Read Online 11 The Teashop on the Corner by Milly Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Milly Johnson
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couldn’t remember when Theresa was coming back. The last Monday in May was ringing a bell for some reason.
There was a knock at the back door and it was pushed open by whoever was on the outside and in walked Theresa, all smiles and sunshine.
‘Coo-ee. Guess who?’ Then the smile dropped from the tanned face. ‘Jesus. Have you been on a diet?’
And despite her best intentions not to, Carla fell on her best friend sobbing.
Chapter 13
Molly was determined to find the Royal Doulton figurine. It had to be in this house somewhere because she wouldn’t have thrown it out. Her compact and pen might have been
mislaid or accidentally fallen out of her handbag, but a figurine was harder to lose and it was needling her that she couldn’t find it. It wasn’t in any of the obvious places, so she
started to look in the more obscure ones, secretly hoping that she wouldn’t find it at the back of a drawer or in a box of photographs – because what would that say about her mental
state if she had put it in there and couldn’t remember doing so?
There was nothing in the wardrobe or the large bedding chest. There was no trace of it in the beautiful old rolltop desk which used to belong to dear Mr Brandywine senior, which he always
promised Molly she would have – and the family had honoured that promise. Molly could never think of Emma and George Brandywine without a fond smile. They were the kindest, most gentle couple
she had ever met. She had loved them and grieved for them as a true daughter would when they died.
Molly kept a treasure box in the deep bottom left drawer of the old desk. If the figurine was anywhere other than on the shelf, the odds were that she had mistakenly put it in there – but
when she took off the lid, it was clearly not inside. Top of the pile of contents was a card from Emma and George congratulating her on getting her first job as Dr Dodworth’s receptionist.
Inside, Emma’s scrolling sentiment was written in her scratchy fine ink pen.
We are so proud of you, Molly. We know you will make a wonderful receptionist. With Lots of Love, ‘Ma
& Pa’.
It had begun as a joke, Molly referring to them as Ma and Pa, but it stuck. She suspected the Brandywines knew how much she wanted someone to call parents and they accepted their titles
willingly. Molly’s eyes filled with unshed tears and she blinked hard to stop more rising. A thought of Ma and Pa Brandywine visited her every day without fail.
Underneath was a twenty-first birthday card to her from Bernard and Margaret. It had been scented, but the fragrance of roses was long gone. Molly couldn’t even remember how she celebrated
that birthday. She was married then, but her life was a sham, she was miserable and low and the youthful years that should have been filled with hope and a new beginning were worse than those of
her earlier life of confusion and helplessness. There was no reference to Edwin Beardsall in her box. She had not carried one single good memory of her ex-husband forward.
Next in the pile was the Mother’s Day card Graham had made at primary school. The front had a picture of a daffodil on it, a cup from an egg carton painted orange forming the
flower’s trumpet. It was the only hand-made card she had ever received, and that was because the kind teacher at school had posted it to her directly. She had been under strict instructions
to send any Mother’s Day cards he made to his paternal grandmother, not to Molly, and so she had helped Graham make another in secret at playtime. The glue was failing and the cup had almost
fallen off entirely. Molly’s finger lightly traced the large heavily-looped letters: ‘To My Mother’. He had never called her mum, only ever mother.
There was her school report card. It read:
Molly is quiet, unconfrontational and works very hard. Her attention to detail should be praised and her hand-writing is exemplary. She would make an excellent
secretary.
The
There was a knock at the back door and it was pushed open by whoever was on the outside and in walked Theresa, all smiles and sunshine.
‘Coo-ee. Guess who?’ Then the smile dropped from the tanned face. ‘Jesus. Have you been on a diet?’
And despite her best intentions not to, Carla fell on her best friend sobbing.
Chapter 13
Molly was determined to find the Royal Doulton figurine. It had to be in this house somewhere because she wouldn’t have thrown it out. Her compact and pen might have been
mislaid or accidentally fallen out of her handbag, but a figurine was harder to lose and it was needling her that she couldn’t find it. It wasn’t in any of the obvious places, so she
started to look in the more obscure ones, secretly hoping that she wouldn’t find it at the back of a drawer or in a box of photographs – because what would that say about her mental
state if she had put it in there and couldn’t remember doing so?
There was nothing in the wardrobe or the large bedding chest. There was no trace of it in the beautiful old rolltop desk which used to belong to dear Mr Brandywine senior, which he always
promised Molly she would have – and the family had honoured that promise. Molly could never think of Emma and George Brandywine without a fond smile. They were the kindest, most gentle couple
she had ever met. She had loved them and grieved for them as a true daughter would when they died.
Molly kept a treasure box in the deep bottom left drawer of the old desk. If the figurine was anywhere other than on the shelf, the odds were that she had mistakenly put it in there – but
when she took off the lid, it was clearly not inside. Top of the pile of contents was a card from Emma and George congratulating her on getting her first job as Dr Dodworth’s receptionist.
Inside, Emma’s scrolling sentiment was written in her scratchy fine ink pen.
We are so proud of you, Molly. We know you will make a wonderful receptionist. With Lots of Love, ‘Ma
& Pa’.
It had begun as a joke, Molly referring to them as Ma and Pa, but it stuck. She suspected the Brandywines knew how much she wanted someone to call parents and they accepted their titles
willingly. Molly’s eyes filled with unshed tears and she blinked hard to stop more rising. A thought of Ma and Pa Brandywine visited her every day without fail.
Underneath was a twenty-first birthday card to her from Bernard and Margaret. It had been scented, but the fragrance of roses was long gone. Molly couldn’t even remember how she celebrated
that birthday. She was married then, but her life was a sham, she was miserable and low and the youthful years that should have been filled with hope and a new beginning were worse than those of
her earlier life of confusion and helplessness. There was no reference to Edwin Beardsall in her box. She had not carried one single good memory of her ex-husband forward.
Next in the pile was the Mother’s Day card Graham had made at primary school. The front had a picture of a daffodil on it, a cup from an egg carton painted orange forming the
flower’s trumpet. It was the only hand-made card she had ever received, and that was because the kind teacher at school had posted it to her directly. She had been under strict instructions
to send any Mother’s Day cards he made to his paternal grandmother, not to Molly, and so she had helped Graham make another in secret at playtime. The glue was failing and the cup had almost
fallen off entirely. Molly’s finger lightly traced the large heavily-looped letters: ‘To My Mother’. He had never called her mum, only ever mother.
There was her school report card. It read:
Molly is quiet, unconfrontational and works very hard. Her attention to detail should be praised and her hand-writing is exemplary. She would make an excellent
secretary.
The
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