She yawned and stretched her arms and planned how she would spend the day. With no turkey dinner to cook and no ungrateful family to take care of, she could do whatever she wanted. The house was very peaceful. She was all alone at last. It was a good feeling.
First, she had a lie-in, listening to Christmas carols on the radio. The central heating clicked on and the house began to warm up nicely. At ten o’clock, Sadie got up and ran a hot bath for herself, using up all the hot water, and a generous dollop of bath foam. She lay back contentedly in the mounds of scented bubbles and chuckled again and again when she thought of her husband’s face when the camera-shutter clicked. Let him try to take the bungalow away from her now! Lying under that grasshopper, Patricia, grabbing her bosoms in a most ungentlemanly way, he was caught red-handed. As it were. There was no way he could charm his way out of the situation. Let him take her to court now, and she would post a copy of that picture to every person Arnold had ever known. To his pious boss and his stuck-up pals at the golf-club, to his jealous colleagues and his even more jealous competitors. How they would gloat over such a picture! She would put it on the Internet, on lampposts all over Belfast She would become the worst nightmare Arnold had ever dreamed of.
Then, she decided to relax. After all it was Christmas Day. She stayed in the bath until the water went cold and then she got out and dried herself on a fluffy bath towel, and painted her toenails and brushed her teeth.
At eleven o’clock, still in her dressing-gown, she cooked a delicious breakfast of bacon and wheaten bread, mushrooms and tomatoes, lightly fried in sunflower oil. Well, she was trying to eat more healthily. After three cups of tea, she got dressed and went to afternoon service at her local church, enjoying the crib scene with its yellow star glowing above the manger. She listened to the children singing ‘Silent Night’ and she thanked God for giving her precious life back to her. When people asked after her family, she told them the truth, and tried hard to keep a straight face when she saw the shock on their bug-eyed faces.
“The good Lord will give me the strength I need to get through this,” she said about twenty times that morning. “These things are sent to try us. The Lord only gives us those burdens he knows we can carry.” And so on.
Everyone hugged her and said, wasn’t Arnold a proper scoundrel? Sadie shrugged and said he was a good man really, and it was all her fault for being so old and fat and unattractive. And everyone was outraged, all over again. They promised to ignore Arnold in the street. Wasn’t pity a marvellous thing, thought Sadie.
Sadie went home and popped a ready-made meal in the oven. Chicken breasts with red wine gravy. Mashed carrots and swedes. Potato gratin. Potato croquettes. All in dainty little foil containers. Whoever said Christmas was hard work for women? Those days were gone. She covered the table in the dining-room with a jolly Christmas tablecloth, and added some red candles in various glass holders, a good wine glass and three luxury crackers. While she waited the forty-five minutes until her dinner was ready, she pulled the crackers and drank some wine and listened to the radio. She put on a paper hat, and tidied up the Christmas cards on the mantelpiece. She moved the pot of twigs out to the hall, and trailed her artificial Christmas tree in from the shed. It was a huge tree and it took her a few minutes to put it together. The oven-timer rang as she was straightening up the branches. She would decorate it after lunch.
Just then the doorbell chimed and Sadie nearly jumped out of her skin. She peeped out of the bay window. Nine of Arnold’s relations stood shivering on the doorstep like cattle waiting to be fed. One small bottle of wine and one wrapped gift between the lot of them. And that was only a box of chocolates, which they always proceeded to eat themselves. Sadie was glad she hadn’t spent hundreds of pounds on presents for them, this year. She would get herself a new wardrobe of clothes in the January sales instead.
It began to snow. Tiny, white flakes fell from the sky, sparkling in the winter sun, gathering in the corners of the window-panes. Sadie watched her in-laws from behind the curtains, hopping with cold and impatience on the doorstep. She made them wait for three whole minutes and then she answered the door.
“Sadie, my dear, let us in! We are absolutely freezing,” they cried, when she opened the door at last. Just a fraction. And she kept the chain on.
“I hope that turkey is ready. We could eat a horse. Why are the curtains closed? Where’s Arnold’s car?”
“He isn’t here. Arnold and I are no longer a couple,” said Sadie loudly, so that she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. “I will say this only once: he has gone to live with his new girlfriend, Patricia, but he says you are all to call her Patty-Pat. And I just know you’ll all adore her. She’s just your type. So talented in the domestic arts. What that woman can’t do on a kitchen table is nobody’s business. You tell her I said that. Do you hear me? In fact, that’s where you’re having your dinner today. At her place. Here’s the address.” She gave the nearest open-mouthed relative a piece of paper.
“Now, look here, what’s going on?” demanded Arnold’s brother, Tony. “Why have you chained the door? Let me in. I’m going to phone Arnold. And Jenny needs to go to the toilet.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sadie, “but this house, and its facilities, are no longer the property of the Smith clan. I never liked any of you. And you never liked me. So, let’s just end the pretence, shall we? The invitation to spend Christmas Day at this address is hereby, officially, withdrawn. There’s no turkey and there’s no trifle, and there’s no free booze. This year, I have only been shopping for one. So this is goodbye. Merry Christmas.” And she closed the door firmly and locked it, and drew the curtain, just in case they peeped in the letterbox.
Sadie thought her Christmas lunch was the best meal she had ever eaten. Not once did she have to jump up from the table to get Daisy a glass of water, or Maurice some more stuffing, or Arnold some more gravy. Or to pour endless drinks for Arnold’s alcoholic siblings, or worry that they were running out of ice-cubes. Or watch them all open their expensive gifts, and show no gratitude. It was hard to believe she had waited on them all, hand and foot, for years and years, and all the time, they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.
She had second helpings of the mashed swede, and she had to admit, it was better than her own. There were spices in it, and everything. For dessert, she had three chocolate éclairs, a finger of Christmas cake, and a cappuccino. All shop-bought, and quite delicious. It was all over by five o’clock, and the kitchen was still spotless.
Then it was time to enjoy the evening. She went up to the attic, and carefully brought down the box of decorations. For two blissful hours, she fiddled with the tree and the lights until they were perfect, and hung up all the delicate glass baubles that were shaped like tear drops, and the fragile glass angels, and the little crystal sleighs, and the fat tinsel that caught the light so beautifully. The sky was dark and velvety when she stood back to admire her handiwork. The tree stood majestically in the middle of the bay window. It was time to bring it to life. Sadie quickly vacuumed up the leftover bits and pieces of tinsel and fluff from the carpet, and then switched on the fairy-lights. The bay window was filled with light, and outside the snow became heavier. It was perfect.
She switched on the television, and circled two soaps, three comedy specials and a movie premiere in the TV guide. For the first time in twenty years she would be able to watch something in peace and be able to hear what was being said, without the Smiths roaring at their own jokes, rowdy with drink. She wouldn’t bother to light the fire this year, either. The house was warm enough. She lit three fat, ivory-coloured church candles and set them in the grate and they looked just as good as the real thing. Finally, she laid out some nuts and chocolates in a silver dish on the coffee table, along with the rest of the wine and a big mug of tea.
She curled up on the sofa to watch several hours of programmes and forgot entirely about Arnold and Patricia, and the chaos that the horrible Smith family turning u
p at Patricia’s flat would have caused. The whole lot of them, standing round a tiny, glass table, waiting for Patricia to produce a lavish feast from her etched glass cupboards. They would be lucky to get a cheese sandwich in their hand, if Sadie’s suspicions were correct.
Chapter 47
PENNY’S LATE HONEYMOON
On the night that televisions all over the world counted down the seconds to the New Year, and the New Millennium, Penny and Daniel were sitting beside the fire in their suite in The Lawson Lodge. There was a cabaret evening in full swing in the bar downstairs. Shouts and screams of delight floated up the stairs as Big Ben chimed, far away in London. Penny raised her glass and proposed a toast to new beginnings. Daniel touched his glass to Penny’s, and said, “I love you, Penny Stanley, and thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you, if you had… if the fire… well, I just don’t know. I’ll never tell you a lie, or hurt you in any way, ever again.”
It wasn’t enough, but Penny knew what he meant. They finished the champagne and Daniel put his arm round Penny’s shoulders as they sat watching the fire burning merrily in the grand fireplace. Penny turned to Daniel and touched his face softly, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. She moved his hands toward her breasts, and held them there while they kissed for a long time. Daniel knew then that Penny had forgiven him for his madness and meanness, and he knew it was time to make her his wife, properly. He gently undressed her and led her across the room to the four-poster bed, piled high with fat pillows, and he lifted her onto the white quilt.
Penny waited silently for him to take off his own clothes, and she reached out her hand to him and their fingers entwined.
Then they went to bed, together, and made love so passionately that Richard Allen himself would have blushed. That night was everything that Penny had daydreamed of for many years, and she decided that, truthfully, it was worth waiting for. The best thing about it was the feeling that they would never split up again. Penny just knew that whatever life threw at them, they would face it, and deal with it, together. Daniel was like a different person, now that he knew Penny was in his life forever. All his vague feelings of anxiety had just melted away. He knew, finally, that life was an unpredictable business, and no amount of worrying could change or alter its course, and that he could only go along with it and hope for the best.
They celebrated New Year’s Day by sharing a bubble bath, and having Christmas cake and champagne for breakfast.
They spent the holiday walking in the countryside, having long lie-ins, making plans for the tea house, and ordering delicious meals and cocktails. It was like a lovely late honeymoon, they both thought. And it was better late than never.
Chapter 48
THE TEA HOUSE REOPENS
The regular customers in the tea house were amazed by what they saw when the shop re-opened six months later. Of course, Daniel had not paid enough insurance to finance the rebuilding completely, but he did have his fortune in the bank. And they had great fun spending it. Outside, there was a new bay window, a new front-door painted cobalt blue, and a new sign above the door with brass lamps over it. The sign said Stanley’s Tea Rooms, and it was very smart and dignified. Two neat bay trees stood sentinel in blue pots on the doorstep.
Inside, there was a coat of rich red paint on all the freshly-plastered walls. There were huge mirrors in gold frames, little round tables with marble tops and wrought-iron chairs. There were hand-painted cups and saucers on the shelves behind the counter. A fat white sofa beside the window lent a touch of decadence. There were fresh lilies in a glass vase on the counter.
Daniel hired a chef to do all the cooking, and gave him permission to choose the menu. Now, instead of scones and jam, there were French pastries oozing chocolate cream, and Italian bread with exotic fillings. New tiles on the floor replaced the cracked linoleum. And the flat upstairs was converted into a magnificent dining-room with a glass roof. Three waitresses wearing jeans and T-shirts, with pencils behind their ears, carried meals to the tables on round silver trays. Penny and Daniel were thrilled with it all.
They bought a little flat beside the Lagan river. Richard Allen sold it to them and wished them well. When Penny went in to his office to collect the keys, she told Richard that she had rescued her marriage and that she wouldn’t be seeing him any more. Richard said that was great news but that he would miss her a lot. It was the truth.
Daniel and Penny came in to work at twelve o’clock each day, just to see how things were ticking over. Daniel’s bank account was almost empty, and he had never been happier.
The editor of the Belfast Telegraph sent a reporter round to do a feature on the cafe, and several magazines wanted reviews for their social pages. Penny and Daniel were photographed standing behind the counter, holding up a cherry cheesecake on a glass cake-stand, and smiling broadly.
Sadie was about to throw the paper in the bin, when she spied a small photograph of a happy-looking couple holding up a giant cheesecake on a glass cake-stand. They were smiling tenderly at one another. The man had his arm firmly round the woman’s waist. There was great tenderness in the way the woman looked back at him. Sadie read the article underneath. The people in the photograph were Penny and Daniel Stanley, the owners of a tea house on Mulberry Street.
“Well, well,” said Sadie, and she read on. “So, they’re back in business.”
The Stanleys had just carried out extensive renovations to the property, which had been destroyed in a fire, and they had converted the upstairs flat into a conservatory-style dining-room. The reporter seemed to think the establishment was well worth a visit.
She caught the bus at the end of the avenue and the trip seemed to take forever. When she finally stood outside the shop, her stomach was pleading to be filled. She went inside. Delicious smells, sweet and savoury, were everywhere. Every table was occupied by ladies lunching. Sadie recognised Penny from her picture in the newspaper. She was unrecognisable from the old days, with her new hairstyle and her lovely clothes.
Penny came rushing out from behind the counter to tell Sadie that she could be seated upstairs in their spacious new dining-room. Sadie was delighted. Minutes later she was sipping caffè latte, and devouring a slice of strawberry cheesecake that melted on her tongue. She was still hungry so she ordered an Italian dish of toasted bread, cheese, tomatoes and red peppers.
Sadie thanked the pencil-thin waitress who brought her meal upstairs, and watched her as she stepped lightly down the stairs. She ignored her own generous hips, and her soft ankles as she sprinkled salt and pepper on the little tower of gourmet heaven. The food was delicious. She read the menu as she ate. It was a story of ecstasy. The chef was Italian. He had selected all the dishes himself. There was carrot and chestnut soup with cream and croûtons, home-made wheaten bread with stout and sesame seeds, chargrilled chicken strips with hot salsa and sour cream, spicy potato wedges with chopped leeks, roast beef and chutney toasted sandwiches. There were twenty different kinds of coffee, and forty varieties of pastry. Everything came drizzled with olive oil, or dusted with icing sugar or cinnamon.
Sadie had plenty of time on her hands these days, with no-one left in the bungalow to take care of. She applied for a position as a waitress in the tea house on Mulberry Street, and got it.
Penny was very kind at the interview and said that Sadie had just the right personality for the job. Warm and welcoming, and always smiling. Sadie celebrated her new life with a glass of champagne, a new perm, and a slice of cherry cheesecake.
Chapter 49
A HANDWRITTEN NOTE
When the day of Rose’s departure arrived, Henry left Aurora a handwritten note. It was very tender and romantic, and it said that although his heart was breaking, he was leaving Aurora and her dreams, and following a dream of his own. Aurora thought it was very sweet, and she tied a blue ribbon around it, and kept it in a secret drawer in her writing bureau. She was not sad.
David Cropper was calling round all the time. A
urora had daydreams about him, reading poetry to her, in a Georgian overcoat.
Henry was leaving her the house. He had signed a legal document. And she loved her conservatory far more than she had ever loved Henry.
“Take me with you,” said Henry to Rose, as they stood outside the tea house after their goodbye lunch.
“What?” said Rose. “You don’t mean that. I’m very fond of you, of course, but –”
“I love you,” said Henry. “I want to help you plant all those trees and flowers.”
“But your wife, your friends, your shop…”
“None of that matters now. Please. Let me drive you to Connemara, and stay a few days, and we’ll just see what happens. I know I am too old, and not nearly good enough for you, but my heart is young, and I love you, and I’m a great gardener.”
Mrs S Fogarty, of Fogarty’s General Store, Galway, was in great form. Her friend, Bronagh Gilmartin came into the store at teatime for a tin of pear halves, and found Mrs Fogarty dusting the shelves and singing merrily.
“What’s up?” said Mrs Gilmartin.
“My profits. That’s what’s up,” said Mrs Fogarty. “There was a couple in here not two hours ago, and they bought nearly the entire contents of the shop. They were on their way to Connemara, they said. They bought all the firelighters. I have none left, so I hope you weren’t looking for any. They bought twenty bundles of peat bricks, and two bottles of whiskey, and enough tinned food to feed the famine. And the funniest thing of all – the gentleman, for that’s what he was – he bought every packet of seeds on the stand!”
The Tea House on Mulberry Street Page 25