11 The Teashop on the Corner (34 page)

‘It was.’

‘That’s okay then. Just checking.’

‘Are you going to check on everyone who comes in?’ Leni was still hanging on to her smile. He felt a prickle of annoyance that he amused her so much.

‘Yes, I think I might.’

It was as big a mystery to him as it was to her why he should bother. She wasn’t his responsibility – God forbid. If she wanted to get herself mugged by the most notorious family in
the area, why should he really care?

‘Would you like a coffee, Mr McCarthy, whilst you’re on surveillance duties?’

‘You’re very kind, but I’ll pass.’ He gave her a smile of his own. The one he saved for the VAT man.

Leni noticed how straight and white his teeth were. They would suit a proper smile. She wondered when he had last thrown his head back and laughed.

Ryan emerged from the back room holding a wooden bookend. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Shaun McCarthy.

‘It’s okay, Ryan,’ said Leni. ‘Mr McCarthy didn’t realise it was you coming into the teashop. He thought it was a hoodlum out to murder me.’ She dropped a sly
wink for Ryan’s eyes only.

‘Well, I’ll get back across the way then,’ said Shaun. ‘Oh, you’re going to be joined by a florist on the square. Thought I ought to let you know.’

Leni grinned. ‘I had heard and I’m really glad. For you too, Mr McCarthy. One less shop to find a tenant for.’

‘Two, actually,’ replied Shaun. ‘Your next-door neighbour is going to be an antiques emporium.’ The man had signed on the dotted line that afternoon. It had been a good
day for Shaun McCarthy. Somewhere in a parallel universe, another Shaun McCarthy would be buying a bottle of champagne and taking it home to crack open with a good woman and celebrate.

‘Wonderful,’ said Leni. ‘I love antiques.’

The grill pinged, indicating that Ryan’s toasties were ready. Shaun McCarthy left her to it, pondering if there was anything in Leni Merryman’s life that wasn’t either
‘wonderful’ or ‘lovely’.

Harvey was still talking about their visit to the seaside three days later. He chattered like an over-excited child. Molly thought they must have started putting E-numbers in
fish and chips these days.

‘That is the best day out I can ever remember,’ he said, sitting on the garden chair, tilting his head to the warm light of the afternoon.

Molly watched him replaying the events of Sunday in his head and smiling. He had caught the sun on his face and it had chased away that awful pallor.

‘There’s a new restaurant open in Maltstone. Italian. Shall we go and test it out?’ he suggested.

‘I was going to cook some chicken.’

‘Oh, chicken, schmicken. Who wants to cook on a glorious sunny night like this? Let’s push the boat out.’

‘Oh all right,’ said Molly, thinking that sounded a good plan. She was enjoying her days with Harvey more than she could say. Yesterday they had been to the Teashop on the Corner and
talked for a full hour about Daphne du Maurier books with Mr Singh. Dear Carla wasn’t there because she was running around getting things for her florist shop, which everyone agreed must have
been so exciting for her. Then they had come home, drawn the curtains, turned the front room into a cinema and watched the old black-and-white version of
Rebecca
with Laurence Olivier and
Joan Fontaine. Mrs Danvers gave Molly the heebie-jeebies as much as she always had. Today they had been for a stroll in Higher Hoppleton Park and had taken a bag of cake crumbs to feed the ducks
and geese, then called in at the antiques shop in the village and poked around for treasures. She tried not to think of all the other wonderful days out with Harvey she could have had, if things
had been different.

‘It’s called Piccola Venezia. Shame it’s not the real Venice.’

‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘One day it will be the real thing for you. Don’t forget to look around for those white feathers. Or an Embassy Tip packet. I always smoked those. I could blow an empty box your way,
that ought to convince you that I’m around.’

‘You’re a fool, Harvey Hoyland.’ Molly shook her head in exasperation and stood. ‘I’ll go and freshen up if we’re going out.’

‘I’ll wait here for you.’

He watched her walk into the house. She still looked the same from the back as she had done thirty-two years ago, reed-thin and straight-backed. A pain stabbed him in the side and he leant over
to ease it. His repeat prescription would be due soon. He knew it wasn’t worth picking up more tablets.

‘Okay, matey, that’ll do I reckon. Your two hours are up,’ said Leni, going to the till and pulling out Ryan’s wage.

‘I’ve got another quarter of an hour,’ said Ryan, looking at the clock on the wall. ‘I spent the first fifteen minutes here eating.’

‘You must be the most conscientious worker I’ve ever known.’ Leni knew he was over-compensating for his family’s reputation. She held up the money. ‘Do you want me
to put this in the safe for you? I haven’t forgotten about the extra fiver by the way.’

‘Please,’ said Ryan, picking up the scissors and putting them neatly in the drawer. He always cleared up after himself.

‘I’ll run you home.’

‘No, it’s all right. I’ll get the bus.’

Leni glanced at the clock and made a calculation. ‘The next bus won’t be here for another half-hour. I insist. The least I can do is make sure you get home safely. I don’t want
your moth . . . family being cross with me.’

Ryan mumbled something under his breath which Leni didn’t quite catch but she could guess at the essence of it.

‘Come on. I’m going to lock up myself and have an early-ish night. Here.’ She handed over a small brown paper bag. ‘There’s a slice of carrot cake in there for your
supper.’

‘Aw, cheers, Mrs Merryman, thank you.’

‘You can call me Leni, you know. I’m not your teacher.’

‘Okay.’

Leni set the burglar alarm and locked up. She waved an instinctive cheery good night to Mr McCarthy, who was carrying a bag of cement across the square. She tried to ignore how much it hurt her
to think that she rubbed him up the wrong way. She usually kept her distance from anyone that might affect her, but she had failed at the teashop. Based on their shared love of books, friendships
with Molly, Harvey, dear Mr Singh, lovely Carla and Ryan had crept up on her when she wasn’t looking, uniting them all with gentle unthreatening bonds. It was different in the case of Shaun
McCarthy though. The sight of him made her insides tingle as if her nerves had been ruffled by a soft, warm wind. She didn’t want them to. She didn’t want to be drawn towards him. She
didn’t want her eyes to drift over to the window in the hope of seeing him across the square.

She knew he was an unhappy man, she could feel it coming off him in waves when she was near him. It was almost a forcefield warning people to stay away. But Shaun McCarthy would never need worry
on her account. Her heart was on a chain and the door would only open so far.

Leni felt Shaun’s eyes on her as she slipped into the driver’s seat of her car. He thought her a silly chirpy woman, she knew, and it wounded her that he did so.

Ryan climbed into the car with his school bag, which badly needed replacing. One of the seams was torn and held together tenuously in the middle with a safety pin.

‘Any homework to do?’ asked Leni, making conversation as they headed through town.

‘Done it,’ replied Ryan. ‘I do most of it in my breaks at school. I can use the computers.’

‘Very wise,’ said Leni. ‘Then it’s all out of the way and you have plenty of free time in the evenings. What do you like to do?’

‘Watch TV, read,’ said Ryan. ‘I stay in my bedroom mostly.’

‘No friends to go and see?’

‘My best mate lives at the other side of Darton. I’ve been there a couple of times but his mum is a bit posh. Don’t think she’s that keen on me.’

Judging you on your clothes no doubt
, thought Leni with an inner pang. Ryan was such a good kid, she knew. Polite, studious, decent, but people who knew the name O’Gowan would
have difficulty seeing past that.

‘It’s next right,’ said Ryan as they passed the Ketherwood Fried Chicken shop. Five youths were hanging around outside drinking from cans, rubbish pooled at their feet. One of
them was holding a lead attached to a sturdy Staffordshire Bull Terrier with a spiked collar.

‘Honest, you can leave me here, it’s not far to walk.’

‘I’ll drop you at the door,’ Leni said adamantly, turning right where instructed.

‘I can . . .’ Then Ryan sighed. ‘Okay. Right again at the offy.’

Leni knew he was ashamed about where he lived. The Ketherwood estate was grim. A lot of the houses were boarded up and most of the ones that weren’t looked uncared for, with grubby net
curtains hanging at windows, cracked panes of glass in doors and squares of garden devoid of grass and full of detritus.

‘It’s this one,’ said Ryan, pointing to a semi-detached with a battered black Ford Fiesta with one red door parked outside it. It appeared that the wooden front door had been
kicked in at some point as it had been patched with a bolted-on metal panel.

‘Thanks, Mrs Merryman,’ said Ryan, jumping out of the car then turning back to say, ‘Don’t hang about here.’

Leni watched him open up the door with a key, caught a glimpse of grimy walls and broken skirting board before he shut the door again. She could have cried.

Molly and Harvey dined on an Italian feast fit for Garibaldi himself in the beautiful high-ceilinged conservatory part of the restaurant. A male opera singer with backing tapes
provided musical entertainment. Occasionally he came forward to hand the mike to a diner but the offer to join in was always laughingly declined. Until he approached Harvey.

Diners temporarily downed their cutlery to listen to the deep powerful voice, in word perfect Italian, coming from the thin elderly man. Molly had forgotten what a beautiful voice he had and
marvelled that in his state of health he could hold the melody with such precision. It was as if the sound came from a part within him that was untouched by illness;
his soul.

‘Time to Say Goodbye’. Of all the songs to sing. Why did it have to be that one, she thought. A song about a lover dreaming of the places he wants to travel to with his love, from
whom he is separated by death. So he takes her with him in his heart, knowing that one day they will be reunited in the afterlife and then they will sail on ships together. Molly swallowed hard on
the ball of emotion which threatened to choke her as his pure and remarkable voice filled the room, and she knew she would remember the sound forever.

The diners gave Harvey a standing ovation, the opera singer hugged him, even the owner came out from the back to shake his hand. The room was brimming with conviviality and joyous surprise. The
owner gave Harvey and Molly a free dessert each and two coffees. Molly thought she could have stayed in that restaurant forever, but when she looked across at Harvey she saw that his eyes were
getting tired.

When they left the restaurant, the sun was fast darkening to a ripe orange and sinking into the horizon, as if the moon was shooing it away from his territory.

‘I don’t want to go to bed yet,’ said Harvey when they reached Willowfell.

‘How about a brandy in the garden?’

‘That sounds perfect.’

Molly had two huge balloon glasses which had never been used and still sat in their presentation box. Tonight might be the night to finally christen them. By the time she had got them out and
poured the brandy, Harvey was asleep on the swinging chair.

She shook his arm gently and received no response. Nor did she the second time. She panicked and grabbed at him with both arms and he snorted whilst his eyes sprang open.

Molly pressed her hand on her heart. All this would kill her before it killed him.

‘I was having a lovely dream,’ said Harvey, stretching out his long wiry arms. ‘I’d been for an Italian meal with my ex-wife.’

‘I had the same dream,’ said Molly. ‘He scared her half to death and then they had brandies on the garden terrace.’

‘I hadn’t quite got to that bit,’ said Harvey. ‘Did I tell you that I once had a coffee with Placido Domingo on a train to Madrid? He signed a serviette for me. I have it
in my suitcase. There’s a zip compartment. Placido is in there with some other souvenirs from my travels.’

He had done so many things in his life and Molly knew she wouldn’t have time to hear the half of them.

They sat in quiet contentment enjoying the warm hit of the brandy under a high bright moon until after midnight.

‘That was what I call a perfect evening,’ said Harvey, pulling himself to his feet with a yawn and holding out his hand to help up Molly.

‘It was,’ nodded Molly. ‘It was.’

The answering machine was flashing when they walked into the house.

You have one new message
, said the plummy-voiced announcer when Molly pressed the button.

‘Helloooo, Mother,’ came a woman’s squeak. ‘Just to tell you that we’re coming back on Friday night. We’ve had such a terrific time. I’ll call up to see
you on Saturday morning. Bye-ee.’

Sherry. She and Graham would be home in two days.

Molly decided she might need to take a nightcap up to bed with her.

Once again Carla was up early, too excited to sleep. She fed Lucky and let him out, then let him back in because he started scratching at the door as soon as she shut it. He
wasn’t a very outdoorsy cat. He seemed to prefer life inside.

Over the past days, she had designed some online business cards. They weren’t very expensive and that would probably be reflected in the quality, but they’d certainly do to begin
with. She had rung her old contact Sheila at Forrester’s Floral Supplies in Sheffield, had a catch-up chat and then she ordered a starter pack of vases, ribbons, wrap, baskets and various
Oasis shapes. She was back on familiar territory and it felt good. She even managed to negotiate a discount and got some further money knocked off for collection of goods. The delivery prices were
ridiculous and Carla was determined to see profits coming in as soon as possible, which wouldn’t happen if she threw money away. She had also ordered a card payment machine and this morning
she was going to work through her address book and let old customers know that next week she would be trading live as The Lucky Flower Company.