The Afternoon Tea Club Read online

  The Afternoon Tea Club

  JANE GILLEY

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

  Copyright © Jane Gilley 2019

  Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

  Cover illustrations © Shutterstock

  Jane Gilley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Ebook Edition © December 2019; ISBN: 9780008308643

  Version: 2019-11-01

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  It was a hot muggy Saturday afternoon towards the end of June, as the scrabble of elderly ladies, a couple of elderly gents and a few younger people ambled through the double doors of Borough Community Centre, looking around themselves at the bright, modern, carpeted reception. Some of them were moaning about missing their afternoon TV programmes; some were asking questions of each other; some stared wide-eyed at the unfamiliar building, probably wondering why their families had left them here, even though it was, supposedly, to have afternoon tea with like-minded people.

  Families had dropped off ageing mothers and reluctant aunts. Some of the elderly women wanted their loved ones to come inside with them. However, Marjorie could see the families were keen to leave their aged relatives at the community centre entrance.

  ‘Just go inside, Amelia,’ said one family member, firmly, to a small wizened lady in a turquoise, hand-embroidered shawl.

  ‘Goodness, Mum, you’re going to have a lovely time in there. We’ll see you later,’ said another family member, slamming the car door – almost before they’d finished speaking.

  Another lady was chatting to her elderly relative and then turned to leave. ‘View it as a new adventure, Auntie Mavis! What’ve you got to lose? It could be great fun. I’ll see you back here afterwards. Ta-ra!’

  None of them stayed with their relatives to help them settle into their new experience, which was beckoning just beyond the entrance of the community centre doors.

  Bit of time out for the families, Marjorie thought to herself, following the other people into the building. Gracie had offered to stay, after she dropped her mother off, but Marjorie had said no.

  Being dropped off by her daughter reminded her of the day she’d taken Gracie to school for the first time. She’d been dreading it all night. Oliver had said he wasn’t interested in ‘all that’ and said she could take Gracie by herself, which she’d preferred to do anyway. But she’d had a sinking feeling when she’d left Gracie whimpering at the school gates, her hand in that of a kindly teacher who’d said, ‘Please don’t worry, Mrs Sykes. She’ll be safe and cared for here.’

  Oh, Marjorie had known full well that Gracie would be much better off at school than in the awful atmosphere at home. But her worry, back then, had not only been due to the fact that she couldn’t bear to be parted from her beloved only child all day and every day. More worrying to Marjorie had been the knowledge that because she didn’t work and Oliver was at home all day long with back problems, she’d have to contend with his exacting rages whenever he felt like it!

  ‘Hello, ladies, gents! Welcome to Borough Community Centre!’ the young receptionist said cheerily and then proceeded to chat about the lovely weather they were having, as she guided the cautious groups of people down the corridor towards the main hall.

  Perhaps they don’t get out much either, thought Marjorie, walking alongside them. She spotted Mrs Lambert from the ground-floor flat, in the block where she lived with Gracie. She’d never considered that so many other elderly people would feel as lonely as her. She imagined old folk with grandchildren to be amongst the luckiest people in the world. Mrs Lambert had grandchildren. Yet here she was at an afternoon tea party for the lonely; the fed-up; the neglected. At least, that’s what Marjorie read into the leaflet that had flopped through the letterbox and was snatched up by Gracie.

  A gleam had come into her daughter’s eye.

  ‘Talking of getting you out and about more, Mum …’ she’d begun in a tone she usually reserved for meaningful chats with the schoolchildren she taught. ‘Here! Look at this!’

  So Marjorie followed the receptionist, alongside a swarm of mainly bowed grey heads in drab or worn jackets or rain macs, even though it was a clammily hot day. Their questions subsided as they seemed to accept their forced afternoon out. Marjorie passed a young woman with a black and white cat brooch on her rather oversized bright yellow cardigan, with matching Alice band. She looked familiar but Marjorie couldn’t think from where. Another lady was still wearing her sun hat, as they all shuffled into the hall towards a couple of nodding women, welcoming them with beaming smiles and wide-open arms. One of these women looked to be solidly middle-aged, wearing a pale blue cotton summer dress with capped sleeves and a badge in the middle of her chest that read: Eileen. The younger woman’s badge said, Taynor.

  ‘Ladies and, oh hello, gentlemen! Welcome! Welcome! Please come in and help yourselves to refreshments. Yes, come on in. Yes, just help yourselves. Then just take a seat at the tables, anywhere you fancy. Oh no, you don’t have to worry about all that, it’s totally free. No, you won’t need your purses; you don’t have to pay a penny! You’re just here to enjoy yourselves!’

  A long table down one side of the hall was covered with white cups upside down on saucers, dishes of sugar lumps, small porcelain jugs of cold milk, huge plates of Crawford’s Rover biscuits and homemade Victoria sponge cakes with fondant icing. Three middle-aged women stood behind the table, wearing white aprons, asking the guests whether they wanted tea
or coffee and encouraging them to help themselves to whichever biscuits or cake they wished. Marjorie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen anyone wearing an apron. Or was it on one of those cooking programmes?

  Marjorie noticed how the sight of cakes and biscuits soon perked everyone up, including herself. They all chuckled and marvelled at the sight of so much free food! And this small indulgence then gave them reason enough to happily gabble to each other about what was on offer at the community centre today and how nice the weather was and, ‘Oh, I do like that necklace of yours!’ or ‘Well, isn’t this lovely!’ even though they didn’t know each other.

  Looking around her and wondering where to sit, Marjorie saw oblong tables set out for eight occupants. The chairs looked comfortable enough but the disposable paper tablecloths creased and moved as she tried to position herself at the table without spilling her tea or dropping her cake. A little lacking, Marjorie thought dimly.

  Pleasant, soothing background music was filtering into the hall from somewhere, which created a lovely restful ambience. Yet as the guests were finishing off their refreshments, the commotion of chatter having died down, Marjorie could see they weren’t entirely comfortable with their surroundings, even though it was a rather nice place. Marjorie hadn’t made up her mind about this new environment yet. But to avoid confrontation with her daughter, earlier, she’d relented about coming along to sample the afternoon tea outing at Gracie’s insistence. She’d do it the once, just to say she’d tried it. Plus, if it didn’t work out, that would be the benchmark by which all other suggestions her daughter made would be met with understandable resistance. Marjorie wondered if the other old dears had arrived today under the same circumstances: unhappy with their lot but equally unhappy to have to make any positive changes for themselves, unless somebody else initiated that change for them.

  As Marjorie sipped her second cup of hot tea, she could see that most of the women looked quite thin or perhaps they didn’t eat well enough. It was easy to think you didn’t need to eat so much when you were elderly and sitting around most of the day. Or perhaps they couldn’t afford to eat well. A few had walking frames or walking sticks and one younger lady was in a wheelchair. Apart from the youngish girl in the yellow cardigan and the cat brooch, who Marjorie couldn’t place but who sat at her table, Marjorie felt sorry for these other women. ‘Everyone has their crosses to bear,’ her best friend, Lou, always said.

  The servers were still coming around the tables, asking if anyone would like refills or more cake, when the two ladies who Marjorie believed to be the organisers stood at the front of the ensemble and coughed to clear their throats.

  ‘Well, we must say we’re absolutely delighted to see that so many of you have made the effort to come along to our afternoon tea party today. And we hope you’re enjoying your refreshments. Mrs Spence, in charge of the servers at the back, there, made the cakes, which I’m sure you’ll all agree are rather yummy!’

  A few people looked up, realising someone was speaking.

  ‘Eh? What did she say?’ said someone.

  ‘Shh! They’re saying something!’ hissed someone else.

  ‘Right so, just to let you know, my name is Eileen and I work for a division of our local healthcare services. And the lady next to me, Taynor, is my amazing assistant. It was at my mother’s suggestion that we organised this event because she told me she is always loneliest in the afternoons when, she said, it can be soul-destroying with nothing useful or meaningful to do. Does anyone else, here, ever feel like this sometimes?’ Eileen asked, pausing to glance around at her audience.

  Some of the people in the room were fidgeting now or still chatting; some were burrowing around in their bags, some were half listening but more anxious to finish their cake. It seemed to dawn on them – rather slowly – that something was being asked of them. Eileen waited patiently. A few people murmured inaudible responses.

  ‘Well, folks,’ Eileen tried again. ‘I’m just telling you about my situation at home with my mother. I must say, I never suspected that my mother was bored, or fed up and felt that she wasn’t needed any more. But she said everyone feels like this from time to time. So it’s been a bit of a revelation to me that people who are retired or elderly or people otherwise in a position where they are at home all day long, like carers, often feel like this. I think my mother initially held back from admitting this to me because she thought I’d be upset to realise that the rest of my family and I were partly to blame for her discomfort. I have to admit, I was gutted. And very apologetic too, I might add! My family and I actually live with my mum in her house and yet we never allowed her to help out around the home, even when she wanted to. “Just rest up,” I’d say to her. “You’ve worked hard all your life.” I mean for one thing she’s in a wheelchair now and I guess we thought that was reason enough to assume she’d just want peace and quiet at this time of her life. “Not so,” she told me huffily. “I still need a reason to get up in a morning, whether I’m in a wheelchair or not,” she said. So we sat down together, as a family, and realised that apart from activities for residents in local nursing homes, there’s not an awful lot of meaningful activities for our ageing or housebound citizens to do on a regular basis, to prevent them from feeling lonely or bored at home. I mean, we’re well served by the nursing and health community but there’s nothing much that’s activity-based. Would any of you agree with this statement? However, there has been talk and a bit of a national push about offering more stimulating activities to people who are not otherwise engaged in an ordinary working life and in some parts of the country localised organisations have already made a good start with this. Unfortunately, our area hasn’t really jumped on that bandwagon yet. So we’re starting to look at this now.’

  The fidgeting had stopped. All faces had turned to study the two ladies in front of them. Was something actually being asked of them? One of the elderly gentlemen, seated at the back said: ‘Hear, hear, ladies. Yes, it can be very quiet and lonely in the afternoons. I think this is a grand idea of your mother’s. I, for one, would definitely come along again if you’re going to be doing this on a more regular basis? Is that what you’re saying?’

  Eileen nodded.

  ‘It certainly is. And this idea of my mother’s is part of it. So, following on from the conversation with my mother, I suggested to my bosses at work that if we trialled something like this – an afternoon out with a cuppa or two – and if our community welcomed it, we could start to do more things like this on a regular basis. It’s Taynor’s and my long-term ideal, you see, to help our ageing or homebound community make the most of life. So the point of today’s afternoon tea is to inspire you to mix with people you may not have met before with a view to possibly forming new friendships. You see, we believe that once you start making new connections with each other – once you realise that what you feel and think is still important to us all – you’ll start to feel more valued within your own community. We’re sure you’ll agree that chatting and discussion creates camaraderie and a general feeling of wellbeing.’

  ‘Yes, there’s nothing like a cuppa and a good natter,’ someone said, laughing.

  ‘Exactly!’ Eileen agreed. ‘Being part of a social gathering generally makes people feel happier and accepted, doesn’t it? So we think a concept like this would help lift your spirits and give you a new purpose in life. Plus by engaging in some new activities and experiences you would also play your own part by contributing to the wellbeing of your community.’

  Murmurs of approval and slow head-nodding began to weave around the tables.

  ‘So how else do we feel you could help your community?’ said Taynor, taking over from Eileen with an encouraging smile. ‘Well, following on from this initial idea, we’d then hope to get your feedback about new incentives to help enrich the lives of yourselves and those around you. This would be your chance to help us compile a document to present to our bosses about the needs of our elderly and housebound community. We’d
need signatures from all your family and friends to give this project enough clout to resonate and make a real difference to all our lives. In other words, your opinion is being sought with a view to make positive changes within our community. How does that sound to you all?’

  A ripple of surprise ran around the community centre. Marjorie wasn’t the only one to realise that she and Gracie hadn’t read the flyer correctly. Wasn’t this meant to be a simple afternoon out, for afternoon tea, no strings attached? Taynor sounded like a political canvasser, touting for votes. But, golly, this was better than that kind of politics. Eileen and Taynor actually wanted them to join in and contribute to the society they lived in. Well, that was a first! The amount of times she’d have liked to have got on her soapbox and crow to anyone who’d listen about everything she thought was wrong with society today! And yet here she was now. Here they all were now, being invited to set the stage for the ‘greater good’.

  ‘Well, that’s a marvellous idea,’ said the elderly gent who had already spoken, intruding on the whispered confusion of the others. ‘I’m all for it!’

  ‘But would these afternoons stop then, after you got your, um, your data or whatever?’ asked a canny younger lady, dressed in a pale grey trouser suit.

  Eileen stepped forward to speak again.

  ‘Not at all. As long as yourselves, as a community, want afternoons out, we hope to continue providing them. We’d also like suggestions as to what other activities you’d like to participate in. You know, things like a weekly art class or a drive out for the day. Activities like that. Of course, as you get to know each other you can start arranging your own afternoons out if you wish or you could start forming your own clubs and organisations. We’re simply here to start the ball rolling, as it were, to help you help yourselves in order to improve your lives and give you your own voice within our community. We want to help you realise that, no matter what your age or circumstances, you do still count.’

  Marjorie noticed the shift from complacency to murmurs of ‘Oh right,’ or ‘Well, that would be rather nice for a change.’ People were starting to put their hands up to ask further questions. How often did anyone ask the elderly what they thought about anything? As far as she was aware, there were plenty of activities for youngsters but Marjorie had never heard of any such events for anyone of her own age. Or perhaps there were things advertised in the daily newspapers? But she only read the Sunday papers and hadn’t noticed anything like that in there and, as for things online, well, she couldn’t even use a computer, despite Gracie saying she’d help her with that. Yet it actually felt marvellous to be permitted to stand up and be counted, for once! Oliver had never let her have her own opinions. She had never been allowed to voice her concerns nor her wishes in his presence. So being given consent to stand up and say something meaningful would be quite splendid.