The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts

Birdie wanders over to the table we’ve been working at while I box up her order. If only we had more customers like Birdie, it wouldn’t be such a worrying time.

‘What’s going on here?’ she asks and Nicky explains about the community open day. Birdie thinks it’s a brilliant idea and says she’ll pass on the details to her grandson once they’re in place. It’s the kind of positive response we’ve been hoping for but our bubble is momentarily burst by her next words.

‘I’m surprised you got permission to use the garden from the council. My friend’s granddaughter wanted to erect a marquee on her village green when she got married but they refused, miserable beggars.’

I’m reaching out to take the money Birdie is handing towards me, but I freeze, my eyes wide as they lock onto Mags’s equally wide-eyed look.

‘The council?’ Why didn’t we think of that? It seems so obvious now that we’d need permission, but it hadn’t even occurred to me.

‘You have got permission to use the garden, haven’t you?’ Birdie asks.

‘Not yet.’ I take the money and slide it into the till, handing over the change and the boxed treats. ‘But I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’

My eyes find Mags’s again.

Will it? they desperately ask. They don’t receive an answer.

The obstacle of gaining permission to use the garden is only a minor one. A tiny blip, really. Mags says she’ll get on to the council on Monday morning as she’s far more assertive than I am, will push for this stronger than I could ever imagine pushing and hopefully we’ll get the result we want. The result we need. In the meantime, I’m using every spare minute planning our menu. I take my books and Gran’s handwritten recipes up to the flat, spreading them out across the sofa while I make notes.

Sitting directly above the teashop, my flat is tiny with one bedroom, a doll-sized bathroom and an open-plan kitchen and living area. But living above the teashop is handy and I was in a bit of a pickle, accommodation-wise, when I started looking for a suitable property for my new business. Finding the shop with a flat above it had been fortunate and certainly helped me to make my mind up about the Kingsbury Road location.

Nicky joins me with a bottle of wine once the salon is closed for the day and we order a takeaway, sifting through the recipes as we wait for our food. Nicky had wanted to go into town tonight, but as I have to work, we’ve compromised with indulgent food, wine and Gilmore Girls on Netflix in the background.

Besides, it’s been a while since I braved Manchester’s clubs on a Saturday night. I’m usually too exhausted to face a night out after being up at the crack of dawn to bake – or at least that’s the excuse I go with. The truth is, I’d rather curl up at home with a bottle of wine and a DVD, where I’m safe from men like Joel. I can’t risk being hurt again.

‘Why hasn’t he texted me?’ Nicky suddenly growls, dropping the recipe for Gran’s treacle tart so she can snatch up her phone from the arm of the sofa. ‘He said he’d be in touch.’

‘You only saw him last night,’ I point out as I pick the recipe up off the floor and add it to the pile we’ve already looked at. ‘Give him a chance. He’s probably been busy with work. What does he do?’

Nicky shrugs. ‘No idea.’

‘But you slept with him.’ Nicky has, unfortunately, shared all the details of her date the previous night.

‘So?’

I close the recipe book I’ve been poring over, saving my page with the aging slip of paper containing Gran’s recipe for blackberry pie. ‘Do you know anything about him, other than his name?’ And by name, I’m referring to the username on the dating app Nicky uses to meet men. I don’t know if she knows his actual – and full – name.

‘I know that he’s got a mole right here.’ Nicky places a finger a couple of centimetres below her right hip. ‘And a tattoo of an eagle here.’ She trails her finger up to her shoulder blade.

‘Have you ever thought about playing it a bit cooler?’ I ask. ‘Waiting for a guy who’ll respect you enough to call you afterwards before you have sex with him?’

Nicky nods and takes a sip of wine. ‘I’ve thought about it but I sort of get caught up in the moment.’ She nudges me playfully with her elbow. ‘We can’t all be Snow White like you.’

‘Hey, I’ve had my moments.’ I think of Joel, even though I shouldn’t.

Nicky sighs. ‘I’ve had lots of moments. Too many.’ She looks down at her phone and growls. ‘Why hasn’t he texted? Do you think I should send him a message on the app?’

‘No, I really think you should leave it for now.’ We’ve been down this path so many times before, the trail has practically worn away. Nicky will send a message to this guy, wait a day (at the most) before sending another. And another. Until she’s sent a barrage of increasingly desperate messages, none of which will be replied to. In the end, Nicky will be blocked and she’ll move on to the next guy, restarting the cycle.

The takeaway arrives and I take the foil dishes and paper packages into the little kitchenette to distribute onto the plates I’ve already set out. The plates are piled high with noodles and fried rice, roast duck and stir-fried vegetables, crispy spring rolls and prawn toast. I have similar restraint when it comes to the local Chinese takeaway that Nicky has with men on her dating app. Joel used to say I had hollow legs, marvelling that I could eat so much and still stay slim. When we first met at the call centre, Penny used to joke that she hated me as she only had to glance in the general direction of a takeaway and she put on a couple of pounds.

Nicky looks guilty as I carry the plates into the living area, a bag of prawn crackers tucked under one arm and another bottle of wine under the other. I soon see why when I place the plates down on the coffee table and relieve myself of the prawn crackers and wine. Nicky’s phone had been on the arm of the sofa when the doorbell rang. It’s now been tossed across the coffee table.

‘You sent him a message, didn’t you?’

Nicky cringes. ‘Sort of.’

I pass Nicky a plate and a set of cutlery and join her on the sofa. It’s done now. All we can do is wait for him to reply. Or not, as the case will probably be. And we may as well stuff ourselves stupid while we wait it out.

After the Chinese, I pull the leftover raspberry cream cheese brownies out of the fridge and top up our glasses. Stuffed and a little bit squiffy, Nicky has to be practically rolled down the stairs and wedged into the waiting taxi. I return to the flat and pick up a recipe book for one last look before bed. Most of the desserts we serve at the teashop can be downsized, from apple crumble served in ramekin dishes with a dollop of warm custard to bite-sized brownies and mini cupcakes.

Caught up and forgetting I have to be up at five the next morning, I start to compile a list, noting ingredients and quantities so I can gauge how much cash the party will eat up. I’ll get Mags to take a thorough look on Monday but a rough estimate will do for now.

Ouch. It’s quite a hit but fingers crossed it will do the trick and earn us a healthier customer base. Because we can’t keep going as we are. My funds are quickly dwindling and soon, if things don’t pick up, I’ll be forced to close the teashop and I’ll be as heartbroken as I was a year ago.

Chapter Five

‘Too much?’ Penny lifted her face away from the mirror propped up on top of the chest of drawers and turned towards me, pouting her cherry-red lips at me. I was sitting cross-legged on her bed, applying a coat of mascara using the shaving mirror from the bathroom. Penny and I shared a flat so my own bedroom was only next door, but it was more fun to get ready together, our favourite music blasting from the CD player.

I was twenty-two and living away from home for the first time and I’d honestly never had so much fun. Yes, the bills were a pain and the discovery that there wasn’t a washing-up fairy (or a laundry or toilet-cleaning fairy) was a shock to the system and I was constantly plagued with pangs of guilt at leaving Dad on his own, but living with Penny was amazing.

We’d met six months earlier, at the call centre where we attempted to coax people (who neither liked being disturbed or being coaxed) into buying double glazing, and we’d gravitated towards each other. Penny was so fun and vibrant, it was hard not to smile when she was around and she seemed to enjoy my company too. We quickly became best friends and when Penny’s flatmate moved out, I took his place. Not only did I get to live with my best friend, the flat was a short walk to the Deansgate call centre where we worked, which saved on travel costs.

‘You look fierce,’ I told Penny as she pouted at me. She’d spritzed her usually frizzy ginger hair with some kind of magical potion that had given her bouncy, shimmery curls, applied a perfect eyeliner flick and finished off the look with a glossy cherry-red lipstick.

‘That’s exactly the look I was going for,’ Penny said, attempting an air of uber-confidence but spoiling the effect with a self-conscious giggle. ‘Do you think I’ll finally pull Jack?’

Jack was our team leader at the call centre and Penny had a major, major crush on him. We were getting ready for a night out with the team to celebrate his birthday so Penny had made an extra special effort, both with her hair and make-up and the super-clingy, super-low-cut dress she’d bought that afternoon.

‘He’d be mad not to fancy you,’ I told her, which made her go all giggly, which in turn made me go all giggly.

We finished getting ready and then made our way to the pub to meet the others. Penny made a beeline for Jack, flinging her arms around him and giving him a birthday kiss on the cheek that branded him with a bright red lipstick mark. We had a couple of drinks before we moved on to a club, where Penny pulled Jack onto the dance floor. I followed, dancing with some of the other girls from the team while Penny worked her magic on Jack. It was a good night, a proper let-your-hair-down kind of night with lots of dancing and laughing and team bonding. My feet were in agony as my shoes slowly murdered them and I was sure I’d have a killer hangover in the morning, but I didn’t care.

‘Oh my God. He is gorgeous.’ Penny had hauled herself off the dance floor for refreshment purposes and we were at the bar, trying to catch the attention of the harried bar staff. ‘He makes Jack look like Quasimodo.’ I followed Penny’s wide-eyed gaze and understood what she meant as I spotted the object of her lust. Tall and muscular without being too bulky, he was throwing back his head as he laughed, his blue eyes sparkling despite the dim lighting of the club. Wow. Just wow. He was stunning.

‘Hey, Pen.’ Jack – without a hunchback, despite Penny’s assessment – draped an arm around her waist and pulled her away from the bar. ‘Come and dance. I love this song.’

‘Grab me a drink!’ Penny yelled as she was towed away and I nodded before turning back towards the blond God. But he was gone and I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of his retreat through the throng. Not that I’d have followed in pursuit. Why would a man like that look at me?

Eventually, I managed to buy our drinks and I headed to the perimeter of the dance floor in search of Penny and Jack. They weren’t difficult to spot, entwined in the middle of the jiggling bodies, feasting on each other as they gyrated to the music. They were still devouring each other by the time I finished my drink so I made a start on Penny’s. There was no point in wasting it, after all.

I’d perhaps had a little more to drink than I should as I started to feel a bit fuzzy around the edges. My feet weren’t quite so co-ordinated as I made my way up to the loos and I found myself stumbling on the last couple of steps that led back down to the bar. A hand grasped me by the elbow, keeping hold until I was steady on my feet again.

‘Hey, are you okay?’ Oh, God. It was the gorgeous blond and he was looking at me with concern, which wasn’t quite the look I’d wished for. ‘Every time I see you, you’re in trouble.’

‘Sorry?’ I moved – carefully – away from the staircase, my eyes scanning for Penny. And then something clicked. I’d seen him before, months earlier. ‘Oh, it’s you! The Blue Llama. You rescued me from that sleaze.’ It had happened six months ago and he remembered me? How odd. ‘Did I even say thank you?’ I’d been so shaken at the time, I hadn’t properly registered him (otherwise I’d have noted how gorgeous he was, obviously) so I doubted I’d shown an ounce of gratitude.

‘There was no need,’ he said with a shrug.

‘There was.’ I couldn’t believe how rude I’d been. That sleazy bloke could have done anything to me that night if it hadn’t been for my rescuer. ‘Let me at least buy you a drink.’

He grinned and my knees went a bit wobbly, which had nothing to do with the excess alcohol swimming around my bloodstream. ‘I won’t say no to that.’

His name was Joel and he was a property developer who was out with his mates. I would meet them all later, but not tonight. Tonight was about us, about getting to know all the fascinating little details that we could cram into the remainder of the night as we huddled in a corner, blocking out the noisy revellers, thumping beat and the multicoloured lights flashing around us. When the night came to an end, when we found we were the only ones left (Penny, Jack and the others had all trickled away at some point without me noticing), we found we couldn’t say goodbye and I did something I’d never done before. I went back to Joel’s place.

To some people, this is no big deal. It’s an ordinary, sometimes weekly, occurrence but to me, this was momentous. I didn’t have sex with virtual strangers, ever. But it felt right with Joel. It felt as though I’d known him for ever rather than a couple of hours in a sweaty club. And I knew, without a doubt, that this wouldn’t be a one-night thing. My actions were so unprecedented, Penny was in a bit of a state when I performed the walk of shame the following morning.

‘Where. Have. You. Been?’ Penny leapt on me as soon as I pushed open the front door, her hands squeezing my shoulders tighter with each word. ‘I’ve been worried sick! I’ve been pacing the flat. I’ve phoned your dad. Your mum. I was about to phone the bloody police!’ Penny reached into my bag and tugged out my phone, turning it so that I could see the blank screen. ‘Why is your phone switched off?’

I nudged the door closed with my foot and wandered into the living room as I attempted to process the information she’d just dumped on me. She’d phoned Mum and Dad? She’d been thinking about phoning the police?

‘The battery died.’ Kicking off my shoes, I collapsed onto the sofa with a part happy, part weary sigh. ‘I’m sorry you were worried but I’m fine.’

‘I can see that.’ Penny looked almost put out that the drama had come to a sudden halt. ‘But where were you?’

My face itched until I gave in and allowed the huge Cheshire-cat grin to spread. ‘Do you remember that blond guy we saw?’

‘The totally fit one?’

‘The one you said made Jack look like Quasimodo.’

‘Sssssh!’ Penny’s eyes were wide, her head bobbing towards her bedroom next door. ‘Don’t tell him I said that.’

‘Jack’s here?’ I whispered.

‘Sleeping last time I checked. I tried to wake him up when I realised you weren’t here but the lousy sod said you’d probably pulled and started snoring again. I thought it was rubbish. Maddie doesn’t go on the pull. Maddie doesn’t have one-night shags.’ I flinched at the vulgar word. ‘But it turns out I was wrong. You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’ Penny flopped down on the sofa next to me and nudged me with her elbow. ‘So what was it like? Are you seeing him again?’

The Cheshire-cat grin made a return. ‘It was amazing and I’m seeing him tonight.’

Penny’s mouth gaped open. ‘Tonight? Blimey, he’s keen. It must have been good!’

‘It’s not just sex,’ I told Penny, who patted my knee in a patronising of-course-it’s-not kind of way. But I proved her wrong. I knew, without a doubt, that it hadn’t been a one-night thing and my gut instinct was verified by the five-year relationship that followed.

Chapter Six

Sunday at the teashop was quiet (even by our usual standards) and even Robbie failed to turn up for his banana milkshake, so I sent Victoria home early to spend some time with Nathan. One of us may as well make the most of their loved-up status and, as I’d been single since my relationship with Joel ended, it obviously wasn’t going to be me.

Luckily, business picked up on Monday morning, with a breakfast rush (if you can call six customers a rush). The only downside was that Mags didn’t manage to get onto the council until mid-morning. Still, we were confident that our request would be approved. Why wouldn’t it? We wouldn’t damage the garden or prevent anybody else from using it. In fact, we’d be doing the council a favour by drawing attention to the neglected public area.

So it comes as an unexpected blow when we receive the rejection from the council a few days later, refusing permission to use the garden for our proposed summer party. We’re back at square one and nothing can haul us out of the slump the news has brought. Even The Builders, a group of jovial blokes who have been popping in for an afternoon treat once or twice a week while they’ve been working on a nearby housing development, fail to raise a smile. They usually arrive like sunshine in their fluorescent jackets, cracking jokes and making us laugh, but today we’re far too down in the dumps to play nicely. Even Owen, the foreman of the group, fails in his attempts to flirt with Mags.

‘Come to the pub with me tonight,’ Owen coaxes while a nonplussed Mags swipes at a table with a cloth. ‘I’ll cheer you up over a few drinks.’

‘It’ll take more than you buying me a few drinks to cheer me up,’ Mags says with a weary sigh.

‘Who said I was buying?’ Owen asks, which would usually crack us up but today it’s only Owen’s fellow builders, Connor and Little Jordan, who laugh while Mags and I can’t even raise a half-hearted smile to play along. Connor and Jordan (nicknamed ‘Little Jordan’ by his workmates as he’s on an apprenticeship scheme and the youngest on site) usually accompany Owen on the treat run, though others occasionally make the trip too. They’ve been popping into the teashop for the past six weeks and I’ll miss them when their job is completed and they move on. Although Mags will claim otherwise, she’ll miss Owen’s visits too.

‘Don’t be daft. He isn’t being serious,’ Mags will insist every time I broach the subject of her accepting Owen’s offer of a date, but her cheeks will take on a rosy tinge and her smile will be a little wider after his visits.

‘What are we going to do now?’ Victoria asks once The Builders have trooped out with their goodies. It’s her day off but she’s popped in with Nathan for a crisis meeting. They’re sitting at the rubber-duck-patterned table, Nathan’s hand making soothing circles on Victoria’s back. It’s so sweet, I have to look away otherwise I’ll either burst into tears or combust with jealousy.

‘We could still have the party,’ Mags says, though she can’t seem to muster much enthusiasm. ‘But on a smaller scale. We can do the samples as planned, just in here.’ She sits down opposite Victoria and Nathan, the corners of her mouth turning down. ‘I’m afraid that’d mean the band couldn’t play.’

Victoria nods. ‘It’s okay. It would have been fun, but the teashop and drumming up business is the most important part.’

‘And we’ll still help out if we can,’ Nathan says which, again, is incredibly sweet of him. ‘I’m not much use in the kitchen but I can hand out flyers and stuff. I’m sure the others will chip in too.’

I manage my first genuine smile since we received the council’s rejection. ‘That would be amazing, thank you.’

‘So we’re going ahead with the free samples?’ Mags asks.

‘Let’s do it,’ I say, because we have to do something and this is all we’ve got.

So we forge ahead with the revised plan over the next few days. I plan the menu of sample-sized treats, ordering the required supplies and plotting a timetable to keep me on track on the day, while Mags contacts a local printer to provide the advertising materials we need. Victoria, Mags and I will distribute the flyers between us during the run-up to the event, covering the town centre, the local college and as many of the nearby primary schools as we can.

On the actual day, Nathan and the band (minus Victoria) will distribute more flyers in the town centre to catch any potential last-minute customers. Mags has also placed an advert in the local paper and I’ve been busy putting up posters in every permitted spot in town. I’m currently tacking one of the posters to the teashop’s window to grab the attention of any passers-by.

‘Is this the party you were talking about last time I was here?’ Birdie asks. She’s sitting by the window with her usual bowl of apple crumble and custard while Franklin waits patiently outside, his doggy treat long gone.

‘Sort of.’ I step back, gauging whether the poster is straight. ‘We didn’t get permission to use the garden so we’re having a scaled-down version here in the teashop. There’ll be lots of free samples and Victoria’s going to do some face-painting for the kids.’ I grab a flyer from the box that I’ve kept handy behind the counter and hand it to Birdie.

‘I’ll see if my Caleb can pop along with Cara,’ she says. ‘She loved the cakes and biscuits I took home for our tea party so I’m sure she’ll want to come.’

‘They’re more than welcome,’ I tell Birdie as the door opens. Dad is stooped in the doorway, scratching Franklin behind the ears as he slowly inches inside the teashop. He finally straightens, closing the door reluctantly as Franklin blinks at him with wide eyes through the glass.

‘You’re just in time,’ I tell Dad as I lead him to one of the tables. ‘The apple crumble is just out of the oven.’ I seat Dad before heading into the kitchen where I scoop a generous serving of apple crumble into a bowl and pour on thick, freshly made custard.

‘Best apple crumble I’ve ever had,’ Birdie says, lifting her loaded spoon as I place the dish in front of Dad.

‘She’s a smashing little baker,’ Dad says, winking up at me. ‘Always has been.’

‘This is my Dad,’ I explain. ‘Dad, this is one of my most loyal customers, Mrs Conrad.’

‘Birdie, please.’ Birdie reaches a hand across the small distance and shakes Dad’s hand. ‘Mrs Conrad is what the children call me at school.’

‘You’re a teacher?’ Dad asks.

‘Semi-retired. I do supply work now, three days a week. Keeps my brain active but I still get to enjoy leisurely days, stuffing myself with Maddie’s apple crumble. What is it you do …? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Clive,’ Dad says and I back away, leaving them to bond over their apple crumble while I join Mags in the office. She seems to spend more time in here than she does in the teashop and each time I see her hunched over the books at the desk, I grow more and more anxious.

‘The poster’s up,’ I tell Mags. ‘And Nathan and the others are going to pass the flyers out in exchange for baked goods.’ I’m doubly grateful for Nathan and the band’s generosity. They’ve not only stepped in to help spread the word, they’re doing it for free. ‘This is going to work, isn’t it?’

Mags tries to smile, though she can’t quite pull it off and it resembles a grimace. ‘I hope so. I really, really do.’

The alternative is unthinkable, so I busy myself with a bit of cleaning, making a start on the washing up while we’re quiet. Dad and Birdie are the only customers in the teashop and, as they’re entertaining themselves, I’m not really needed out in the teashop. Dad and Birdie are still chatting away as I clear their empty dishes but Birdie says her goodbyes when a fed-up Franklin start to yap outside the door.

‘Don’t forget these.’ I wave the usual bag of doggy treats and Birdie tuts and says I shouldn’t go to any trouble. ‘It’s no trouble. You know that.’