names, as if it was some kind of memory test. ‘We’ve got Mr and Mrs Govington-Thingy, and Mr Tyson-Blaine, and the three ladies from the Residents Association, whose names, I’m embarrassed to say, I can’t recall, because in my head I’ve been referring to them as Huey, Dewey and Louie.’

  He stared at her as if she was bonkers. ‘Right, do you have numbers for any of them?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Her face lit up as she remembered. ‘I’ve got Dewey’s!’ She rushed to a drawer and pulled out a circular from the Residents Association. ‘Can I borrow your phone, Marl?’

  He handed it over slowly, thinking of his depleting credit.

  Tina turned away from them both; she didn’t want to be watched while she made the call.

  ‘Oh, hello, it’s Tina here. I’m Miss Potterton’s cleaner... Yes, cleaner. Anyway, the reason for my call is to see if you are able to come to her birthday tea today. We were expecting you at three and so…’ She turned and looked at Ian and frowned. ‘Oh, I see!’ She listened some more. ‘Oh really? Well, that’s a shame. But thank you and sorry to have bothered you. Yes, I will. Thanks.’

  She handed the phone back to Marley. ‘Apparently Dewey had already called to say that she and her two mates were unable to attend. And she happened to know that the Govington-Doo-Dahs are on holiday. They also phoned, apparently.’

  ‘And spoke to Cordelia?’ Ian asked.

  She nodded. The two stared at each other for a second or two. Then Tina clapped her hands together.

  ‘Okay, this is what we do. Marley, you make a pot of the finest Darjeeling. I’ll bring the sandwiches and cakes through. Dr Ian, you go and remove the plates and bits and bobs we don’t need, and we will try and dazzle your aunt with our lovely food and distract her with our great company. Come on, Marley, shake a leg!’ she urged. ‘And we shall just have to hope that Mr Tyson-Thingy shows up as a kind of last-minute gift!’

  ‘Right, so I’m on distraction and plate removal, got it! And yes, do hurry up, Marley. I’m bloody starving!’ Ian spoke with gusto, as if he was having fun.

  Tina laughed, noting his emphasis of the swear word. He was great.

  She approached the table carrying a three-tiered cake stand crammed with delicate, crustless sandwiches.

  ‘Good God, this is all rather lame! I’ve been to more atmospheric wakes.’ Miss Potterton sighed.

  ‘Okay, well, apparently, Mr and Mrs Govington—’

  ‘Govington-Holmes!’ Miss Potterton snapped in irritation.

  ‘Yep, them. Well, they are on holiday.’

  Miss Potterton sniffed.

  ‘And the three ladies from the Residents Association are also now unavailable.’

  ‘Unavailable? What does that mean? Makes it sound like I’ve missed my appointment.’ She tutted again and then adjusted the pearls at her neck. ‘Maybe it’s time I admitted that I am just not as popular as I thought!’

  ‘Oh, bless…’ Tina whispered, feeling her heart twist, wishing that Miss Potterton was the type of woman who liked a hug, knowing it would make them both feel a lot better.

  ‘The good news is…’ Tina smiled brightly. ‘That you get to enjoy the company of me and Dr Ian and Marley. And the good news for us is... there’s more cake and sandwiches to go round. And I for one can’t wait!’

  Without waiting to be asked, she took a seat at the table and laid the napkin on her lap. She watched as Miss Potterton dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Disappointment was shitty, whether you were nine or ninety-four.

  ‘Come on, Marley, where’s that tea?’ she called towards the kitchen.

  ‘Does he know to add one for the pot?’ Miss Potterton asked.

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry. He might not have attended many tea parties, but that boy knows about making tea!’ She beamed.

  ‘I would very much like to see your mother too.’ Miss Potterton turned to her nephew as though they were mid conversation. ‘She was such a kind soul.’ Her voice was soft.

  ‘Yes, she was.’ Ian looked up at Tina. ‘We were saying earlier how much we both miss her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tina smiled as Marley arrived with the large silver teapot on a tray. His expression spoke volumes and it said, I’m so glad my mates can’t see me now…

  12

  ‘Champagne, Cordelia?’ Ian held the bottle over the empty flute.

  ‘I’m not sure I should – damned pills and whatnot.’ She placed her gnarled hand at her neck.

  ‘Doctor’s orders! I’d say a couple of sips of this is almost medicinal!’ He poured her a thimbleful. ‘And it’s a shame not to make the most of such a good bottle,’ he added, peering at the label and making a mental note to add this to his wine journal.

  ‘Marley?’ Ian lifted the bottle.

  ‘No, thanks.’ Marley placed his hand over the top of the glass. ‘I don’t drink. I’m training. My dad used to say, “If you’re training, you can’t be drinking”.’

  ‘Oh good, more for us!’ Ian laughed and returned to his seat. ‘Is your dad an athlete too?’ He pictured the suave, tennis-playing Spaniard.

  ‘No, but he can talk the talk.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Tina dived in for another sandwich. No one was counting, but it was her fifth.

  ‘I don’t see him that much,’ Marley said. ‘You know, the odd text, or if he’s in town... We don’t really know each other, but it’s cool, cos that’s how’s it’s always been, really, and your normal is your normal.’

  Ian marvelled at Marley’s maturity and his lack of bitterness. The sadness was that the boy’s dad was missing out on the chance to parent this driven, polite young man.

  Tina sat up straight. ‘Oh, Marley’s dad’s very clever. He’s a musician. So he travels a lot.’ She gave a tight smile.

  Marley looked at his mum. ‘He ain’t a musician, Mum. And you don’t have to keep saying that! He owns a guitar, but that doesn’t make him a musician. I mean, you’ve got an oven, but you can’t cook!’

  Tina let out a loud burst of laughter that lightened the tone. ‘S’pose you’re right, love. He was pretty good back in the day. I guess he gave up on his dream and forgot to replace it with something.’

  ‘That’s why I’ve plans A, B and C. I don’t want to end up just scoring a bit of dope and hanging around with my mates and sitting on the steps every night. Nah, mate, well borin’!’

  Cordelia stared at the young man. ‘I think you might actually be talking another language,’ she shouted and reached for her second Fondant Fancy.

  Tina winked at Ian. It seemed her common, shop-bought confections were going down a treat.

  ‘So what are plans A, B and C? If you don’t mind me asking.’ Ian thought of Minty, who was usually to be found sitting on a beach, waiting for a life plan or a rich man to fall into her lap. He could hazard a guess as to which was more likely. What a bloody waste.

  Marley leant towards Ian. ‘I want to finish college and get my HNC in Sport and Exercise Sciences. If I do well, that might be enough to get me into uni, and I want to study physiotherapy or medicine, depends on how well I do and stuff.’ He looked away, embarrassed to admit to his ambition, half expecting the same ribbing that he got from Digsy.

  ‘So, a doctor?’ Ian didn’t look shocked or as if this was beyond the realms of possibility.

  Marley nodded. ‘That would be the dream.’

  ‘But you didn’t stay fo
r A levels?’

  ‘Nah, my school was proper crap and they’d kind of written me off and it felt too hard to try and change how they viewed me, so I thought college would be best, a new start.’

  ‘That makes sense.’ Ian nodded.

  ‘And then I want to buy a house or a flat. So that’s Plan A, really. In a nutshell.’ He held Ian’s gaze, shifting slightly in his seat, awkward at having shared his dream.

  ‘Sounds wonderful, Marley. And what are plans B and C?’

  Marley pulled back his shoulders, his chin jutting slightly as if to emphasise his resolve. ‘If I fail, Plan B is to go back and repeat Plan A. And if Plan B fails, then Plan C is to go back and repeat A and B…’

  ‘I get the idea.’ Ian grinned at Marley’s single-mindedness, the like of which he hadn’t seen for a long while – if you didn’t count Helen’s determination to sod off with Mr Sausage Pants. Funny, usually when he thought about that, he felt angry, upset. Right now? He felt... nothing.

  ‘I won’t stop until I’ve made it happen and it doesn’t matter how long it takes. I figure that getting to where I want to be is part of my job, and if I think I’ve already started on my journey, that spurs me on, you know?’

  Ian nodded. ‘Yes, I do know. I remember after my first three years of uni, when a lot of my friends were going off to quite well-paid jobs and I knew I had another few years of slog and studying ahead of me, it was tough. But reminding myself that I was on my way, that I’d already put in a lot of leg work, made it easier to carry on.’

  ‘He’s a good boy, works really hard.’

  Marley cringed.

  ‘You must be proud of him.’ Ian smiled at her.

  ‘I am. Not only because of what he’ll achieve, but because he’s lovely. I just want him to be happy. And I like him. I like spending time with him and I think that’s the best compliment there is, really, that someone wants to spend time with you. I think that’s love.’

  Ian stared at her, trying to think of the last time he had wanted to spend time with someone or they him.

  Miss Potterton smiled at the young woman who seemingly also wanted to spend time with her, and this thought made her very happy. ‘I think the pot might need refreshing.’ She reached over and placed the back of her liver-spotted hand against the cooling china.

  ‘Oh, let me!’ Tina jumped up and carefully scooped the teapot into her hands, carrying it like a precious thing into the kitchen.

  Ian noted her slender form as she left the table. ‘Your mum’s full of energy!’

  ‘She’s always like that. It makes me laugh – and pisses me off sometimes. Oh! Sorry!’ Marley hunched his shoulders and turned down his mouth as he apologised to their hostess.

  Miss Potterton, however, was having a deaf spell. Conveniently.

  Marley continued. ‘I don’t know anyone else like her – she’s happy all the time. When the toast pops up, she makes this little noise like it’s an exciting thing, and when she gets to pick up our chips, they call her order number and she waves the little slip of paper over her head like she’s won something.’ He shook his head. ‘Even when things are shit…’ Again he looked towards their hostess. ‘She just seems to find the happy!’

  ‘I think that’s a really nice way to live.’ Ian smiled at Marley.

  ‘Tom was very much like that. A positive nature, always found the good. Whereas I could be a bit judgemental.’

  ‘You, Cordelia? No!’ Ian laughed.

  ‘Hmmph.’ She bristled, with the twist of a smile to her mouth. ‘But Tom balanced me. And even now, all these years later, I still take the advice and try to temper my thoughts and views accordingly. We’re always conversing, you know. On any number of topics. I find it most comforting that we can still talk. I find great solace in that.’

  Ian stared at his maiden aunt. This new insight into her life was quite wonderful. He was glad that she’d had someone special, someone to help her find the happy. But who was Tom and why had they never married? Surely she wouldn’t have got involved with a married man? He smiled at the thought, realising that everything he knew about her had come via his mother before she died and was therefore skewed by her views and his aunt’s rather unforthcoming nature. He liked the idea of trying to figure out the puzzle of her in her ninety-fourth year.

  ‘Where does the name Marley come from?’ Miss Potterton asked rather abruptly. ‘Was it a fondness for Dickens?’

  ‘What?’ Marley stared at her.

  ‘Your name. Marley. Are you named from the novella? After Scrooge’s partner?’ She spoke a little louder, as if increasing the volume might help his understanding.

  Tina scooted back into the room and placed the fresh pot of tea in the centre of the table. ‘Oh no, Miss Potterton. Marley’s one of his middle names.’

  ‘What’s your first name?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Bob,’ he replied, and bit into a tiny crustless chicken sandwich.

  ‘What’s your other middle name?’

  ‘Gibson,’ he muttered through a mouthful of food.

  ‘Don’t eat with your mouth full.’ Tina tutted.

  ‘He asked me a question!’ Marley pointed at Ian with the remainder of his sandwich, again speaking with his mouth full.

  ‘So your name is Bob Marley Gibson?’

  Marley nodded.

  Ian chortled. ‘Gibson as in the guitar maker?’

  ‘His dad was a big fan.’ Tina smiled and sipped her tea, which had cooled and was almost unpleasant.

  ‘Of Dickens?’ Miss Potterton asked loudly.

  Tina and Ian laughed.

  Ian noted Tina’s slight shudder as she tasted her brew. He lifted the pot and poured hot tea into her cup.

  *

  The champagne and tea continued to flow through the afternoon. There was the singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ and the cutting of cake. Tina produced a batch of crumbly scones glued together with clotted cream and fresh raspberry jam, and there was gooseberry tart to follow.

  At five o’clock Miss Potterton stood up. ‘I should like a nap.’

  Without a word of thanks or further discussion, she walked slowly from the table and made her way towards the hallway. Ian got up and took her elbow, guiding her along, leaving her at the entrance to her bedroom, much to the relief of them both.

  ‘Is it okay if I push off, Mum?’ Marley slipped his arms into his jacket as he asked.

  ‘Yes, love, and thank you for today. You’ve been great.’

  ‘Great to meet you, Marley, and I hope our paths cross again. If I can be of any help…’ Ian shook the boy’s hand.

  Marley smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he replied, with the polite dismissal of a boy who had learnt not to rely too heavily on the word of any man who presented himself as a temporary role model.

  13

  Ian poured another glass. ‘He’s a nice boy, and he seems to love college.’

  ‘He does. Mind you, I liked school, too – not that I learnt much.’ Tina sipped her champagne.

  ‘It’s interesting, isn’t it? I hated every second and learnt a lot. I went to this small private school for boys in the middle of the countryside, where I learnt how to pass A levels, read Latin and recite the periodic table.’

  ‘Wow! I went to an inner-city school in Bow, where I learnt rhyming slang, winkle picking, and how to sew on your pearly buttons and do the Lambeth Walk. General Cockney behaviour.’

  Ian slumped forward, he was laughing so much. ‘I’m picturing it! That’s so funny!’

  ‘I sometimes wonder what I might have done if I’d gone to a school where people had actually given a shit about my education.’

  ‘What would you like to have done?’

  She shrugged. ‘Dunno. Suppose if I was starting again, if I was young and had all the time in the world, I’d like to learn floristry. I spend an awful lot of time looking at flowers and plants ‘n’ stuff, trying to copy arrangements and that. I’ve always had this little dream of having me own flower shop. I’d love that.’


  ‘Well, it’s not too late! You can do that any time!’ Ian banged the table as if to emphasise his point.

  Tina shook her head. ‘Nah, too late for me. Even if I did do the course, how could I just start a flower shop? You need money and I’ve never had enough of that. Not that I want a lot, but enough would be nice. You kind of get trapped, don’t you? Trapped in your life – working, setting the alarm, having a cup of tea, working some more... It’s like you’re on a hamster wheel, and sometimes just thinking about it can be exhausting.’

  For some reason, Ian pictured Mrs Coates with her downturned mouth and her miserable demeanour. ‘Well, my job isn’t a picnic exactly.’

  ‘But you’re a doctor!’ Tina said, wide-eyed.

  ‘I am.’ He nodded. ‘But I don’t remember having any choice. My father set the course upon which I was to sail and I just had to follow his coordinates and try not to let him down. It felt like the most enormous pressure, just to please him, and my choice never really came into it.’

  ‘That’s really sad.’ She put her hand on his arm.

  He liked the feel of her skin against his. He liked it very much.

  She withdrew it as quickly as she had placed it there.

  ‘What would you like to do, then, if you could do anything?’ She cupped her chin in her palm, her elbow resting on the tabletop.

  He liked the way her curls had worked loose and hung over her face but resisted the temptation to push them back for her.

  ‘If I could do anything?’ He looked up at the ceiling, as if that was where the answer might lie. ‘I’d like to know about wine, maybe travel the vineyards of the world and come back with an improved understanding of the production process, what makes a wine great or terrible. And I’d like to open a vintner’s, a specialist wine shop, with big oak barrels lining the walls, and flagstone floors. There’d be racks full of bottles of red, gathering dust, and fridges full of chilled whites, and great food to go with the tasting, like tapas... Maybe a bar as well, for real ale fans and anyone else who wanted to pull up a stool and enjoy a platter and a chat... Oh and it would have to be near the coast.’