The Vintage Teacup Club (31 page)

No, this couldn’t be happening. Maggie was in the back room of the shop, diary in hand. And her head was spinning.

After the car boot sale she’d gone back to the florists, and Anna had been out the front arranging the flowers for a memorial service later that week. Maggie could see she was handling quite complex work with ease, and was clearly enjoying having a project of her own. Maggie was reminded of the enthusiasm she’d felt when she’d first been learning the trade.

‘You’re doing a wonderful job on that,’ Maggie had said, as Anna finished off one of the wreaths.

A thought had struck her then. People had
always given her chances, hadn’t they?

‘Anna,’ she said. ‘How would you feel about looking after the shop on your own when I go on holiday in September? With a big pay increase, of course.’

Anna’s eyes had lit up. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Great,’ Maggie said. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll get the details.’

Out in the back room, Maggie found the event schedule and got her diary out.

Kesha had called her last week and asked if she’d be free to join her family on their Italian holiday. It was all very last minute, but her sister had dropped out of the trip so there was a place going in the Tuscan villa they’d rented. Maggie’s first instinct had been to dismiss the idea, but in fact, with Anna so much more confident and capable now, taking a holiday was becoming a real possibility for the first time in years. The idea of catching up with her old school friend over a leisurely pasta lunch by the pool was almost irresistible. The kids would be splashing around, yes, so it wouldn’t be quite the same as the carefree, G’n’T-fuelled holidays they’d enjoyed when they were younger. But Oscar and Evie were gorgeous, Dave was pretty laidback, and it would be good to spend some time with them all.

She opened her diary and checked – 10–18 September, Kesha had said. Still far enough away for her to train Anna up in a few
things. She’d flicked back to the calendar section at the start of the diary and counted – six, seven, just over seven weeks and it would be olives, pizza, good wine and days filled with nothing to do. Bliss. She’d have to brush up on her Italian a little bit before that, but she’d get some CDs out of the library and listen to them when she was cooking. Yes, she’d been having fun with Owen, but Kesha was a friend for life and she was keen to get their friendship back on track.

It was then that she’d noticed the circled days on her diary calendar; neat, regular, clusters of five blue rings, appearing through the year right up till – June. Her skin prickled and she felt sick to her stomach. There were no rings in July and it was
nearly over.

Her period was late.

It didn’t feel real until I was out in the garden by my dad’s workshop, telling him all about it.

‘Are you sure, love? It is definite?’ he asked.

‘It seems pretty certain, yes.’ A wide grin was spreading across my face.

‘My little girl,’ he said, enveloping me in a huge hug. He looked like he might actually jump up and down. ‘I always knew you were a star. Can I have a look, have you got a copy?’

‘I’ve got the original here actually,’ I said. ‘Do you want to have a look?’

‘Of course I do, Jen. This kind of thing doesn’t happen every day.’

I went into the kitchen and took the pages
of my children’s book out of my bag and brought them out into the yard.

Dad smiled at the first page and carefully turned it over. I still couldn’t really believe everything that had happened. Since reading the email from Alison’s publisher friend, JoJo, it felt as if my life had been running in fast-forward. JoJo’s note had been brief but very positive, she’d said she really liked the book, and asked me to call her up to discuss it.

Dad let out a little chuckle at one of the images I’d painted and carried on reading.

I’d snuck out of the office to call JoJo the moment I finished reading her message. I resisted the temptation to tell anyone before speaking to her, as I didn’t want to jinx things. JoJo was bubbly and enthusiastic and said that at Parakeet Press they’d been looking for new titles for the 4–6 age group and they thought
Charlie, Carlitos and Me
was going to be a great fit. ‘There are a few changes I’d like to suggest,’ JoJo had said, slipping into a more businesslike tone. ‘And some of the illustrations need a bit of tidying up.’ That was definitely true, I thought, feeling a little sheepish and hoping Alison had explained that it wasn’t a polished version. ‘But if you’re prepared to do some further work, we’d like to make you an offer. We’d be very proud to have you and the chinchilla boys on board.’

I’d been so dizzy with excitement when
I put down the phone I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was really happening! I had to share the good news with someone, and it was Dad who first came to mind.

Dad was pointing at the picture of Jake, holding Carlitos and singing a little song in Spanish with him.

‘That’s just like Chris and the guinea pigs, isn’t it? Do you remember how he used to sing to them all the time? Horribly off-key it was, but they seemed to like it.’

I laughed. ‘Of course, Dad. How could I forget Chris and those furry Queen fans? Who do you think gave me the idea?’

‘Gallileo, Gallileo,’ Dad said, as he held up two imaginary guinea pigs and swivelled his head between them.

‘Figaro, Magnifico!’ I joined him, laughing. He put the invisible pets down.

‘I hope I’m not the inspiration for Jake’s parents.’ Dad said, his tone a little more serious. ‘I mean his dad never believes a word he says, does he? Poor chap’s carrying this secret with him and feels like he’s talking to a brick wall. And as for his mum …’ Dad’s sentence drifted off, and he looked a little awkward.

‘Yes,’ I said, putting my hand on Dad’s leg. ‘Safe to say she was definitely from my imagination.’ The muscles in Dad’s face seemed to relax.

‘Have you heard any more from your mum since
the hen night?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Yes,’ I said, thinking back to what she’d written to me. ‘She wrote me a letter.’

Dad looked at me, trying to gauge my expression I think.

‘I haven’t replied.’ I shrugged, a lump forming in my throat. ‘I don’t really know how I feel about it, Dad.’

‘She did sound pretty sorry when she called, love,’ Dad said. ‘It’s your decision, but I wonder if she might finally be starting to understand what she’s done.’

I raised my eyebrows, so Dad could see just how sceptical I was about that. But then, maybe, just maybe, she had meant some of what she said …

‘I’m not saying you should give her another chance,’ Dad said. ‘What I mean is, I don’t want you, or Chris for that matter, to think that having a relationship with her would be betraying me.’ From the creases in his brow, it was clear that Dad had been carrying a huge burden, and it pained me to see that.

‘I know that, Dad,’ I said. ‘But thank you.’ I gave him a cuddle. ‘Anyway, you’re my number one parent. Rest assured that it’s you I’ll be buying a mansion for when
Charlie
sells a million.’

‘You never know, Jenny,’ Dad said, deadly serious. ‘It might do. I always knew you were good at drawing.’ I thought back to the amateurish caricatures in the kitchen, the fingerprint paintings Chris and I had done that Dad still had Blu-tacked up in the living room. He
really wasn’t the most objective of judges. ‘And you know that woman, she did quite well out of children’s books, didn’t she, whatsername, you know, the ones about the boy magician …’

‘Oh Dad,’ I said. ‘I love you. You poor deluded man.’ He gave me a confused look as I kissed him on the cheek. ‘So are we ready for the grand unveiling, or what?’ I asked, nudging him.

Dad had been hard at work for weeks designing a bar for us to serve drinks from during the evening wedding do, but he’d been really secretive about it. He’d wanted it to be a surprise but had finally given in to the demands of my inner control-freak and agreed to let me have a sneak peek ahead of the party.

He led me through into the glorified shed where he did all his carpentry, and we stepped over the bits of timber left over from the kennel he was making for our new puppy. There, against the wall, stood a stunning wide curved bar, with poles at the side and a banner made out of thin wood overhead, with A TOAST TO THE NEWLYWEDS! written on it. He’d painted the bar in sunshine yellow to match one of the colours in our theme.

I clapped my hands and then brought them up to my face. ‘It’s beautiful, Dad.’

He moved forward and bent down, pointing to one of the wooden joints. ‘The really ingenious bit is
this,’ he said animatedly. ‘It all comes apart, you see. So it’ll be easy to transport to the venue – then we can just put it all back together once we get inside.’ He then pulled up the pole that held on the banner section, showing me, his eyes lighting up.

I held out my arms for a hug. ‘Thank you, Dad,’ I said. He hugged me back, then pulled away. ‘I wanted … I wanted to get it right for you, Jen,’ he said.

I realised when he looked away that there must be tears in his eyes, and seeing the bar he’d gone to so much trouble making had brought some to mine
too.

‘You’ve always got it right for me, Dad,’ I said.

Maggie must have been lying there for about half an hour before the doorbell rang, startling her. Getting up and glancing in the mirror, she tidied her hair and went downstairs to answer it.

Alison was on her front step, with a big smile on her face, in the denim dungarees and red headscarf she’d been wearing earlier.

‘Hi again,’ Alison said. ‘Sorry to drop by unannounced, but you’re on my way home. You know I told you about the Blitz Spirit launch party tomorrow, Jamie’s new café on the high street?’ Maggie nodded. ‘He asked me to give you and Jenny these ages ago and I’m afraid I completely forgot.’ Alison passed her a stylish square
card invite with lettering that looked like it had been made with old printing blocks.

Maggie nodded and took it. ‘Nice,’ she said, admiring it.

‘Free cocktails,’ Alison said, smiling and tilting her head to try and gauge the expression on her friend’s face. ‘Are you OK, Maggie? You look really pale.’

‘I’m not feeling that great actually, no,’ Maggie said. ‘Have you got a minute to come in?’

‘Sure, sure – of course,’ Alison said, following Maggie through to the living room.

Mork miaowed from his spot on the white sofa, then leapt down onto the carpet, arching his back. The two women sat down and Alison waited for Maggie to break the silence. She didn’t.

‘What’s up, Maggie?’ she prompted. ‘You seemed fine earlier … do you think it was something we ate at the car boot sale?’

‘No,’ Maggie shook her head. ‘It definitely wasn’t anything I ate.’

‘What then? You look grey,’ Alison asked, putting her hand up to Maggie’s forehead.

‘I don’t have a temperature, Ali,’ Maggie said. ‘I think I might be pregnant.’

‘What?’ Alison’s eyes were wide.

‘I know,’ Maggie said, furrowing
her brow. ‘My period’s late. I’m never late.’

‘And what, are you just planning on sitting here?’ Alison said. ‘Or are we going to find out for sure?’

Maggie and Alison had got to the chemist just before it closed and bought a pack of three pregnancy tests.

‘Will you wait with me?’ Maggie asked, back home, her voice unsteady. ‘I feel like I might faint any moment.’

‘Of course,’ Alison replied, passing her the box.

Maggie took a test out, unwrapped it, and they went together to the bathroom. Alison perched on the side of the bath.

When Maggie had peed on the end, she put the cap on and put it by the sink. ‘Can you look?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think I can face it.’

They waited a moment and then Alison said, ‘It’s a yes, Maggie.’

Maggie picked up the stick, saw the positive blue icon had appeared in the window and nausea flooded back.

She was meant to be a grown up. How had she let this happen?

Ten minutes later Maggie and Alison were on the sofa, with sugary cups of tea in their hands.