The Afternoon Tea Club

Trouble was, working every day in the library meant she could only see them lunchtimes and evenings, and so she’d often come home to find chunks out of them when they’d been fighting and once one got stuck behind the back of the kitchen units, which had meant getting someone to remove the unit and rescue the cat. So vet bills were fairly high because she was at the vets quite a lot. Yet she still hadn’t got round to sorting out a pet plan for them all yet.

Some days it felt like she was fighting a losing battle, trying to keep them all alive and happy and fed or separating them into the various rooms. And trying to find out who got on best with who was always a worry with new cats. Occasionally she found them new homes but not often. She’d had most of her current cats for nearly two years now – Snowball had been a new addition. Yet, despite their traits, despite being problematic, she loved them all dearly. It was wearing though. But she couldn’t simply give them all away! Who would look after them like she did? Who else would spoil them with those little tins of sardines or smoked salmon, when she could afford it? Cat charities were probably overworked and no one else had the time to help her out.

Stacy didn’t mingle with anyone from work and really only had the one friend, Elsa, from primary school days, although she hadn’t seen her in ages. Elsa lived in the village Stacy was from and had been such a bright, happy girl, emerging from school with hordes of qualifications, destined for university and a life of amazing possibilities. But a skiing accident had taken all that away from her. Now she still lived at home, relying on her parents. Of course, they took her out in her wheelchair and looked after all her needs to the very best of their ability. But it was so sad. Elsa was the only friend Stacy had because all her time was taken up looking after her nine, no, eight cats and kittens. At least Elsa was usually in, when Stacy found the time to Skype, even though she hadn’t managed it in quite a while. In fact, Stacy hadn’t been back to visit Elsa nor her own parents for a good few years. She hadn’t learned how to drive, so it meant getting on and off the three buses it took, in order to visit them, which meant far too many hours away from the cats.

God, the place stank!

She knew she ought to get rid of the lounge carpet and buy laminate flooring. Much easier to clean, of course. Yet when did she have time to go shopping for new flooring? How could she make changes, in any respect, when she didn’t have the time to do that? The afternoon tea experience had been a bit of an experiment for her. She’d seen the flyer in the corner shop window and because she’d known it was only for an hour or so and, fortunately, nearby, she’d risked going. She hadn’t been anywhere in a long time, so it had been really nice talking to other people instead of trying to reason with her cats, for once. And the cake had been delicious! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had nice cake. Her weekly shopping jaunts meant only going to the corner shop or next door to the laundrette, and buying local was a much quicker option than getting the bus to the supermarket and leaving all her cats for hours on end. Yet she’d have loved to go shopping at a supermarket – any supermarket – with all the mouth-watering offerings they had on display, at far more reasonable prices.

‘I need a shower,’ she said out loud, above the mewing.

But to do that she needed to get Melanie, Ebony, Dingle and Chater out of the bath and wash the bath down. She chewed her lip, knowing she’d come out of that scenario with more than a couple of bites and scratches. Fortunately, she kept a lot of disinfectant to hand.

She’d considered getting separate cat carriers to leave the cats in, when she went out. That way she could maybe spend a bit more time doing things she wanted to do. But she knew that was a horrid idea because then they’d be stuck in them most of the day while she was at work and wouldn’t be able to move around properly in them. So that’s why she gave them free rein of the flat. Or rather, free rein of whatever part of the flat she’d allocated them to.

No, there was no other choice. She’d simply have to keep doing what she’d been doing these last few years. No time for boyfriends, shopping or living. Just time to look after her poor little kitties.

Question was, who was going to look after her?

Chapter 4

It had been a week of thunderstorms and drizzle, since the last afternoon tea meeting at Borough Community Centre, and the ladies and gents and the few younger people slurping tea and munching biscuits around the tables at this week’s afternoon tea had been lamenting over that fact.

One lady had slipped in the doorway, due to the wet being traipsed in on people’s feet. She’d been helped up by a woman who she was delighted to recognise as being her long-lost childhood school friend from a neighbouring town.

‘Pauline? Pauline Rastock? Oh I don’t believe it!’

‘Goodness, is that you, Emily? Emily Blye? Well, what a coincidence!’

‘Small world! Look, let me help you. Oh, your foot looks quite swollen. Can you stand on it?’

‘No, not very well. It’s quite painful! Now how are we going to get into the hall with me like this?’

‘Right, well, just put your weight on me and we’ll hobble. Yes, that’s it. Let’s get a table together. It’ll be wonderful to catch up. Oh and I hear they’ve got chocolate cake this week.’

‘Chocolate cake? Gosh, we are being spoilt, aren’t we?’

Marjorie smiled as she passed the two enthusiastic ladies. People were making friends or rather reuniting with old friends. Unfortunately, Lou wasn’t well enough to make it this week but promised she’d come next week if Gracie would bring her. But Marjorie’s eyes lit up at the sound of chocolate cake being served this week. What a treat! She used to love baking but it tended to end up down a wall or trodden into her carpet when Oliver was alive. She shuddered at the thought of what she’d had to put up with throughout those awful years.

‘Have you put your suggestions in the box yet?’ said one of the elderly gents from last week. His question interrupted her thoughts, making her jump.

‘What? Oh no. I’m perfectly happy just coming here for afternoon tea. Especially as we’ve got chocolate cake this week.’

‘Ah yes.’ The gent smiled. ‘I can see everybody’s thrilled about that. Although I must say I prefer Victoria sandwich, myself. My name’s Raymond, by the way, like it says on my sticker. They wrote it out for me, which is helpful as I’ve got a bit of arthritis in my right hand, so I don’t tend to write much nowadays. They’re nice people, Eileen and Taynor, aren’t they? It’s marvellous what they’re trying to do for us, don’t you think? And I can’t wait to see what suggestions everybody comes up with next week. So where’s your sticker, then?’

‘Er, I might get one later, if I remember. I don’t think I’ll necessarily be coming all that often. Maybe occasionally.’

‘Ah,’ Raymond said. ‘Well, look. Do you mind if I join you at your table?’

Marjorie shook her head, although maybe a little too vigorously, and started to ramble.

‘Um, no you can’t join me. I don’t know where I’m sitting just yet and I was just about to try and find the toilet. Do you know where they are?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe somewhere near reception?’

Marjorie sidled away. Oliver had always hated her talking to other men. Yet, despite him no longer being alive, she still couldn’t seem to get out of the habit of making her excuses and leaving men when they approached her. Gracie got mad about it sometimes.

‘I wish you’d see how rude it sounds to people when you’re abrupt like that. They’re not Daddy. So can’t you learn how to let them down more gently instead of just saying “no” to everyone? My God, you’re lucky to be approached at all. Some women never experience the charm of a man and there you are turning them away at eighty-two!’

Marjorie hated it when Gracie got angry with her but she could do nothing to change her behaviour. It was in-built from too many years of constant abuse. Even though Gracie had pulled her up about this unsavoury aspect of her personality and even though she’d tried to watch what she said to people, sometimes things just popped out unchecked. Unfortunately, it usually hit her that she was saying the wrong thing after she’d said it.

So she decided to stay in the toilets until she felt sure Raymond would have found a seat somewhere else. Then she went back and ordered tea and a piece of chocolate cake from the helpers.

‘Oh and here’s your name sticker. It’s Marjorie, isn’t it?’ said Eileen coming up to her.

Marjorie turned in puzzled surprise. She’d told no one her name.

‘The girl in the yellow cardigan, over there, overheard your daughter calling you Marjorie last week. Her name is Stacy,’ Eileen said.

‘Oh right. Thanks!’ Marjorie said, relieved, but then nearly jumped out of her skin as Eileen positioned the sticker just below Marjorie’s left shoulder and pressed lightly.

Marjorie already felt flustered by this week’s experiences in the community centre. And she felt out of sorts at Eileen’s easy manner as she stuck the name tag on her. Well, sure, Marjorie’s hands were full, so it made sense, and it had been done with care, but it made her realise that the only person who ever really touched her, these days, was her daughter, when they hugged. Marjorie wasn’t even one for hugging her own friends when she chanced to see them. It was behaviour she was not used to.

A tear pricked her eye. Everyone here was being really nice to her. It was a new experience for her and she was finding it difficult to accept.

‘Hi, Marjorie!’ called the girl in the yellow cardigan, loudly enough for Raymond to now know who she was, Marjorie realised. ‘Come and sit over here with me.’

As Marjorie sat down with her tea and cake, she studied Stacy. In a way it was infuriating that she couldn’t remember where she knew her from. But did the girl want to be her friend, like Eileen or Taynor had suggested they could if they wanted to, last week? Goodness, there was at least a sixty-year age gap between them! The thought made her chuckle as she placed her tea and cake on the table. She took a large mouthful of the cake to stifle her laugh and it was so delicious it made her sigh instead, which elicited a remark from Stacy.

‘Good, isn’t it? Everyone’s saying they’ll come every week if we get chocolate cake. It’s a real treat isn’t it? I don’t get to eat cake much,’ Stacy said with a sad smile. ‘So did you make any suggestions? Did you put them in the box or just tell Eileen? I just told Eileen I’d like to go to the sea for the day. I’m a country girl you see. My parents have always worked the land. Mum said we stayed in a caravan in Mablethorpe when we were little. We went there to see our cousins, but I don’t remember it. So I’d really like to go to the seaside proper. I work in a library near here. Don’t mind it – it’s a bit boring sometimes but it’s near where I live and it means I can keep an eye on my cats. I’ve got eight cats, you know. They’re a bit rowdy and I got scratched recently but I do love them. So what do you usually do with your time or do you—’

‘Good grief! Please stop!’ hissed Marjorie, covering her ears.

The other women around the table gasped, their mouths opening ever so slightly in shock at Marjorie’s response. Marjorie glanced about herself nervously. Oh no, I’m doing it again! she thought in dismay, judging by the way the other women were scowling at her. Stacy’s eyes dropped to the table. The poor thing suddenly looked as if she was about to cry.

One of the women with the name Doreen on her chest took hold of Stacy’s hand.

‘It’s okay, love. I think this woman probably has a headache or something. I’m sure she wouldn’t have meant to be rude to you otherwise, would you, Marjorie!’ the woman said, glaring at Marjorie.

Marjorie felt flustered. Well, that had all come out wrong! She had wanted the silly young woman to shut up, of course, but she shouldn’t have said anything. She should have simply moved tables when she’d started annoying her – that much was clear. So she mouthed a ‘Sorry’ to everyone on the table and then gathered her tea and cake and moved to a different table – a table where there was just one other little old lady sitting there, eating her cake with a fork, and who seemed much more civilised.

However, whilst Marjorie munched her cake, she suddenly felt tearful. She was sure she didn’t really belong here, amongst these people, despite the delicious chocolate cake. No, this experiment wasn’t working for her. Perhaps she’d persuade Gracie to take her out for proper afternoon tea in an upmarket hotel somewhere instead of having to deal with these unbearable people, here, with their funny ways.

Then to top it all off, Stacy approached her table with two paracetamols in her hand.

‘I’m sorry you’ve got a headache, Marjorie. Here! Take these with a glass of water. You’ll soon feel better!’

Chapter 5

Gracie stood, with her hands on her hips – just like she used to do when she was a little girl, trying to stop her mother and father fighting, Marjorie thought wryly.

‘So when this girl approached you, you got up and left. Is that what you’re telling me, Mother? After what you said, which was totally rude and nasty, and then the sweet little thing gave you tablets because she thought you were ill? How can you ever face her again, after that?’

Marjorie didn’t want to row with Gracie today. And it irked her that Gracie used the kind of language that only someone who looked after schoolchildren would use when the students needed reprimanding. Not that Gracie reprimanded anyone at school. She only scolded her mother, which made Marjorie feel like a naughty schoolchild.

‘But she was so annoying; so needy. All her words were tumbling out and running into each other. There was no “off” button. It was like she hadn’t spoken to anyone in years and it was all just dribbling out of her!’

‘So that was enough to make you tell her off? This poor young woman’s manner? I thought the organisers said they wanted you all to make friends with each other?’

Marjorie buried her face in the tea towel she was using to dry their dinner plates.

‘But I don’t want to make friends with all those people down there. They’re a funny bunch of characters. And some of them don’t seem right in the head.’

‘Well, now I’ve heard everything! Have you heard yourself? You’re starting to sound like my father!’

‘Well now you’re talking rubbish. I’m nothing like Oliver,’ Marjorie snapped.

‘But we all know that the abused often become the abusers, Mother,’ Gracie said quietly. ‘You’ve let yourself down at that place and I must say I’m disappointed by your behaviour.’

Marjorie bit back the tears that threatened to overflow. Saddened by her daughter’s comments and unable to justify herself, she stomped out of the kitchen and snatched her coat off the banister, intending to go for a walk to calm herself.

A light drizzle accompanied her down the street. She found a wet bench in the little park nearby, and sat down. A man threw a stick for his dog. The dog kept retrieving it delightedly and running back for the man to throw it again and then they left. Marjorie let her tears stream down her face unchecked whilst no one was around. She sat there deep in thought until the rain matted her hair and she didn’t even flinch when a slow trickle wound its way down her neck.

She didn’t understand herself but, more importantly, she didn’t understand others. Their behaviour was different to hers. Sure, she knew they all had challenging lives; they’d seen and done numerous things and that made them speak and act differently to her. Horses for courses! She’d had a horrid life with Oliver apart from their wondrous gift of her dear Gracie and maybe some of those people at the community centre had lived through horrid lives too. That said, Marjorie could see there was something wrong with Stacy in a way that there was also something wrong with herself; loneliness being at the heart of it. But she couldn’t deal with other people’s problems – didn’t want to deal with other people’s complications – when she didn’t know how to deal with her own problem of coming to terms with what she’d suffered. The isolation, loneliness and fear she’d lived in because of Oliver had been debilitating. She was aware that the way he had treated her was probably the main reason she dealt with other people the way she did.

Because that’s all she had known for so many years.

She didn’t intend to go around hurting people but she expected them to understand when she felt annoyed about things or when she felt justified in pointing things out that needed saying. Problem was, people seemed to easily take offence at her words.

She’d often wondered if she’d spoken to someone in a professional capacity about how Oliver’s terrible behaviour had affected and hurt her over the years, would she have been able to put the past behind her and move forward in a more positive light? She knew that abused people didn’t always become abusers themselves, as Gracie had said.

Part of the problem was that she’d never managed to fathom why Oliver had been so angry towards her. His own mother had never understood it or been able to explain it, when she’d witnessed it first-hand and she’d refused to discuss it with Marjorie – just like Marjorie’s own mother. Perhaps the older generation preferred to sweep things, like that, under the mat.

When she’d sat and conferred with Gracie, years later, they’d realised Oliver’s problems couldn’t have simply stemmed from his stint in the army. Maybe his problems had started before that. Maybe there were things she’d never known about him, before they’d met? She’d known he’d never been a particularly warm and caring soul and even though she’d found out he’d been in prison for grievous bodily harm she just thought that was part and parcel of his ‘macho’ image – something she’d probably been attracted to in the first place, if she was honest. When she’d met him in her late teens he’d seemed exciting in a way that the other boys in her village never were. Of course, Marjorie also realised that preferring men with a ‘bad boy’ image had been many a woman’s downfall.

Or had his problems been the reason he’d left the army in a dubious way?

Marjorie sniffed miserably and tightened her coat around her. The drizzle was starting to make her feel cold. And now that she was thinking about things, she realised she hadn’t been happy for a while.

She felt as though she lived on the outskirts of other people’s lives. Sure, Oliver’s behaviour had initially alienated her from her friends and family. She’d felt so alone back then and she knew her ‘people skills’ were somewhat lacking. And, yes, his manner and the way he’d dealt with everything in his destructive, derogatory way had rubbed off on her, even to the point of her being rude to people, the way she had in the community centre with Raymond and Stacy today. But Marjorie also knew that if she didn’t come to terms with this unsavoury element about herself and do something about her behaviour, she might end up completely alone. Even her darling daughter might withdraw from her.

She shivered, partly because of the weather, partly because of that dreadful thought.

‘Oh, Gracie!’

She couldn’t bear to be without Gracie, now her life was entwined with her daughter’s. But what if Gracie asked her to move out or find somewhere else to live? She might do that for lots of reasons, one being her mother’s inability to be kind to others. Or, even more worrying, what if Gracie acted on her mother’s advice and found someone else to love and they got married? Her new husband might not want Marjorie living in their midst.

Wake up, Marjorie! Of course they wouldn’t want you living in their midst, if Gracie married someone new. Besides, who, these days, invited their mother to live with them?

That was a terrifying new thought to Marjorie. But, whether she liked that thought or not, it was a possibility. It was a possibility that could very easily turn into reality, especially if Marjorie gave it reason to. Falling out with her daughter about this unpleasant aspect of her personality wasn’t an option. Her outbursts had wrecked other possible friendships in the past, so she knew she couldn’t go on being destructive. It had to stop.

But how could she stop the things she said, when her words often popped out, unchecked?

She knew it had a lot to do with her indignation at all things unfair, unjust and unpleasant, zipping straight up to the surface and barrelling out of her. Life with Oliver had been all of those things. Oliver had never let her voice her thoughts, good, bad or indifferent. He liked women to be quiet and respectful of him, even though he’d certainly never been that way with them.

Marjorie’s insecurities probably stemmed from her not knowing how to deal with Oliver’s behaviour. Oh, she’d have liked to have fought back, just once. It would have made her feel a whole lot better about things; she might have even been able to move on, more successfully, if she’d ever had the guts to do that.

Gracie had wanted Marjorie to see someone about her problems with Oliver.

‘Maybe it’ll help you move on,’ she’d suggested.

Yet Marjorie conceded that she hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone about her problems with Oliver because she didn’t want to go over all that hurtful old ground again – especially spilling her guts to someone she didn’t know. And she also didn’t want to keep going back to see a counsellor week after week, forcing her to live through the whole sorry mess over and over again. That period of her life, Marjorie insisted to Gracie, was well and truly over. She didn’t want to keep thinking about it. On the other hand, she’d realised that there was no way she could change her behaviour by herself. She’d tried and failed miserably.

However, the incident at the community centre had brought it home to Marjorie that things had to change and not just because she wanted to be accepted by the wider community.

Primarily she had to change for her daughter. Gracie was young and vibrant in a way that Marjorie had never been allowed to be. And despite Gracie saying she hated men, she didn’t hate them in the same way nor for the same reason that Marjorie hated and mistrusted them. And despite her fear of being asked to move out if Gracie did meet someone new, Marjorie had no intention of standing in Gracie’s way when her daughter found someone to love her again. Gracie deserved to be loved again! The gift of love had never touched – would never touch – Marjorie and she was completely accepting about that. But she wanted Gracie to find that special someone.

Marjorie let out a long sigh. Why is life so darned hard sometimes?

She knew she no longer wanted to continue living as a bitter woman, marred by her past with an abusive husband. Marjorie wanted the chance to live as a woman other people would like to get to know because she was kind and considerate. She certainly realised she would never be classed as a sweet little old lady. But she could start by trying to be better; by trying to unlearn the wrongful message Oliver had taught her with his offensive actions.

She thought back to the situation with Stacy a few hours ago. Marjorie already knew that, deep down, her behaviour towards the nervous young woman had been wrong. Oliver had told their friends he felt justified to treat his wife howsoever he chose and Marjorie realised she’d done the exact same thing to Stacy that afternoon.

But it had made her miserable; it had made her daughter hate her a little and, worst of all, it had made Eileen take her to one side and suggest she go home, to have a think about how she treated people because they didn’t want any bullies in their midst. She hadn’t confessed that bit to Gracie. It was too shameful.