The Tea House on Mulberry Street

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by The Tea House on Mulberry Street (epub)


  I am a genuine fan.

  Chapter 32

  THE CRAWLEYS SEE THE LIGHT

  Several days passed. Alice wept a little when she said her prayers each night. Beatrice looked at the portrait of her father many times, and searched in his blue eyes for some evidence that he was disappointed in his children. But she saw only love. They went over and over the possibilities, and cried, and prayed, and ranted and raved. But in the end, they had no choice but to accept the fact that their biological father was almost certainly a German gentleman of the Jewish faith. Their mother had had an affair, with a man called Leo, a refugee from Nazi Germany probably, and her husband had forgiven her. And if he could forgive and forget, then so could they. Alice cheered up a little when Beatrice pointed out that the British Royal family had some German blood in its veins as well.

  “Queen Victoria’s husband, Albert, was a German, wasn’t he? They had a huge family together. The German race must be incredibly fertile,” said Beatrice. “In a way, we have become international, which is better than provincial, at the end of the day. They say a good mix of genes makes a person stronger.” Eventually, after days and days of sadness, they felt something close to contentment.

  They told no-one, not even their minister in the church. They still attended morning service every Sunday, but when he preached about sin and sinners and corruption in the modern world, they said nothing. They did not clap or nod their heads in agreement.

  “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” whispered Alice.

  They gave up writing letters to the newsagent’s. He was stocking more filth than ever, to spite them, they felt. It was only a waste of postage stamps. Even the charity work had lost its sparkle, a little. No-one in the congregation was all that impressed any more when Alice and Beatrice collected the most money for each project. In fact, some people even went as far as to say, why wouldn’t they collect the most money? They had nothing else to do all day. No grandchildren to pick up from school, no big family dinners to arrange, no husbands to tidy up after. As outraged as the sisters were, they had to admit it was true.

  “Oh, bugger this,” sighed Beatrice, one wet Sunday afternoon. (She had taken to swearing, like a duck to water.) They were sitting at the table after enjoying a superb roast of beef and Yorkshire pudding. “Don’t let’s bother with the washing-up. I want to do something else. Something exciting.”

  “Well, what else is there to do on a drizzly Sunday in Belfast?” Alice was puzzled.

  “Get your coat on, Alice,” said Beatrice. “We’re going in to the city centre, to book ourselves on a holiday to Israel. Sure, what are we saving our pensions for? Haven’t we got one foot in the grave, and no children to provide for? We are going to have the trip of a lifetime!”

  “What will we do in Israel, of all places?”

  “See new sights! Eat new foods, and meet new people. And say a few prayers while we’re there, of course.”

  They chose to fly out to Israel for Christmas. Alice developed a taste for bagels with cream cheese. Beatrice decided she preferred apple strudel. They began to say hello to strangers on the street. They were all part of the human race, Beatrice would say, from time to time: people were all related to each other in some way.

  Chapter 33

  SADIE GETS RID OF THE BITTER LEMONS

  Sadie’s revenge was slow to gather momentum but her planning was sheer genius. Firstly, she was going to make Arnold look ridiculous in front of his fancy-woman, and then she was going to get rid of his parents and all their money. And then, she was going to embarrass him professionally, and then she was going to kick him out of the bungalow in Carryduff, for good. She had spent hours in Muldoon’s, perfecting her ideas.

  She was a regular in the cafe these days, on first-name terms with Penny and Daniel. She watched them closely from the little table for one where she always sat. She noticed that Daniel was not as dedicated to the cooking as he once was. If the sandwich Sadie wanted was not available, he would just say so; not go rushing to make it up specially. Quite often, he got Sadie’s order mixed up or gave her the wrong change. He seemed very tired, and he yawned a lot. His hair was getting so long he could tuck his fringe behind one ear. He really needed a rest, by the look of him, thought Sadie. Most of the time, he was the only one working in the teahouse.

  Penny, on the other hand, was full of life and energy. She had blossomed since having her hair cut so dramatically. Gone were the cheap and glittery hair accessories and earrings of the past, and the gypsy-type blouses and skirts she had worn for so long. Nowadays, she wore high quality make-up and perfume, and expensive, plain linen trouser-suits. She drifted in and out of the cafe as she pleased, arriving back with several carrier-bags from expensive shops, one day, when Sadie was having lunch.

  Another day, Sadie heard the two of them arguing in the kitchen. It was hard to catch all the details but Sadie thought it had something to do with a silver necklace. An expensive necklace that Penny had been wearing for a few days. Where had she got it? Daniel wanted to know. And where was she at the weekend?

  Sadie was shocked to hear Penny taunting her husband. Couldn’t he guess? Couldn’t he work it out for himself? What did he care, anyway? Wasn’t he happy enough with his cakes and pies and his rusty old kitchen? That sort of thing. Sadie almost forgot to eat her strawberry cheesecake, so intently did she spy on the Stanley marriage.

  Then Sadie saw Penny getting into a car on the Lisburn road, driven by a good-looking man in a fancy suit, and it all made sense. Penny was having an affair with another man, and Daniel was too distracted by the worry of it to concentrate on his baking. The poor wretch. Sadie wondered if the whole of Belfast was driving around, having flings and fancy-pieces on the side, and if she was the only one left with any morals. Daniel really should do something about his wife’s behaviour.

  Sadie was determined to punish Arnold for what he had done to her. She wanted him out of the house by Christmas. She’d given him time to mend his ways, and plenty of it. Nobody could say that she hadn’t.

  During that long, dreadful summer, there was a little part of Sadie that wanted to forgive Arnold: to excuse the awful things he had said about her to Patricia, as the idle boasts of a middle-aged man trying to impress his younger mistress. (His poisonous, gold-digging mistress.) Poor Arnold, she reasoned: Patricia Caldwell was only bewitching him with her lacy red knickers, to get her bony hands on their luxury bungalow. One hundred and fifty thousand pounds it must be worth. Patricia would never make that kind of money, selling ashtrays and potpourri, in her little shop. Well, thought Sadie, she’ll get this house over my dead body: I’ll commit mass murder and arson before I let that happen.

  Then, she calmed down again. No, no, she always relented. If I lose control, I’ll lose everything. I’ll end up in prison, and I’ll bet they don’t serve cherry cheesecake in Maghaberry Women’s Wing. And then she would go over her plans again. It was nearly time to put them into action. She’d been to see a lawyer as well. He’d told her not to worry; Arnold could not throw her out on the street. He was only bluffing. Anything he had on paper would not stand up in a court case, after twenty years of marriage.

  Sadie had fantasies in the wee small hours of the morning, where Arnold would confess everything, and say he was sorry. So sorry, he couldn’t say how sorry. He would weep with shame. He would kneel on the carpet and beg her forgiveness; declare that he had been a blind, stupid, cruel, monstrous fool.

  But Arnold didn’t do that. He refused to eat fried food, and had muesli instead. He admired his trimmer waistline in the hall mirror before going to work each morning. He spent all his free time in the study, making illicit calls to Patricia on the telephone. And so, Sadie sighed with resignation and crossed off the last few days until his trip to Paris, on a wall-calendar from Nicholl Fuels with a picture of an oil-tanker on it.

  On the day that Arnold was due to go to the airport, Sadie snipped two buttons off his best suit with a pair of nail-sciss
ors and flushed the buttons down the lavatory. She burned his new shirt with the iron and kicked his passport under the bed. She slipped a couple of raunchy men’s magazines from the newsagent’s into his overnight bag, hidden under a towel at the bottom.

  “Oh dear,” she said, coming into the kitchen, where Arnold was sipping his morning cuppa. “Two buttons have fallen off your new jacket, darling. I never noticed ’til right this minute!”

  “Bloody hell, Sadie! How did that happen? Have you looked in the wardrobe?”

  “Yes, my love. They aren’t there.”

  “Damn and blast! That suit looked so good on me, too.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t all…”

  “What is it, woman? I’m in a hurry.”

  “I left the iron on your new shirt too long.”

  “You’ve not burned it?”

  “I have, darling. I’m so sorry. I was looking for the missing buttons.”

  “Sadie, you twerp! Do you expect me to fly to Paris in a burnt shirt?”

  “Oh, Arnold, forgive me! It’s just, I’m going to miss you so much, I can’t think straight”

  Arnold had to wear another, inferior, suit and shirt, and this irritated him greatly. Then he noticed his passport was not on his bedside table and, by the time he found it, he realised he would miss the plane. In his haste, he cut himself shaving and stubbed his toe on the hall table while rushing out to the car. He drove at breakneck speed to the airport.

  Patricia was very upset. She was waiting in the bar, in tears, in the airport. She thumped him with her clutch-bag when he arrived, gasping, at the terminal building. They had to wait for three hours for the next flight, which gave them plenty of time to argue. By the time they checked into their Paris hotel, dinner was over and the bar was closed. Patricia was outraged when Arnold unpacked his bag and she saw the offensive magazines he had brought with him.

  “Is that how you see me? As a cheap tart? How dare you bring this smut on our lovely holiday,” she barked. Arnold had never heard Patricia shout before. She sounded disturbingly canine.

  “I don’t. I didn’t. I have no idea how it got there. I swear it.”

  “Who packed the bag? Did Sadie Sponge do it?”

  “Of course not. There’s three packets of contraceptives in there. How could I explain that to Sadie? A person doesn’t usually need condoms at a double-glazing convention, for God’s sake! Not unless their sales figures are so low, that desperate measures are called for. Ha ha ha!”

  “Oh, shut up! Why don’t you just admit you brought pornography to Paris?”

  “For the last time, I did not bring it! I’m telling you the truth, Patricia.”

  “I don’t believe you, Arnold. Why should I believe a word you say? You’re a liar!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. You’re a big fat liar. You’ve lied to your wife for months. More than a year, for heaven’s sake. You said she was a real dope. That she would believe any old hogwash. Is that what I am, Arnold? Am I a real dope, too?”

  “Look! Are we going to get frisky, or not?” said Arnold, feeling suddenly weary. He sat down on top of the magazines. If a bit of fun was off the menu, he was going to lie in a hot bath, with a large whiskey.

  “You what? You’re the limit, Arnold Smith. You really are. You take that smut into the bathroom and have fun with it. I’ve never been so insulted in my life.” She had gone off the idea of modelling her sexy lingerie. In fact, she began to think Arnold was a bit arrogant.

  Arnold scuttled off to the bathroom, where he sat on the laundry basket and sulked for a while, waiting for the bath to fill.

  At midnight, they had a cup of watery French tea and collapsed into bed, exhausted. Patricia turned her back on Arnold, and when he slipped his hand under her nightdress, in a desperate bid to consummate the trip, she nipped the skin on the back of his hand as hard as she could, and left a tiny, purple bruise.

  Earlier that evening, in Belfast, Sadie poured Maurice and Daisy a very large gin and tonic apiece and set out some pretty bowls of nibbles on the coffee table. She drew the heavy curtains in the sitting-room. They were all sitting comfortably in front of the fire, politely ignoring an enormous pile of ironing in the corner.

  “When the cat’s away, the mice will play,” she chuckled, as she picked up some ice-cubes from the bucket with her little tongs and dropped them into the glasses.

  “Well, this is very nice,” sniffed Daisy, reaching for a peanut.

  “What’s up?” Maurice wanted to know. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Oh, nothing,” said Sadie. “I just felt we deserved a treat.” She flicked around with the remote control until she found the travel programme on the television, that she had circled in the Radio Times. She wanted to make sure the atmosphere was right.

  Daisy looked at the blue skies on the screen and she sighed.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Sadie said. “Sometimes, I wish I’d been born a Greek. Or a Spaniard. Or an Italian. Anywhere really, where there’s a bit of sun. It doesn’t seem natural to have to pay hundreds of pounds on some package holiday just to see the sun.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Daisy.

  “Some of us would be happy to pay it, if we were fit to go,” said Maurice.

  “Funny you should say that,” said Sadie. “I was watching television in bed the other night, and there was a great programme on, about this retired couple, from Birmingham. Anyway, the husband had arthritis, just like you, Maurice. And the wife was a bit stiff herself. Anyway, they went on holiday to this Greek island. Oh, it did look lovely!”

  “Were they as old as we are?” asked Daisy.

  “Older. The resort was specially designed to cater for pensioners, and they had a whale of a time.” Sadie ate some peanuts, and topped up their glasses.

  “Not cheap, I’ll wager,” said Maurice.

  “Of course it wasn’t cheap. The whole place being on the one level and all. There’s no stairs, you see. Very quiet at night. There’s no discos allowed on that part of the island. And a full English menu. All the rashers you can eat. No, it’s not cheap, as I said before. But what’s the point of having money in the bank if it doesn’t bring you pleasure? You can’t take it with you. That’s what I say. And I got to thinking what you said, Maurice, about wanting to go on holiday before it was too late… The two of you should go! What’s stopping you?”

  Maurice and Daisy looked at her in amazement. Sadie did not usually sound so friendly. They said they would think about it. It was really quite strange, because only that morning, they’d been considering going on a little holiday to Portstewart. Life in the bungalow had become very tedious, since Sadie gave up her domestic duties and became a fulltime layabout.

  “You do that,” said Sadie. “Don’t you be hoarding your money, to leave it to Arnold and me, and the boys. When you pass on, I mean. We’ll be fine. Arnold does very well financially, although he doesn’t like to boast about it. And, of course, the boys are well set up in Australia with their gardening business. Making a packet, they are. Those Australians won’t lift a finger in the garden if the sun is shining. They’re all away charging to the beach with those board-things.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Daisy.

  “I think you deserve a holiday. Sure, it never stops raining in this Godforsaken place. If I had any money myself, I’d be out of here like a shot.”

  “Well, Sadie, I don’t know what to say,” began Maurice.

  “You know what, Maurice?” she interrupted. “I’ve never told you and Daisy just how much I love and admire you both. It’s not in my nature to show affection and to be fawning all over people, but I just want you to know that I love you both very much.”

  “Oh. Well. Thanks, Sadie,” said Daisy. “I always thought we were in your way, here.”

  “In the way? Not at all. Far from it. I only wish the two of you had more of a life.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Maurice.

  �
��Well, now. It can’t be very exciting for you to be stuck with me all day.”

  “There’s not much call for excitement at our time of life,” said Daisy.

  “Oh, I disagree. You should enjoy your retirement. You’ve earned it. And I’m not much of a cook either – not like you were, Daisy. You can’t compare frozen cod to what those people are eating in that Greek tavern, there.” They all looked at the television screen. A sexy, young waiter was serving a multicoloured salad to some laughing tourists. “And you both used to be so active and independent. It’s a shame.”

  “What are you trying to say, Sadie?”

  “Just that if you do go away to Greece, I’ll look after Arnold. I promise. I’ll see he gets everything that he deserves.”

  And with that, Sadie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, to show them how sincere she was. Then she turned up the volume on the television and let the travel programme do the rest of her work for her.

  When Arnold returned from Paris, his parents were in great spirits. There were four new suitcases in the hall and holiday brochures on the coffee-table.

  “What’s going on,” he asked. “Do we have guests?”

  “Oh, there you are. Did you have a nice time in Paris? I hope it wasn’t too boring for you. Was the food terrible?” Sadie was folding tea towels in the kitchen.

  “No, of course not. But what’s going on?” He was impatient, now.

  “All those chicken giblets and snails and horses’ heads. Oh!” She made a face. “Is it true they make sausages out of cow’s intestines?”

  “I said, what is going on?”

  “Do you mean the luggage?”

  “Yes. I mean the blessed luggage.”

  “Maurice and Daisy are going on a little trip of their own,” said Sadie. “You’re not the only globetrotter in this family. They’re off to Greece next week.”

  “They’re what? Who is responsible for this? I absolutely forbid this nonsense. They’re in their seventies, for heaven’s sake!”

 

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