The Traveling Tea Shop

by Belinda Jones

  When Donna Summer’s “Last Dance” comes on, we’re all just one heaving, pulsing, sing-a-long mass.

  “Cleo!” I wave to the Cleopatra drag queen.

  She blows me a kiss back and in my mind the entire place fills with glitter.

  • • •

  There’s something really fun about being sweaty and disheveled when everyone you are with is in the same state of disarray. Hungry now, but not inclined to go back to the hotel to change, we buy a batch of lobster rolls from one of the walk-up windows near the beach and have a picnic on the sand.

  “I don’t know the last time I danced like that,” Pamela marvels as she licks the mayonnaise from her fingertips.

  “I’ve never danced like that!” Charles laughs.

  “So you say,” I tease.

  “Do you have a partner, Charles?” Ravenna wants to know.

  “A partner?” he chuckles. “No, not currently.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “Once, a long time ago.”

  “But no girlfriend now?”

  “Ravenna!” Pamela scolds her. “That’s a lot of personal questions.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says. “The thing is, Ravenna, once you’ve experienced true love, it’s hard to settle for anything less.”

  “Well I think you should consider putting yourself out there again. You’d obviously have your pick.”

  “Of gay men at least!” I try to make light of the situation.

  “Oh, look at that!” Pamela points to a man paddling past in a bright yellow canoe, with two small dogs in pink life jackets balanced on the front.

  I reach for the camera and then scan the rest of the vista—restaurant terraces buzzing with happy chatter; little rowing boats strewn along the shore; dogs frolicking and no one making a fuss; guys walking hand in hand, laughing.

  “I don’t mean to sound prejudiced in any way, but the world would be a very dull place without gay people,” I slur slightly. “They’ve got the whole joie de vivre thing down.”

  “They really have,” Pamela confirms.

  We sit for a moment, happy to be part of their rainbow world, looking out across the glassy-smooth water and wiggling our toes deeper into the sand.

  And then Charles asks, “Who’s game for trying the Portuguese kale soup?”

  “I just want another lobster roll,” Pamela responds.

  “I’ll try it,” Ravenna offers, quickly adding, “Kale is a superfood.”

  Sounds to me as if she thinks it will cancel out those cupcakes. And maybe here it will . . .

  • • •

  As we head back to the hotel, Pamela and I fall into a natural meander, pausing to peer into assorted girlie gardens while Ravenna and Charles stride ahead.

  I watch them walking, perfectly in sync. No skulking from her now.

  “He really does seem to bring out the best in her,” I observe.

  “He’s her father.”

  “What?” I blurt, tripping over the uneven paving.

  Pamela nods. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told. Other than my mother, of course—hence the setup.”

  I can’t believe this! My brain tries to catch up.

  “Were you expecting to see him on this trip?” I ask.

  “I thought perhaps in Boston . . .” She trails off. “I didn’t expect him to be driving the bus!”

  “No,” I mumble. “But you’re glad to see him?”

  “I am.” She gazes fondly at the back of his head.

  “So you didn’t meet ten years ago?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “I see . . .”

  “I was on a break from Brian, coming up to my fortieth birthday, despairing that he was ever going to propose. Mum said it would do him good to miss me. She was never a fan, didn’t care for his ‘tone.’ Anyway, she and Dad were going to visit some long-lost relatives in Boston, she invited me to join them. So I did.”

  “And that’s where you met?”

  “My mother was parading every eligible man before me, I think in the hope that I wouldn’t go back to Brian. Charles wasn’t one of them—technically he was still married at the time, just about to start divorce proceedings—but he’s the one who caught my eye.”

  “He is a good-looking fella.”

  “It was more than that,” she sighs. “He had a gentleness to him and a humility, the polar opposite to Brian. At first I thought it was just that—the contrast—but then I realized it was the first time I felt understood by a man. When he looked at me I felt like he was really paying attention, that he wanted to know me. All of me. And it felt so wonderful, to have someone on my side, someone caring, who I didn’t have to guard against. I felt myself blossoming in his presence, as silly as that sounds.” She looks away.

  “It doesn’t sound silly, it sounds ideal. I think we all wish for someone who brings out the best in us.” I feel a yearning for this right now. “It must have been hard to leave him, at the end of the trip.”

  She nods. “It was unthinkable. At first. But then you’re home, back to reality. And there was Brian, waiting with a proposal. Of course my first instinct was to say no—how could I possibly settle now that my heart knew what it was to soar?—but then I realized I was pregnant, so choosing Brian seemed like the more responsible, if deceitful, thing to do. I mean, we were already living together—good or bad, he was the known quantity, whereas Charles was essentially a too-good-to-be-true holiday fling. He lived in a different country, he was tied to his school there. I’d just signed up for another series of Teatime with Pamela in the UK. He already had one child and a soon-to-be ex-wife. It was just too complicated.”

  “Gosh.” The paths we choose. I wonder how many times she has wished she could rewind to that day and make a different choice. “Did Brian ever suspect Ravenna wasn’t his?”

  “He’d make comments from time to time. She doesn’t resemble him in any way physically, but then in her teens she seemed to develop his mean spirit. And he was quite proud of that.”

  “What about Ravenna?”

  “She has no idea. The plan was to tell her on her eighteenth birthday, but I’ve been putting it off.” She looks so sad now. “Sometimes I can hardly bear to think of what I did.”

  I take her arm, afraid she might cry.

  “And Charles?” I ask as we continue on. “He never met her before today?”

  She shakes her head. “He’s been waiting a long time for this moment.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. He wants to tell her tomorrow in Boston—on home turf, I suppose. I just don’t want to rush into anything.”

  “Oh I wouldn’t worry about that,” I want to tell her. “She can’t despise you any more than she already does.”

  But of course I keep quiet.

  “I’ve thought about him every day,” Pamela says, looking ahead at her love. “Always missing him. Missing the hope he brought into my life but somehow not feeling deserving of it.” She shakes her head. “All my issues, standing between him and his daughter. I can’t believe I’ve held him at a distance all this time.”

  I turn to face her. “I know what it is to regret, Pamela. But now is the time to look forward. You have a chance to make things right.”

  “I can never make it right—”

  “Don’t give up,” I implore, gripping her hands. “You have to believe things can get better.”

  I mean it: she has to, because then I can believe it too.

  Chapter 28

  And so to the Schoolman Suite. The color scheme appears to be a celebration of New England foliage—emerald-green paintwork, orangey-gold wallpaper, red accent walls. And then along come the trademark traveler’s treasures: a tarnished Moroccan lantern strung overhead, a rich Persian rug beneath our feet and a pair of bow-legged coffee
tables that look as though they’ve been lifted from the back of an elephant in Siam.

  Pamela and Ravenna are sharing the king-size bed at the top of the wrought-iron staircase. Their loft area has a particularly beautiful window in the shape of a fan. Of course it’s dark now, but that’s going to be quite something to wake up to.

  “Sleep well,” I say as I leave them to it.

  My bedroom is off the living room, through a pair of sliding doors. The walls are of scalloped wood, similar to some of the houses we saw today. It has dusty pink accents, fringed lamps and a floral bedhead that I am more than ready to be propped against. But I feel I should offer it to Charles one more time before I succumb—I personally only lasted an hour on the deck in Newport.

  “Honestly, I’d be perfectly happy sleeping on one of the sofas,” I insist as I lean out into the cool air.

  Instead of replying, he beckons me over. “I hear Pamela told you?”

  Ah. He wants to talk. “She did,” I confirm. “Congratulations?”

  “I know this isn’t what you signed up for, a lot of family drama on this trip.”

  “Actually I sort of did. I promised Gracie I’d stick it out, come what may.”

  He smiles. “She’s a force of nature, that one.”

  “Yes she is.”

  I’m about to turn back inside when he asks, “Are you close with your father?”

  “No,” I say simply. “I never really knew him.”

  “Well, I can certainly relate to what he’s missed out on.”

  I’m not quite sure what to say in reply. “I think Ravenna is very lucky to have a dad like you, however belatedly. And you two have got plenty of time ahead of you.”

  “If she accepts me.”

  “I don’t think it’s you she’s going to have the problem with.”

  Charles heaves a sigh. “She carries a lot of resentment toward her mother, doesn’t she?”

  “She does. But I think there’s hope.”

  His eyes meet mine. “Thank you for saying that.”

  I feel tears welling as a voice within murmurs, “I wish I had a dad like you.” I take a steadying breath. “Anyway, I should get to bed, early start tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  “Last chance to swap.” I hesitate.

  “Honestly, I’m fine. I love camping. And this is more like, what’s the new term?”

  “Glamping?” I smile.

  “That’s it.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night Laurie.”

  • • •

  Despite all the thoughts swirling in my head, I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow. But within a few hours I’m awake again, parched from our Tea Dance boozing. I desperately need a slug of water and remember there are glasses in the bathroom. Of course at home I can feel my way around in the dark but here I fear that would involve knocking down a series of irreplaceable heirlooms. Using the light from my phone I beam a pathway, but when I push open the mirrored door, I see that someone has beaten me to it.

  There on the floor is Ravenna, lit by the jewel-hued moonlight and chugging with silent tears.

  “What is it?” I hurry to her side. “What’s the matter?”

  She shakes her head, turning her face away from me.

  Oh my god—has she found out? Did she overhear something?

  “Ravenna . . .” For once my approach is gentle.

  “I don’t want to talk about it!” she protests.

  I bite my lip. “Is it really so awful?”

  She nods her head vigorously. “But you wouldn’t understand.”

  I sigh and then settle onto the dusky grape carpet beside her. “Try me.”

  She looks back at me, wary but desperate.

  “Go on,” I encourage.

  “I put on two pounds.”

  Is she serious?

  “That’s why you’re so upset?” I gawp.

  She nods.

  “Nobody will even notice!”

  “Eon will.”

  “I assure you he won’t. He might even like it.”

  She scoffs. “He wouldn’t like it. And he would know.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  She wipes her tears with the heels of her hands. And then she looks me right in the eye. “He weighed me before I left.”

  This stops me in my tracks.

  “He weighed you?”

  “He was worried that spending so much time around my mother would involve a lot of eating. And he was right. You’ve no idea what I’ve gorged on today,” her voice trembles. “It’s totally gross.”

  My jaw is still slack. “He actually got you to stand on the scales?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that didn’t ring any alarm bells with you?”

  “What do you mean?” Her pink eyes peer into me.

  “It didn’t strike you as a little creepy? A little controlling?”

  “He just wants the best for me.”

  “And that ‘best’ comes at a particular weight?”

  She sighs impatiently. “There’s not an exact number. He just doesn’t want me to end up like my mother.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He doesn’t want a fat girlfriend.”

  “He said that?” I feel physically sick.

  “Yes.”

  “He said those words?”

  “What’s the big deal? He’s just being honest. I respect that.”

  I lean back on the wooden siding of the bath, taking a moment to compose myself. “You know, I had a boyfriend say that to me once. It’s such an ugly sentiment, but he said it so casually, like he was just giving me a friendly tip-off. When in fact it was, of course, a threat.”

  “It’s different with Eon. He says he doesn’t want me to change because he loves me just as I am,” she pouts.

  I give a little snort. “You can justify his comment all you like, but tell me, how does it make you feel when he says that kind of thing?”

  She concedes a shrug. “Well. It’s not exactly reassuring.”

  “It’s not meant to be. It’s designed to keep you on your toes—to keep you feeling vulnerable, on edge.” I look at her. “Is that how you feel?”

  “Well, I do sometimes wonder if I’m wearing the right thing or whether he likes my hair a certain way . . . But doesn’t every woman want to look nice for her man?”

  “Of course, but she shouldn’t be afraid that his feelings for her would be altered by how she looks on a particular day.”

  “I think it’s different for Eon because he has such a heightened sense of style,” Ravenna explains. “He’s just started working in the fashion industry.”

  “Oh jeez.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, in and of itself. It’s just a fantastic excuse for him to run his mouth on how you look every day.”

  “The thing is, he’s so perfect. I hate to feel like I’m letting him down.”

  Wow. What a brilliant trick he has performed, convincing her that he is perfect and that she is the one with all the flaws.

  We sit for a moment in silence.

  “So what happened with your boyfriend?” Ravenna asks. “How did you respond, you know, when he said he didn’t want a fat girlfriend?”

  “I said, ‘And I don’t want a misogynist boyfriend.’”

  “Really?”

  “But I didn’t break up with him. Not straightaway. It took a few more weeks, but I knew in that moment that it was done. Because, as much as he didn’t want a fat girlfriend, I knew I could never be with someone who would say such a thing to someone he supposedly loved.”

  “So you don’t think it’s love?” She sounds nervous now.

  “It’s not. It’s a whole mess o
f other things. But it’s definitely not love.”

  “What’s going on in here?” Pamela is at the door, eyes all scrunchy as they try to adjust.

  “Oh! Just some girls’ talk—we didn’t want to wake you so we sneaked in here.” I get to my feet, blocking Ravenna from her view. “Everything all right with you?”

  “Yes, yes, I just need a wee.”

  I reach behind me and help Ravenna to her feet. “All yours. See you in the morning.”

  “Mmmf,” she mumbles.

  As the door closes, I look back at Ravenna.

  “To be continued?”

  She nods.

  Chapter 29

  When I returned to bed, I dreamed of my sister Jess. But it wasn’t the druggy Jess tormenting me. It was worse. It was the lovely version of her. The one I’d all but forgotten about, the one I now barely acknowledge ever existed.

  In order to write off a family member, you have to stay keenly focused on all the ways they’ve done you wrong, all their character flaws, all the reasons why there is no redemption to be had. It doesn’t do to remember how proud you felt watching them in the school play, or their contagious giggle, especially when you are dreaming and can’t guard your heart against the feelings that go along with those memories.

  While I was sleeping, I went back to our childhood playtimes. We were a good team then: I would make the practical arrangements, select the toys and the snacks; she would bring the imagination that turned a bed sheet slung between two chairs into an African safari tent or the rug beside the front door into a magic carpet ride.

  With her talent for transporting us to all manner of exotic lands, you would have thought she would have been the one who had favored a career in travel, but instead she decided to follow in our father’s footsteps selling life insurance. (It was one of the few things we knew for sure about him—his job.) Now she was using her imagination to conjure up never-ending scenarios in which you die unexpectedly, leaving your family in abject poverty. Even though she earned a decent salary and I was always offering her great bargains, she rarely went on holiday. The first time she asked me to help her plan a trip was to Goa. I should have known that something was up. In my experience, most people want to visit India when they are looking for an inner shift—they want a new perspective or just to feel something very different to the norm. Jess wanted to leave the very next week, but it was monsoon season so I told her to hold off for a couple of months, and it was during that period that she chose to poison off all her potential for greater happiness with the drugs. And that’s all I have to think about to make the good feelings about her go away.