The Afternoon Tea Club. Jane GilleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
been fighting and once one got stuck behind the back of the kitchen units, which had meant getting someone to remove the unit and rescue the cat. So vet bills were fairly high because she was at the vets quite a lot. Yet she still hadn’t got round to sorting out a pet plan for them all yet.
Some days it felt like she was fighting a losing battle, trying to keep them all alive and happy and fed or separating them into the various rooms. And trying to find out who got on best with who was always a worry with new cats. Occasionally she found them new homes but not often. She’d had most of her current cats for nearly two years now – Snowball had been a new addition. Yet, despite their traits, despite being problematic, she loved them all dearly. It was wearing though. But she couldn’t simply give them all away! Who would look after them like she did? Who else would spoil them with those little tins of sardines or smoked salmon, when she could afford it? Cat charities were probably overworked and no one else had the time to help her out.
Stacy didn’t mingle with anyone from work and really only had the one friend, Elsa, from primary school days, although she hadn’t seen her in ages. Elsa lived in the village Stacy was from and had been such a bright, happy girl, emerging from school with hordes of qualifications, destined for university and a life of amazing possibilities. But a skiing accident had taken all that away from her. Now she still lived at home, relying on her parents. Of course, they took her out in her wheelchair and looked after all her needs to the very best of their ability. But it was so sad. Elsa was the only friend Stacy had because all her time was taken up looking after her nine, no, eight cats and kittens. At least Elsa was usually in, when Stacy found the time to Skype, even though she hadn’t managed it in quite a while. In fact, Stacy hadn’t been back to visit Elsa nor her own parents for a good few years. She hadn’t learned how to drive, so it meant getting on and off the three buses it took, in order to visit them, which meant far too many hours away from the cats.
God, the place stank!
She knew she ought to get rid of the lounge carpet and buy laminate flooring. Much easier to clean, of course. Yet when did she have time to go shopping for new flooring? How could she make changes, in any respect, when she didn’t have the time to do that? The afternoon tea experience had been a bit of an experiment for her. She’d seen the flyer in the corner shop window and because she’d known it was only for an hour or so and, fortunately, nearby, she’d risked going. She hadn’t been anywhere in a long time, so it had been really nice talking to other people instead of trying to reason with her cats, for once. And the cake had been delicious! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had nice cake. Her weekly shopping jaunts meant only going to the corner shop or next door to the laundrette, and buying local was a much quicker option than getting the bus to the supermarket and leaving all her cats for hours on end. Yet she’d have loved to go shopping at a supermarket – any supermarket – with all the mouth-watering offerings they had on display, at far more reasonable prices.
‘I need a shower,’ she said out loud, above the mewing.
But to do that she needed to get Melanie, Ebony, Dingle and Chater out of the bath and wash the bath down. She chewed her lip, knowing she’d come out of that scenario with more than a couple of bites and scratches. Fortunately, she kept a lot of disinfectant to hand.
She’d considered getting separate cat carriers to leave the cats in, when she went out. That way she could maybe spend a bit more time doing things she wanted to do. But she knew that was a horrid idea because then they’d be stuck in them most of the day while she was at work and wouldn’t be able to move around properly in them. So that’s why she gave them free rein of the flat. Or rather, free rein of whatever part of the flat she’d allocated them to.
No, there was no other choice. She’d simply have to keep doing what she’d been doing these last few years. No time for boyfriends, shopping or living. Just time to look after her poor little kitties.
Question was, who was going to look after her?
It had been a week of thunderstorms and drizzle, since the last afternoon tea meeting at Borough Community Centre, and the ladies and gents and the few younger people slurping tea and munching biscuits around the tables at this week’s afternoon tea had been lamenting over that fact.
One lady had slipped in the doorway, due to the wet being traipsed in on people’s feet. She’d been helped up by a woman who she was delighted to recognise as being her long-lost childhood school friend from a neighbouring town.
‘Pauline? Pauline Rastock? Oh I don’t believe it!’
‘Goodness, is that you, Emily? Emily Blye? Well, what a coincidence!’
‘Small world! Look, let me help you. Oh, your foot looks quite swollen. Can you stand on it?’
‘No, not very well. It’s quite painful! Now how are we going to get into the hall with me like this?’
‘Right, well, just put your weight on me and we’ll hobble. Yes, that’s it. Let’s get a table together. It’ll be wonderful to catch up. Oh and I hear they’ve got chocolate cake this week.’
‘Chocolate cake? Gosh, we are being spoilt, aren’t we?’
Marjorie smiled as she passed the two enthusiastic ladies. People were making friends or rather reuniting with old friends. Unfortunately, Lou wasn’t well enough to make it this week but promised she’d come next week if Gracie would bring her. But Marjorie’s eyes lit up at the sound of chocolate cake being served this week. What a treat! She used to love baking but it tended to end up down a wall or trodden into her carpet when Oliver was alive. She shuddered at the thought of what she’d had to put up with throughout those awful years.
‘Have you put your suggestions in the box yet?’ said one of the elderly gents from last week. His question interrupted her thoughts, making her jump.
‘What? Oh no. I’m perfectly happy just coming here for afternoon tea. Especially as we’ve got chocolate cake this week.’
‘Ah yes.’ The gent smiled. ‘I can see everybody’s thrilled about that. Although I must say I prefer Victoria sandwich, myself. My name’s Raymond, by the way, like it says on my sticker. They wrote it out for me, which is helpful as I’ve got a bit of arthritis in my right hand, so I don’t tend to write much nowadays. They’re nice people, Eileen and Taynor, aren’t they? It’s marvellous what they’re trying to do for us, don’t you think? And I can’t wait to see what suggestions everybody comes up with next week. So where’s your sticker, then?’
‘Er, I might get one later, if I remember. I don’t think I’ll necessarily be coming all that often. Maybe occasionally.’
‘Ah,’ Raymond said. ‘Well, look. Do you mind if I join you at your table?’
Marjorie shook her head, although maybe a little too vigorously, and started to ramble.
‘Um, no you can’t join me. I don’t know where I’m sitting just yet and I was just about to try and find the toilet. Do you know where they are?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe somewhere near reception?’
Marjorie sidled away. Oliver had always hated her talking to other men. Yet, despite him no longer being alive, she still couldn’t seem to get out of the habit of making her excuses and leaving men when they approached her. Gracie got mad about it sometimes.
‘I wish you’d see how rude it sounds to people when you’re abrupt like that. They’re not Daddy. So can’t you learn how to let them down more gently instead of just saying “no” to everyone? My God, you’re lucky to be approached at all. Some women never experience the charm of a man and there you are turning them away at eighty-two!’
Marjorie hated it when Gracie got angry with her but she could do nothing to change her behaviour. It was in-built from too many years of constant abuse. Even though Gracie had pulled her up about this unsavoury aspect