The Tea House on Mulberry Street Read online

  They came into the world together, war babies, born only ten minutes apart. “Identical twin girls,” the midwife announced proudly. “Both healthy and strong, thank God.”

  Right from the start, the neighbours marvelled at the girls’ honey-coloured skin and jet-black hair. “Where did such looks come from?” they wondered, as they chatted on their doorsteps. Mr and Mrs Crawley were both pale and fair-haired, with delicate bone structure, and eyes the colour of forget-me-nots. Yet, the two girls grew up to be tall and dark-haired, with chocolate-brown eyes. Their mother, Eliza, was a good, Christian woman, who believed in miracles. God had sent two beautiful daughters to her, she said, when she thought that she and her husband would never be able to have a child of their own. And she was not going to query their exotic appearance after God had been so good and generous. By the time the twins were fourteen, they already towered over their devoted parents but, by then, all the fuss about their unusual looks had died down considerably. They passed every exam they ever sat with flying colours and went on to teach in the same school. They were so close to one another, they never felt the need to take on a couple of husbands or move out of the family home when William and Eliza went to their eternal rest.

  With no family to fuss over, they spent their days raising money for good causes, shaking their collecting tins on Royal Avenue. They enjoyed setting the world to rights over a cup of tea in Muldoon’s Tea Rooms and going on various daytrips and country rambles on a church minibus.

  Once a week they went to visit their parents’ grave in the city cemetery, and lay fresh flowers there. Their beloved late father, William, was a decorated war hero, and they spoke of him often.

  “To think our dear father fought Hitler for the likes of this,” Alice would say sadly, as teenage mothers wheeled their fat babies past the window of the cafe. “In our day, girls like that would have been put in an institution. I think there was one round here, actually, until the liberals got it closed down.”

  “Yes, well. Those places had their faults. I’m not saying they were the perfect answer. But, at the very least, the girls ought to dress more respectably.” Beatrice sniffed, observing a cigarette dangling from the glossy lips of one girl who couldn’t have been a day older than fifteen. “You’d think they would make some effort to tidy themselves up.”

  “There are no standards any more,” said Alice. “It all went wrong when people stopped wearing hats and long skirts.”

  “I can’t believe our dear father served his country for such people,” Beatrice cried, when she read in the newspaper that a nine-year-old boy was expelled from school for burning down his classroom. “His parents, both unemployed of course, have applied for a grant to employ a private tutor, it says here. Ha! The two of them should be shot at dawn for rearing such a reprobate.”

  “Yes, indeed,” agreed Alice. “Many’s the man was shot for far less. And society was all the better for it.”

  On Sundays, they donned their good gloves and formal hats, and walked serenely along to church, nodding regally to anyone they knew. They sat in the front pew, singing loudly with strong, healthy, smoke-free lungs; and praying hard for the salvation of the world in general, and Belfast in particular. After lunch, they wrote letters of complaint: mostly to their local newsagent, deploring the filthy pornography he sold on the top shelf. And, of course, they had plenty to say about the young people of the city, who were sadly underrepresented in the congregation each Sunday.

  “Is it any wonder marriage is on the way out?” said Beatrice. “With the young women throwing themselves at this one and that one. And barely a stitch on the whole lot of them. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they wear. They’ve no shame at all. It’s a disgrace.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Alice. “And a horrible chip-shop on every corner as well, with young men eating chipped potatoes out of a paper bag, on the very street! It shouldn’t be allowed! Why, the men have no reason to get wed nowadays: they have both flesh and food in plenty.”

  The Creepy Crawleys lived comfortably on two good pensions. They had no vices at all, apart from a weakness for new hats, and a terrible huge sense of pride; pride that drove them to collect more money for charity than anybody else in the congregation; pride that kept them awake at night, planning their speeches for when they met Her Majesty, the Queen; for surely they would meet the Queen some day, and be presented with an award, at the very least. A shiny medal in a velvet box. After all their service to the community over the years, it was the very least they could expect.

  Alice approached the counter.

  “Care to make a donation?” said Alice to Daniel. “Upkeep of the war memorials.”

  Daniel’s face darkened. Anything to do with charity made him feel uneasy, reared as he was, in poverty. But Penny took a five-pound note from the register, and folded it cheerfully into the tin.

  “There you are,” she said. “That will start you off today, ladies.” She looked at Daniel. It was a look of defiance.

  “Good for you, Penny,” said a delighted Beatrice. “Lest we forget, and all that.”

  “God bless our fallen heroes,” agreed Alice, and they settled down at their usual table beside the radiator.

  Daniel went into the kitchen to ice his coffee-cake.

  “Tea and toast, is it?” asked Penny, approaching their table with her little notebook.

  Daniel frowned as he opened the fridge. He was impatient with the Crawleys now. Because of them he was beginning the day a fiver down. He could hear them deliberate about what to eat. Would it be a sin for them if they had a fried egg and bacon sandwich? How many calories did Penny think would be in a fried egg and bacon sandwich? They just had to make a drama out of every little thing.

  Finally, they decided. “Tea and toast, of course. And could we have some scrambled eggs with that? Oh, let’s go mad and have a couple of sausages each, as well. We’d better eat a hearty breakfast this morning. We’ve a long day collecting ahead of us.” They shook their tins in Penny’s face then, and smiled the easy smiles of the virtuous.

  “Scrambled eggs and sausages, tea and toast for two,” Penny called, through the hatch.

  “Right,” said Daniel and he opened a packet of sausages. The day’s business had begun.

  A few minutes later Millie Mortimer came into the shop and stood at the counter. She didn’t like Daniel, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. She always made a point of smoking in the cafe kitchen, even though he had told her on several occasions that it wasn’t hygienic.

  “Well, Penny, what about ye?” she asked. “I was just out, getting some odds and ends, and here, I says, I’ll call in and see me ’oul mate, Penny.”

  Daniel sighed. Millie was very common. Her clothes were too tight, her accent was stage-Belfast and the way she inhaled her cigarettes with her mouth open at one side was painful to behold. She was only thirty-six but her fussy perm made her look much older. He didn’t know why Penny had bothered to keep up with her all these years.

  “Come on in to the kitchen,” said Penny. “We can have a wee chat there, in peace.”

  Millie went straight in, scanning the work-counter for tasty snacks. She took off her coat and lit up a cigarette.

  “The cut of them two old biddies in there,” she said, nodding her head towards the Crawleys. “I thought you had the Royalty in, the day!”

  She put a chair by the back door and opened it a little, so that she could blow her smoke into the yard. A blast of ice-cold air came rushing in, chasing the warm air out of the kitchen, and Daniel had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying something. The two women had been friends since their schooldays. Millie was always the one to get the laughter going, but she had a terrible temper as well.

  “Thinking of doing the place up, are you?” Millie said, reaching over and taking the interiors magazine from the table. “About time too, I say.” And she made a face at Daniel’s back. She licked her thumb and flicked through the pages. “Any particular colour in mind,
have you?”

  “Oh, I’m still thinking,” said Penny.

  “Nothing like the smell of fresh paint to cheer a body up. Oh, look at this! Lime-green and purple walls in the same room – no, thank you! Here, my Jack is very handy with a hammer and nails, if you’re wanting any shelves puttin’ up.”

  Daniel was stirring the eggs carefully. He snorted and muttered something at the idea of big Jack Mortimer hammering and sawing wood in his precious cafe. Then he handed the wooden spoon to Penny and went out to the counter as a group of hungry workmen came in.

  “What did your man just say?” asked Millie. “‘A waste of money’, no doubt. Oh, what did you ever see in him, Penny?” She kept her voice to a whisper, but she was angry.

  Penny smiled as she remembered. “The first time I saw him I thought I would faint, my heart was thumping that much. There was a light shining in his eyes.” She reached for some heated plates.

  “Oh, Penny, you never change! Lights shining isn’t everything! Men aren’t just for looking at, you know – they’re not ornaments. You could have done a lot better for yourself!”

  “We’ll never know now, will we?” said Penny, and she went out with the Crawleys’ breakfast.

  Daniel picked up a list from the counter and said he was going next door to the greengrocer’s.

  “I was just thinking about that fortune-teller in Donegal,” said Penny to Millie as she came back into the kitchen. “That holiday we went on, with the girls from school – what a laugh that was! Six of us in that little chalet by the beach! Remember?” She switched on the kettle.

  “How could I forget?” said Millie. “We nearly froze to death. We only brought light clothes with us. I had one coat and six bikinis in my suitcase. It should have been the other way round. And Sionna McAleer got a terrible crush on the boy who took the money for the dodgems. Him with the crew cut, and the scar on his neck, remember?”

  “Yes – and she claimed she could actually feel her heart breaking when he turned her down for a date. Whatever happened to her, I wonder?”

  “She married a consultant doctor from North Down. Their house is a listed building in its own grounds.”

  “She got over her broken heart, then, so,” said Penny, as she began to make a pot of tea. “Anyway – remember the fortune-teller? She told me I would meet a tall handsome stranger, in a dark place near water, and that he would have blue eyes, and that he would know my name before I told it to him. I thought that was so romantic – I was only seventeen, after all. And sure, I was no sooner home but I saw Daniel for the first time.”

  “Now, Penny, don’t go over all that oul’ nonsense again! Your woman probably said things like that to everyone.” Millie was the practical sort. “It was the seaside, after all. There was water and strangers all over the place!” She eyed Penny closely. “Would you listen to the fortune-teller if you were there now?”

  Penny had settled herself at the table and was pouring tea. “No. Are you mad? I’m thirty-five, Millie. And I don’t think meeting my husband in a nightclub near the docks was all that romantic. And he knew my name because it was written on my necklace. And loads of people have blue eyes.” She hesitated. “Still… she must have seen something. I mean, we’re still together, after all this time.”

  But she wondered about that incident, sometimes. Had she really accepted Daniel’s sudden marriage proposal, all those years ago, because of the fortune-teller’s fanciful words?

  “God help you,” said Millie, who believed she had. Penny could have had any man she wanted when she was younger. A beautiful girl, with a good business coming to her, from her father’s side of the family. And she had to go and marry the first bucko that came along! “He’s obsessed with the business. The way he carries on over those blasted cakes, it’s not right. If I had your money, I’d sell up and move to some holiday resort. For good. Put my feet up for a change. Sure what are you killing yourselves for, when you could be living in style, on the continent? Haven’t you a right few bob in the bank? I can’t fathom it.”

  “A little apartment in Spain, do you think, Millie?” said Penny as she sipped her tea.

  “Oh, aye,” said Millie, tossing the butt of her cigarette out into the yard and lighting up another. “Here, me and Jack and the weans could nip over in the summer, and keep you company.”

  “Well, that sounds very cosy, Millie, and we could do it, I suppose, but I would never leave Muldoon’s,” said Penny at once. “I was brought up here. Silly, I know. But I can’t leave the shop, not ever. I belong here.”

  Millie rolled her eyes. Those were familiar words. Belfast was divided into the kind of people who couldn’t wait to get out of the place, and the people who would never leave the city, no matter what happened. And besides, from the moment she met that stuck-up husband of hers, Penny was like putty in his hands. She’d do nothing unless he gave her permission. Millie decided to change the subject.

  “My Jack is putting on a bit of weight, I’ve noticed. Too many pints and fish suppers. That’s the problem in a nutshell, but I couldn’t say that to his face. He’s very sensitive about his appearance. Any suggestions, as to how I could get him to go on a diet without actually mentioning the word ‘diet’?”

  “Easy,” said Penny, after a minute’s thought. “He has to see himself the way you see him. I’ll tell you what you should do. Paint your bathroom brilliant white, and hang the biggest mirror in it that you can find. Full-length. Four foot wide, at the very least. And fit a 150 watt bulb into the ceiling light. Then, every time he takes a shower, he won’t be able to avoid the sight of himself, in all his natural glory. And when he tells you he’s going on a diet, you must act all surprised, and tell him there’s no need.”

  “Penny, you’re a genius! I’ll do that tomorrow, first thing. You know, they have huge mirrors in them fancy furniture shops on the Dublin Road.”

  “Lovely, a wee cup of tea,” said Daniel, coming through from the shop. “You won’t believe this but they’ve put up the price of lettuce. Fifty-five pence! Not iceberg, mind. Hothouse. There’s only about ten leaves on this one here. Daylight robbery. Can you believe it? If I had any room in the yard, I’d grow my own.”

  Millie didn’t doubt it. He set his shopping down on the worktop. The two women looked up at him.

  “Did we have any customers while I was out?” he said, looking at Millie, as she reached for a refill.

  Millie ignored him and helped herself to a turkey-and-stuffing roll. Penny knew that when Millie had gone, Daniel would ask if she had paid. She hadn’t, of course. She never did.

  “Nobody’s been in,” said Penny, setting out another cup for Daniel.

  Daniel took his tea through to the shop and drank it sitting at the counter. He began to arrange the freshly-baked muffins in a wicker basket. They did look very tempting, nestling there on a fresh, yellow napkin – even though Penny had been too generous with the muffin-mix and some had flowed over the sides.

  “Few splashes there, I see, on the paper cases,” he said, as if to himself.

  The two women exchanged knowing glances. Millie tapped the side of her head with the two fingers that held her cigarette. She was convinced that Daniel Stanley was beyond help. A tiny shower of ash drifted down to her shoulder. Men ought to be interested in boxing and football and politics and car engines. All this palaver with pastries was just ridiculous. Penny smiled with grim determination. She was fed up with Daniel, herself, but she wouldn’t admit that to her best friend.

  Millie took a final puff and tossed her cigarette out into the yard.

  “I’ll head on,” she said, reaching for her coat. “I’m going to the hairdresser’s. My highlights need doing again. My better half is taking me out for a meal tonight, and I’m a holy show.” She pulled on her coat. “Cheerio!” And she was gone.

  “Bye!” Penny sighed. Millie’s husband might be putting on a bit of weight, but he was very passionate when the lights went out. He might be tattooed and smell of engine
-oil but he was lacking nothing in the lovemaking department. A real Romeo, that’s what Millie said. Sometimes, when they came home from the pub after a good night on the batter, he got down on his knees and sang a love song to her at the top of his voice. Even at two o’clock in the morning. He would sing the song to the very end, increasing the volume substantially if the neighbours hammered on the walls with a shoe. He would kiss the soles of Millie’s tiny feet, and work his way slowly up to her laughing lips. Yes, he was a good lover. And they had six noisy children to prove it.

  Penny’s own husband of seventeen years was more interested in cheesecake than he was in his wife’s feet. In all the years they had been together, Daniel had not done… anything outrageous in the bedroom. No irate neighbours ever pounded on the walls of the Stanley residence. In the early days, there had been some passionate kissing, and dancing close together in smoky nightclubs. But when they came home afterwards and made love, it was a brisk and strangely empty experience. Penny wanted to talk to Millie about it but she couldn’t. It was impossible to talk about such intimate things to Millie Mortimer or anyone else.

  Daniel and Penny had never undressed in the same room. Somehow they had established a pattern of changing their clothes in the bathroom. Penny could not remember how this had happened. If a rugged welder like Jack Mortimer could kiss the stretch-marks on Millie’s stomach, and even her fluffy permed hair and her tobacco-flavoured lips, then what was the matter with Daniel? Penny had a good figure, voluptuous curves and silky-smooth skin. She had pretty lingerie and sexy perfume and perfectly painted toenails. Yet most nights, when Daniel emerged from the bathroom in his striped pyjamas, he climbed into bed and settled down with the latest cookery book. They might as well have slept in separate beds.

  Penny immersed herself in romance paperbacks and when Daniel was occasionally persuaded to make love to her, she was disappointed with his modest performance. Where was the desperate tearing-off of clothes she read about in her novels? Why did he not hold her to him in the darkness, and declare that if she ever stopped loving him, his life would be without meaning? Why did desire not come to him at unusual times, in unusual places? Millie and Jack had once made love in the sand-dunes at Portstewart Strand, within earshot of some Presbyterian day-trippers. Either the paperbacks and Millie Mortimer were telling lies, or there was something wrong with Penny’s marriage…