Read Online The Colour of Tea by Hannah Tunnicliffe - Free Book Online

has a strong Canadian accent. Thick brown hair springs enthusiastically from his forehead, and his jaw is wide and square. His face is a healthy caramel color; he looks like he should be hiking in fresh air somewhere else. “You must be Grace.” He reaches out to pump my hand.
    “This is Paul,” Pete explains. “Paul works on the construction side of the project.”
    “That’s me,” Paul agrees and, putting his large paw on the shoulder of the woman next to him, says, “This is Linda. My wife.”
    Linda looks up, her pink mouth curved in a polite smile, and leaps to greet us. She is wearing a short floral dress, and her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail. “Hi, hi!” she chirps.
    Pete leans in to kiss her hello. She kisses him on each cheek.
    “Nice to meet you, Linda. This is Grace, my wife; she hasn’t met a lot of women here yet, so it’s great that we can get together like this.”
    I cringe as he says this, feeling like some sort of charity case. “Nice to meet you both,” I mumble. I stretch my lips in a smile, hoping it looks sincere.
    “So good to meet someone new.” Linda beams at me and then adds wryly, “This place is like a small country town.”
    I take a pat of cool, homemade butter from the small silver dish in front of me. Rock salt, placed on top of each round, sweats a salty dew. The butter softens against the warm flesh of the bread roll, spreading easily.
    Pete and Paul talk of work permits and foreign labor. Their heads are close together across the table, apart from when Pete recalls something funny and Paul leans back and roars with laughter, clapping his wide hand against his knee.
    I chew the hot, sweet bread slowly.
    “So …” Linda leans in toward me. “You’re not working?”
    “No,” I reply. “Well, not yet, I guess. I was working in London, up until Pete got the job offer and we decided it was too good to pass up.”
    “Oh, I know what that’s like. When Paul got his offer and told me about the five percent income tax here I said, ‘Honey, you’ve just got to take that job!’ It can really get your whole family ahead, you know?” She flutters lashes that seem impossibly thick. I wonder if she has fake ones glued in among her real ones. I stare a little too long.
    The conversation is interrupted as our waiter takes a drinks order. He has glossy black hair and smooth skin, a soft, kind voice. “What can I get for you, ladies?”
    Beers for the boys, champagne for Linda, and a cup of hot black coffee for me.
    “Strong, please,” I add.
    As he leaves Linda drops her voice and pats my knee. “They just don’t get it, do they?”
    “Sorry?”
    “Coffee. They just don’t do good coffee. I mean, sure, boil some water, drop in a tea bag, but coffee … It’s killing me, living without my morning joe. China. ” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, pale and blue. “It’s not easy to live here, especially when you’re a ‘tai tai’ like us. I get so damn bored.” She pushes back a hair that has escaped the ponytail and grins at me. I nod, and she keeps talking, not seeming to notice that I’m not saying much. I get distracted looking over her shoulder at the buffet, the smells drifting toward me. I catch pieces of what she says.
    “I cannot stand a badly ironed shirt. Isn’t that the least you should expect from, you know, them?”
    “Ballet and swimming lessons on the same afternoon! Can you imagine? That is just poor planning.”
    “There’s only one place to buy your handbags. Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll show you.”
    “So I said, ‘You’ve just got to let her go!’”
    I wish I were better at making girlfriends. Or at least understanding other women. Sometimes it feels like they are speaking another language. I can’t keep up with Linda’s conversation, and when I do I grow so bored I start to think about recipes and growing rosemary on our windowsill. Her mouth is perfectly pink, the liner blended expertly into the lipstick. I reach