*A DIGITAL-EXCLUSIVE SHORT STORY* A lot can change in a year . . . The children's books Jenny writes and illustrates from her countryside studio are doing well, and after a lifetime of looking after everyone else, she's finally putting herself first. Meanwhile, Maggie 's ordered world is thrown into chaos when her baby son Leo arrives. Candlelit baths have made way for endless night feeds, and she and partner Owen are struggling to find any time for themselves. It's been a long year of financial sacrifice, but working-mum Alison has fulfilled her dream at last - she is now the proud co-owner of a café and art gallery. But when Alison's happiness is threatened and news from home shocks Jenny back to reality, the women must band together. Suddenly their friendship is more important than ever. In this digital-exclusive short story, Vanessa Greene revisits the characters we first fell in love with in The Vintage Teacup Club. Appealing to both new and old fans, this is a real treat for anyone who enjoys warm-hearted and sincere storytelling - and it's best enjoyed with a nice cup of tea.
Release date:
October 1, 2013
Publisher:
Sphere
Print pages:
48
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It was Tuesday afternoon, our sacred time. Maggie, Alison and I were sitting around a table at the front of Alison’s café,
Blitz Spirit. At the centre of proceedings – as always – was a delicate china teapot, and three of our favourite vintage cups,
on saucers. In the year since we first met one another, at a car boot sale in Charlesworth village, a lot had changed – but
our love of tea and fine crockery hadn’t.
‘Thank God for Tuesdays,’ I said, taking a bite of one of the cinnamon biscuits Alison had laid out for us. ‘It’s great to
see you guys. I’m not sure where the time’s gone this week.’
‘Still caught up in newlywed bliss?’ Alison said, a glint in her kohl-lined eyes.
‘Hardly,’ I laughed. ‘I think that lasted all of about two weeks for me and Dan, then it was business as usual. I’ve been
busy with work – the publicity tour is coming up and been finishing off the illustrations for my next book.’
My days had been spent in our back garden, out in the writing shed that Dan had constructed for me when we moved in. I was
working on a new children’s book, fitting in as much as I could before I set off on a national tour to promote my first one.
‘How exciting,’ Alison said. ‘I can’t wait to see your picture in the papers – Jenny Davis, children’s scribe extraordinaire.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I smiled. It was enough to take in that my story, once just a few doodles and notes, had made it
into print. ‘I’ll be happy if I get a few kids along to the signings. It’s lovely to have an excuse to travel round the country,
though. I think Dan’s a bit envious, he’s going to be at home on dog-sitting duties.’
‘You will tell us how it’s going, won’t you?’ Maggie said, brushing a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes. ‘But don’t stay
away too long. I’m not sure what I’d do without our Tuesday meet-ups, they can never come round soon enough,’ she said. ‘I
know you two refuse to believe me … but this little angel’ – she bent to touch her baby son Stan’s cheek as he slept in his
buggy – ‘isn’t always quite like this.’
‘I can’t believe that,’ Alison said. ‘I swear my two never used to sleep as much as he does. But yes – I treasure these afternoons
too. After all, it’s the one time I get to be a customer in my own café.’
She glanced back at the counter, where her business partner and old friend Jamie was serving someone. He winked over at us
and gave a little wave. ‘Being one of the bosses does have its perks.’
At the start of last summer, Blitz Spirit had just been a twinkle in Jamie and Alison’s eye, a disused shop that had once
been an estate agency, and now it was the hub of Charlesworth High Street: a café with mid-century furniture, assorted vintage
gems, canvases on the walls from local artists – and cake to die for. Alison’s craft evenings – Stitch ’n’ Blitz knitting
night, and her rebel cross-stitch sessions – had seen me through the winter, a chance to meet up and chat with friends.
‘I found something in the charity shop this morning that I wanted to show you,’ I said, reaching into my bag. I pulled out
a DVD of Some Like it Hot, with Marilyn on the cover. ‘Fifty pence! Can you believe it? Such a great film.’
‘Oh, I love this one,’ Maggie said, taking the film from me. ‘“Look how she moves! It’s like Jell-O on springs!”’ she quoted,
in an American accent. ‘She was sewn into that dress, you know.’
A thought seemed to come to her. ‘You know what, Ali. You could do screenings in here, in the evenings. Have you ever thought
about it?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Alison said, mulling it over. ‘But I think it’s a great idea. Pete and I have got a projector at home somewhere,
actually. I’ll have a look in the attic.’
I heard a knock at the window next to us, and turned to see a familiar face peering in, framed by chestnut ringlets. ‘Room
for one more?!’ Chloe called out with a smile. A close friend from my old office, she was now better known as the woman who
stole my brother Chris’s heart. I’d never seen him so smitten before, and she’d seemed calmer and happier in the year that
they’d been together too.
‘Come on, then,’ I said, beckoning her in.
The bell on the door rang as she stepped inside. ‘Hi guys,’ she said, pulling up a chair. ‘Sorry to gatecrash, but the boss
is away and I managed to sneak out for a few minutes. So, how are you all doing?’
Maggie
Tuesday, 3rd September
Maggie juggled Stan on to her other hip, and scooped up what she could of the carrot puree that had trickled down his high
chair. A big lump landed on her stripped-pine floorboards, and Stan started to giggle.
She heard a key turn in the front door and felt a wave of relief.
‘Hi,’ Owen called out.
‘Right on time,’ Maggie called back. ‘Your son’s been asking after you.’
Owen put his head around the kitchen door. The moment that Maggie saw his smile, the stresses of her hectic day with Stan
faded away.
‘He has, has he?’ Owen said, reaching out his arms and taking Stan, seemingly oblivious to the orange mush he was covered
in. Stan reached out a chubby hand for one of Owen’s dark curls.
‘It sort of sounded like “Da-da”,’ Maggie said, ‘and I’m dying for a wee.’ She gave Owen a gentle kiss on the lips and dashed
past him on her way to the bathroom. She stripped off her puree-spattered cardi and threw it into the laundry basket on the
way up the stairs. She closed the bathroom door behind her and sat down on the toilet, relieved.
Five months since Stan had arrived and it seemed as if every day of it she’d been a sleep-deprived mess. When was it supposed
to get e. . .
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