works of fiction

​

Chapter 1

 

The pavement outside the Rendezvous Cafe was damp from the drizzle that had hung around all afternoon. Last year’s Festival of Britain bunting hung limply across the tearoom’s tall windows, occasionally stirred into a brief flutter as each bus pulled in to the layby. The greengrocer’s shop next door was closing up for the day, the brown-coated owner going through his ritual of ferrying boxes of tired vegetables from the pavement back into the shop. Here they would spend the night until the next morning when the whole process would be reversed. It was a fruitless task.

 

Kitty Bidmead sat on her own inside the tearoom, her gloved hands resting on the table as she waited for her son. Every now and then she moistened her lips with a sip of tea and a snake’s flick of her tongue. Her clothes were smart, but they were showing signs of age. Both hers and theirs. Her fox fur stole pushed the image she presented just over the edge of acceptability. Both Kitty and the tearoom had seen better days.

 

As each bus arrived, Kitty stopped staring at her tea, picked up a napkin from the plastic tablecloth to wipe the steamed-up window, and peered through to see if her son was among those who got off. Each time Kitty did so, the owner of the tearoom paused from her habit of wiping the countertop and looked up. She was looking for visitors of any kind.

 

‘Would you like another pot of tea, dear? That one must be stone cold now.’

 

Kitty declined with a slight shake of her head. She had been coming here for years and little, if anything, had been done to spruce the place up. Her visits were part of the weekly ritual of outings that formed the dwindling framework of her life since her son had married Daphne. Her son’s marriage had lasted longer than Kitty had expected. Certainly more than she had wanted. So far the marriage had withstood Kitty’s attempts to disrupt it and turn back the clock.  And now Daphne was fighting back. Her son searched for what he hoped would be the safe, middle ground between his mother and his wife, failing at every attempt, and frequently being caught in the crossfire.

 

Kitty peered through the window again as the next bus arrived. Several people got off and she moved her head from side to side, like an owl. Her eyes were not as sharp as her tongue. She couldn’t be sure. A well-dressed man crossed the wide pavement and walked briskly towards the tearoom, his trilby hat pulled down over his eyes and his unbuttoned overcoat flapping open with each step. Kitty’s spirits rose as she saw that he was alone. He pushed open the tearoom door and looked around before choosing a vacant table near the counter. The owner touched the hot water urn to see if it was still hot enough and filled a teapot. Kitty’s heart sank as she settled back into her chair, realizing that it wasn’t Tom. She looked at her watch and peered through the window, but was startled when the door opened again a few minutes later as Tom rushed in. She hadn’t seen him run from the shops on the other side of the greengrocers.

 

‘Hello mum,’ he panted. ‘So sorry I’m late. The train was late leaving Kings Cross. I haven’t kept you waiting too long, have I?’

 

Kitty had been there for an hour. She always arrived far earlier than she needed to. The waiting and anticipation was all part of the pleasure for her. Tom struggled to get out of his raincoat, tugging at the reluctant sleeves, both arms now entangled behind his back. Kitty rose to help.

 

‘Let me give you a hand, dear.’ Kitty got up and stood behind him, plucking at the cuffs of his jacket by mistake. Tom wriggled free with an irritated shake of his arms and hung his coat up on the rack. Kitty stood and watched, hoping to hug him, but the moment was gone.

 

‘How are you, mum?’ and without waiting for a reply, ‘You’re looking very, erm, dressed up.’

 

‘I like to look my best for you, dear.’ Kitty wiggled her shoulders with delight as they settled into their chairs. The man she had mistaken for Tom looked across at them but went back to his newspaper when Tom returned his stare. Behind the counter, another teapot was filled from the urn and the waitress brought fresh cups and saucers.

 

‘Just the two of you? Any pastries?’

 

Kitty looked at Tom but he just asked for a third cup and saucer.

 

‘My wife will be joining us in a few minutes.’

 

‘And how is Daphne?’ Kitty forced herself to ask, feigning interest with a slight inclination of her head, hiding the delight that she had her son all to herself, at least for now.

 

‘Oh, fine thanks. She’s just popped into the travel agents to pick up some holiday brochures....’

 

Tom’s voice trailed off as he saw his mother’s smile tighten to thin, pursed lips but there was no going back. Even though Daphne was nowhere in sight, and without Tom being aware, Daphne had loaded the gun for Tom to fire the first shot in today’s hostilities. She had inflicted a flesh wound.

 

‘That’s nice, dear.’ Kitty lied as she reached out to take her son’s hand in hers, to feel the once familiar warmth of affection. Tom avoided the trap of being drawn further from ‘no mans’ land and he reached for the menu.  Kitty left her hand where it lay and brushed an imaginary crumb from the table as Daphne entered and sauntered over to them. Daphne kissed Tom on the lips, long and lingering, though without warmth, and looked Kitty straight in the eye. Kitty held her ground and forced herself to smile back, willing herself not to blink.

 

Battle lines were drawn.

                                       

_____________________________________