Page 6 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
‘Yes, they’re brother and sister. It’s their Aunt Clarrie who started the café.’
‘Oh, aye, the one that’s been in India for years. Auntie Lexy talks about Clarrie Robson like she’s royalty. Pity she’s never come back – this place might not be going to rack and ruin if she’d stayed.’
‘That’s not really Clarrie’s fault,’ said Libby, unloading the cups for Doreen to wash. ‘She’s got her hands full running the tea gardenat Belgooree. Her sister, Olive Brewis – she’s George’s mother – was supposed to take on running the cafébut she’s never been interested.’
‘Aye,’ said Doreen, ‘MrsBrewis is that queer fish that never gans out her house, isn’t she?’
‘Apparently not.’ Libby started to re-set the tray, glancing in at the tearoom. George was making Lexy laugh so much she was coughing.
‘Libby, are you ganin’ to give me another typing lesson this weekend?’ Doreen asked, clattering the dishes in the sink.
Libby hesitated. What would George be doing? He’d implied to Lexy that he was about to leave Newcastle but perhaps there might be a chance to see him again before he did? She longed for a bit of excitement in her life. The past year had been so dull, living back at home with her mother. Was it wrong to miss the War? She had never had so much fun as when she’d worked as a Land Girl.
‘Can we leave it till next week?’ Libby suggested. ‘I’ll come after I’ve finished at the bank. Maybe Tuesday?’
‘Grand.’ Doreen’s hot, round face beamed. ‘I’m ganin’ to work in a typing pool like you one day. I’m not settling for a life o’ washing dishes.’
‘Good for you,’ Libby said with a smile. ‘You can do anything if you want it enough.’
Libby thought how she couldn’t wait to get out of the typing pool; at twenty-one, she wanted more from life than being at the beck and call of male managers with less brains than she had.
Pushing strands of escaping hair behind her ears and licking her plump, dry lips, Libby picked up the tea tray and sauntered back into the tearoom.
Libby could hardly get a word in edgeways with Lexy holding forth, reminiscing about the old days before the Great War when Clarrie hadmade Herbert’s into the best tearoom in Newcastle, despite it being in an industrial working-class area close to the riverside.
‘And Olive did them bonny paintings to hang on the walls and made it all look Egyptian-like. Eeh, they were canny days. Your mam not doing any painting now, George?’
‘I’ve never seen her pick up a paintbrush since I was a bairn,’ said George ruefully.
‘Libby here is a canny artist,’ said Lexy.
‘I draw cartoons.’ Libby blushed. ‘I’m not an artist.’
‘Look at that one, George,’ Lexy said, pointing to an ink drawing on the wall next to them. ‘That’s me and the waitresses at the Victory Tea – dressed up like royalty with crowns on our heads – makes me laugh, it does.’
George grinned. ‘Queen Lexy – caught your image perfectly. What a talented lass you are, Libby.’
Libby flushed with pleasure at the compliment and the warmth of his look. George winked at her then turned back to Lexy. ‘I wish Mam still showed an interest in art or in anything outside the house. The only thing that brings a smile to her face is my daughter Bonnie.’
‘Aye,’ Lexy answered wheezily, ‘at least she has a grandbairn. Will you be taking the lass with you to India?’
George shook his head. ‘She’ll be staying with her mam, Joan.’ He drained his tea and stood up.
Libby felt frustrated at not having more time with him. She cursed herself for being so bashful in his presence. She felt like that fifteen-year-old all over again. As George fixed on his hat, Libby took courage and blurted out, ‘Would you like to come round and see Mother? And my younger brother, Mungo, is at home for the summer. Do you remember playing the spoons with him one Christmas?’
‘The spoons?’ George laughed. ‘Did we?’
Libby remembered the occasion so vividly that she was amazed George didn’t. Perhaps he saw the disappointment in her look becauseon the spur of the moment he said, ‘Would you like to go for a drink after work?’
Libby’s dark-blue eyes widened. ‘Yes, I would.’
‘Good.’ He grinned.
‘Why don’t you get yourself off now, hinny?’ Lexy said. ‘Me and Doreen can finish the dishes. There’s no one else coming in.’
Libby hesitated, seeing how exhausted Lexy looked in the heat. The woman was too old and ill to be running the café. Libby would have to write to her cousin Adela about her. Even though they were far away in India, Adela or her mother Clarrie would have to take things in hand or the café would close.
‘No, you get yourself upstairs for a lie-down, Lexy. It won’t take me long to help Doreen,’ said Libby. She turned to George. ‘Fancy rolling up your sleeves too? Then we’ll get out for that drink quicker.’
