Page 96 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
Lexy sat with them until the tea and cakes arrived, plying Adela with questions about her family and Belgooree, then about Tilly and Sophie.
‘They’re spending most of the visit in Dunbar with Tilly’s sister, but Tilly can’t wait to have a trip to town.’
‘You tell her to come here for her dinner and see me,’ said Lexy. ‘I’ll make her steak and kidney pie and her favourite chocolate cake.’
‘And you make sure she pays for it,’ muttered Olive.
The order arrived, and the manageress watched with an eagle eye as Nance transferred the tea, cakes, china plates and cups to the table. ‘Fetch an extra pot of hot water, lass. Adela will take hers black and it might be too strong.’
‘How do you know that?’ Adela laughed.
‘’Cause you’re your mam’s daughter.’ Lexy smiled.
Afterwards, George drove them around the centre of town, pointing out the large department stores of Fenwick’s and Binns and the Theatre Royal and various cinema houses.
‘Can we all go to the pictures one evening?’ Adela asked in excitement. She was thrilled with the bustling city centre and the wide choice of entertainment.
‘George can take you,’ said Olive. ‘Jack and I are not ones for films and silly musical hall acts.’
Back at the house, Adela met her uncle Jack. He was a smallish man with receding fair hair and a wiry moustache that was already white. He looked frail, his suit a little big for him and his face deeply scored, but he had attractive eyes, and she could see how once he would have been handsome. George took after him. He gave her a friendly welcome before going off to wash and change. Olive fussed in his wake.
They all ate in the dining room at six thirty prompt. The room felt musty and cold, as if it was rarely used. George did most of the talking, regaling them with stories of his customers.
‘Don’t believe the half of it,’ Jack grunted. ‘Our lad likes to tell a tall tale.’
‘Cousin George, you should go on the stage,’ Adela said, laughing.
‘Over my dead body,’ said Olive. ‘He’ll be a respectable businessman like his father.’
‘Well, that’s what I want to do,’ Adela announced, ‘go into theatre.’
Olive shook her head and clucked in disapproval. ‘Surely our Clarrie won’t let you.’
‘Mother doesn’t mind. In fact she encourages it.’
‘Good for you,’ cried George. ‘I’d come and watch you any day of the week.’
After that, Jack got up and retreated to the sitting room to doze over a newspaper in front of the unlit gas fire. George kissed his mother and went out, calling, ‘Don’t wait up. I’ve got my key.’
For the first time in her life, Adela helped with the washing-up. Jane had to show her what to do.
Adela soon settled into city life. She loved Newcastle, with its smoky bustling energy, its noisy riverside and grand buildings, its array of shops, from prestigious department stores to corner tobacconists, its clanking trams and the friendly people, who struck up conversations about football and the weather at tram stands or in shop queues. She didn’t understand everything that was said– the accent was thick and the speech rapid– but she understood why Tilly hankered after her former home.
Olive paraded her around the neighbours in Lime Terrace, where they drank endless cups of strong sweet tea and ate jam biscuits that stuck to the teeth like glue. Morning visiting appeared to be socially unacceptable, and Olive only went out after three o’clock in the afternoon. Jane never came on these visits; she spent her time both shopping and cooking for the household and down at the tea room, helping Lexy. Adela asked her to show her how to cook, though her poor efforts were ridiculed by the family.
‘Is that pastry or sludge from the sink?’ George teased.
‘I can’t believe our Clarrie hasn’t taught you any cooking,’ said Olive.
‘Mohammed Din sees to all that,’ said Adela. ‘He wouldn’t let me anywhere near the kitchen.’
This caused great hilarity among the Brewises, and “Mohammed Din sees to all that” became a family catchphrase whenever Adela showed her ignorance about things domestic.
A Scotswoman called Myra came in twice a week to do laundry and cleaning. Adela found it strange to see a woman doing the jobs that low-caste men did at home. Myra was loud and cheerful and sang along to the radiogram as she polished, even though Olive repeatedly told her not to turn on the machine as it gave her a headache.
‘Och, you need a good sing-song to encourage the elbow grease,’ Myra laughed in defiance.
While Olive went to lie down, Adela couldn’t resist joining in the singing. ‘Whistle While You Work’ became their shared theme tune as Adela pushed around the furniture for Myra, and the maid wielded the carpet sweeper.
