The Tea House on Mulberry Street (14 page)

“Rose,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting you. You look nice.” He folded his arms. It wasn’t much of a speech, after his dramatic entrance. He made a face at Cindy, and nodded to her to leave the room and go upstairs. But Cindy wasn’t keen to leave the two of them alone. She smiled at him and pretended not to understand.

“Well, John,” said Rose. “I must say, I’m sorry for barging in like this. I didn’t know you had company…”

“Rose, this is Cindy, my new assistant. And Cindy, this is Rose. My wife. My ex-wife. Ah, this is a little embarrassing, ladies.”

Cindy smiled at Rose, without blinking her blue eyelashes once, and Rose smiled back at Cindy, through gritted teeth. John grinned at the two women. An awkward silence descended. The three of them stood there, as if they were waiting to go into the theatre, or catch a bus. Rose wondered if she had remembered to take off yesterday’s mascara. (She hadn’t.) Or if her lilac toenail polish was chipped. (It was.) She also wondered how John could have replaced her so quickly. He was truly modern, after all. Keep moving forward, that was his motto. No time for nostalgia and memories in his busy life. She knew then that she would have to collect her things that day. She didn’t want to come back here, ever again.

“Well,” she said, coolly. “I’ll just gather up some odds and ends, and be out of here, as soon as I can. You two just carry on with whatever you were doing when I interrupted you.”

“Now, Rose, there’s no need to be like that,” began John. “You left me, after all! I never wanted you to leave.” Cindy’s smile didn’t waver, but she looked slightly deflated.

“You wanted me to sell burglar alarms and computers, John.”

“You could have said no. You didn’t have to move out, for God’s sake.”

“You know I’m a florist. That I love flowers.”

“Yes, indeed I do.” More than you loved me, he thought.

“What do you mean by that?” said Rose, picking up on the tone rather than the sense.

“Nothing.” Cindy never disagreed with him the way Rose did. Cindy thought he was great.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” asked Cindy, trying to keep things civilised.

“No, thank you. But don’t let me stop you having one…” She went up the stairs in a daze, while Cindy withdrew to the kitchen, satisfied there would be no emotional making-up scenes that day.

As John and his new assistant perched on the sofa, sipping their coffee, Rose went up and down the stairs like a whirlwind, flinging books and sandals into carrier bags, and deliberately not looking at the bed, which was in total disarray. There was a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs dangling from the headboard. Rose’s last remaining feelings of love for John finally withered up and died like the hanging baskets at the front door. Within minutes she was ready to leave. The wilting cheese plant was rescued and placed carefully in the back of the van.

“There’s the key,” she said. “I don’t expect I’ll be needing it any more.” She pressed it firmly into his outstretched hand.

He nodded his thanks.

“Well, John, I’ll say this for you. You don’t let the grass grow under your feet. So to speak. It’s just a pity you weren’t so energetic in the garden.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ve been too busy, what with one thing and another. I’ve been training Cindy up, you see…” .

Cindy blushed when he said that. Rose noticed the way her husband’s dark chest hair curled into little circles. She still found him highly desirable, but she knew she had made the right decision. He was the sort of person who lived only for the moment. He would never be a gardener.

It was time: the goodbye-moment had arrived. John stood up. So did Cindy. John wanted to hug Rose but he couldn’t. He had the key and the mug in his hands, and a possessive assistant standing beside him.

Cindy spoke first. “I’ll be upstairs,” she said to John. “Ah… nice to meet you, Rose.”

“I’ll just have that, if you don’t mind,” said Rose, whipping the china mug from the young girl’s hand. “That mug was a wedding present from my sister.”

“So it was,” said John. “You may as well have this one, too. It’s a matching pair.” He swallowed the last of his coffee and handed his mug to her. It was still warm. They both watched the back of Cindy’s perfect legs going up the narrow staircase.

“Goodbye, Rose,” John said. “I’ll miss you.”

Rose held the two mugs to her chest and, without saying another word, walked out into the evening sunshine without looking back. She clambered into the van, and placed the two mugs on the passenger seat. She tried not to see the irony of the situation as she pulled out from the kerb.

“There are three mugs in this vehicle,” she said softly.

The front door of the little house was closed again, with John no doubt on his way to join Cindy in the bedroom.

On the way back to her temporary home, Rose waited for the tears to fall, but nothing happened. She felt numb. In a way, it was a good thing to have any silly notions of a reunion crushed like this. It was time to move on. She thought of Connemara, and her childhood home. That was what she really missed, if she was honest. She needed to be back there, so her soul could start to heal itself.

He’s a buck-eejit, she thought sadly. But a very handsome buck-eejit.

Chapter 15

S
ADIE
H
AS A
P
LAN

Sadie Smith was good at hiding things. She had packets of chocolate buttons hidden all over the house, for sweet-toothed emergencies. Early one morning, before anyone else in the house was awake, she got up, and put on her pink satin dressing-gown. She lifted Arnold’s car-keys off the hall table and dropped them into a jug on top of the dresser. Then, she went into her tidy kitchen and put some milk on to boil. Sadie loved coffee made with milk. She hummed a marching tune as she placed the breakfast dishes on the table.

When it was time for Arnold to leave the house, he discovered his keys were missing. Sadie expressed surprise and joined in the hunt, searching down the back of the sofa with great enthusiasm. After half an hour, they gave up. He had to use a spare set of keys to go to work.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find them when I’m dusting,” she said cheerfully, as she waved him off. “They won’t have gone far.”

When she had washed the breakfast dishes and settled her parents-in-laws in front of the radio in the sitting-room, she crept down the hall with Arnold’s keys in her dressing-gown pocket. She opened the study door and went inside. Just like her husband, it was neat and tidy, and self-important. There was an elegant desk, a comfortable leather chair and hunting prints on the dark green walls. Arnold didn’t need this silly study. It was just an excuse to get away from them all when they were watching television in the evening. She realised, suddenly, that he spent hardly any time with her, or the parents he claimed to love so much.

Sadie tried the desk drawer. It was locked. Examining the bunch of keys, she found a small bronze one and tried it in the lock. It worked.

There were holiday brochures for Paris inside.

“Mmmm,” said Sadie. “Very nice.”

Underneath the brochures was a photograph of Arnold at a double-glazing exhibition in England. Beside him was the mystery blonde. She was a spiky creature, thought Sadie, as she peered at the picture. Feathery blonde highlights and pointy red fingernails. Stiletto heels and long false eyelashes. Her tanned legs were so thin, Sadie wondered how they could even hold her up. She was fleshless and bloodless, like a vampire.

Sadie’s face flushed as red as the nails of the hateful cuckoo in the picture. Turning the picture over, she read the back. It said:
Arnold and Patricia, Essex, 1998
. She had to find out if they just worked together, or if her cocky little husband had managed to find himself a stick-thin lover.

Later that morning, Sadie went shopping. She had to buy a new cardigan for Maurice, and collect a prescription for Daisy. On a sudden impulse, she went to Muldoon’s Tea Rooms. She would ask if they’d found the umbrella she had left on the doorstep, on the dreadful day of the discovery. There were a few empty seats near the window, but Sadie went over to the table in the corner where she had eaten the cherry cheesecake. She needed somewhere private to think, she told herself. She needed peace to make her plans without Maurice and Daisy distracting her every five minutes. She ordered the Chicken Special with extra chips, and for pudding the chocolate-fudge cake, with extra cream. For once in her life, she did not count the calories. She could feel whole layers of fat melting away with suppressed rage.

On the way home, she called into the locksmith’s shop on Fountain Street, and had another set of Arnold’s keys made.

Sadie had a plan.

“I’ll get you, you overdressed, overbearing, oversexed little creep,” she said, as she marched, burping, to the bus stop.

Beatrice and Alice Crawley were planning to call in to Muldoon’s. They were eager to tell Penny about the important letter they had received from City Hall.

At last, at long last, their charity work was going to be publicly acknowledged! The Mayor of Belfast was hosting a formal lunch in the City Hall for all those people who had collected large sums of money for the maintenance of war memorials across Europe. A small gathering of select individuals would be served a five-course meal in the banqueting suite. Afterwards, several important guests would each make a speech.

When the speeches were over, there was to be an exhibition of wartime photographs in the foyer of City Hall, and they were invited to submit some pictures of their father, Sergeant William Crawley, of the Pioneer Corps.

There would be some VIP guests there, but no exact details could be given at this stage. The letter said:
Arrangements are ongoing
.

Reporters would be covering the event. Beatrice and Alice might end up in the papers. They would definitely be on the tea-time news. Frank Mitchell, one of the presenters with Ulster Television, would be there to interview them. They were giddy with speculation as to the identity of the mystery guests.

“Do you think the Queen might be coming?” whispered Alice.

“Oh! Maybe that’s why they didn’t say who it was. For security reasons.” Beatrice had her hands over her mouth. Both women looked at their reflections in the antique mirror above the fireplace. Then, they hurried up the stairs as fast as their old campaign legs would allow them, and began to try on hat after hat after hat.

Chapter 16

S
OMETHING
G
OOD
H
APPENS TO
H
ENRY

Henry left the house, with a folded newspaper clutched in his hand. He walked aimlessly along the Malone Road and the Lisburn Road. Out of habit, he crossed into Mulberry Street, and ended up outside Muldoon’s Tea Rooms. He often came here when he was feeling lonely. He went in. Penny was behind the counter.

“What can I get you, Henry? You look like you need cheering up. I can recommend the custard slices, and the Chicken Special.”

Henry smiled at her, but ordered only coffee and a sandwich. He sat staring out of the window, wondering what to do. I suppose I can live with this, he thought. If it makes Aurora happy, I suppose I can live with it.

“What would you say if your husband wanted to spend his life savings on home improvements?” said Henry to Penny, when she brought his order.

“I’d kneel down on the floor and kiss his feet,” said Penny. “And I’m not exaggerating.”

“Goodness me,” said Henry. He’d always thought Penny was not aware of how shabby the interior of Muldoon’s was. He knew now he would get no sympathy from Penny where home improvements were concerned.

“How’s the building work coming along?” asked Penny.

“It’s starting any day now,” he said. “Just a few formalities.”

“Don’t worry,” said Penny. “Something good will come of it.”

Henry stirred his coffee and looked out of the window. A graceful woman with long red hair came out of the florist’s shop across the road, and lifted some flowers from one of the containers. As she straightened up, the sun caught her copper-coloured hair and it shone like fire. It was not the first time Henry had noticed her but today, somehow, was different. The woman’s face was pale and very beautiful, and she had thin white ankles. She was wearing a red dress with an Indian-style print on it, a black sweater and red ankle-boots to match her skirt. The sight of her, with her white face and ankles, and her red dress, and the bunch of lilies in her arms, made Henry feel suddenly young and old at the same time. He felt intense desire.