Ladies Who Launch by Milly Johnson

‘I know it doesn’t look much from the outside, but trust me,’ said Selina Molloy, pulling up in her car outside the small café with the yellow-and-white
striped awning. A sign above the door, which badly needed a touch-up of paint, announced that this was The Sunflower Café. ‘My cleaner told me about this place. Apparently the
afternoon teas are to die for.’
    ‘I hope not,’ smiled her friend Angie Silverton. ‘I’m too busy to die at the moment.’ She rocked back and forth to give her the momentum get out of the car.
    ‘Shall I push you from the back, fatty?’
    ‘Thank you, but I’m quite capable. You can ask me again in two months when I’m hiding from men with harpoons.’ When Angie stood up, she leaned back to stretch her spine.
‘Oh, that’s better. I hope they’ve got a loo here as well. I can’t go five minutes these days without a wee.’
    ‘Of course they do,’ said Selina, opening the café door and setting off a small bell tinkling above their heads. They walked into a sunny room with lemon-yellow walls and a
long window across the back wall. Pretty blue curtains with sunflowers on them hung at the sides.
    ‘My, what a surprise,’ nodded Angie. ‘I didn’t expect this.’
    She looked around and her eyes fell on a large smiling picture of a sunflower on the wall with a poem written underneath, which she leaned over to read.
    Be like the sunflower:
    Brave, bright
    bold, cheery.
    Be golden and shine,
    Keep your roots strong,
    Your head held high,
    Your face to the sun,
    And the shadows will fall behind you.
    Selina followed Angie’s eyes and knew she was reading the poem. She always felt warmed by those words. She considered herself a sunflower now, although she hadn’t
for many years. Then she’d been watered and fed with friendship by the rotund woman at her side – and she’d bloomed.
    ‘That’s sweet,’ said Angie, then she sighed. ‘I’m too short to be a sunflower.’
    Selina wagged her finger. ‘No woman is ever too short to be a sunflower. Anyway, they do have dwarf varieties.’
    ‘Cheeky …’
    Their conversation was cut off as the café owner came out from behind the counter. She was a large, friendly woman with a shock of auburn-red hair.
    ‘Hello, ladies. Table for two is it?’
    ‘Please, Patricia,’ replied Angie. ‘You’re busy today.’
    ‘The café closes to the general public in five minutes. My sister holds a staff meeting here once a month—’ She held up her hand as Selina opened her mouth to groan.
‘But you’ll be all right sitting at that table there in the window. You’ll be quite private, although no doubt you’ll hear them prattling on in the background – some
of them have voices like foghorns.’ She paused and looked at Angie. ‘Is this the friend that you told me about?’
    Selina smiled with relief. ‘Thank you. Yep, this is her. I’ve told her all about this place, Patricia. This is part of her birthday treat. We’re having a spa day
tomorrow.’
    ‘Oh, that’ll be lovely for you in your condition,’ said Patricia, clapping her hands together with child-like enthusiasm as her eyes trained on Angie’s round tummy.
‘I’d never heard of spas until a couple of years ago. I’d have killed for a back rub during my seven pregnancies. My Jack’s rubbish at them. He moans that his thumbs hurt
after five minutes. They wouldn’t hurt if it was Marilyn bloody Monroe asking him for a massage, I bet.’
    Angie leaned back again to uncrunch her spine, which prompted Patricia to stop talking and start serving.
    ‘You go and sit yourselves down. Afternoon tea, is it?’
    ‘Yes, please,’ replied Angie, heading off towards the table for two set in the opposite corner to the tables of women. She sighed with pleasure as her bottom landed on the chair.
    Patricia waddled back into her kitchen. Then the doorbell tinkled and in walked another two women who joined the group at the back of the café. They were both blonde: one