Tuesdays at the Teacup Club by Vanessa Greene

Pete wasn’t using the Volvo for work. She ought
     to find out how much the car cost to run and talk to Pete about whether they really needed it.
    The drive to Charlesworth’s pretty, shop-lined high street took less than fifteen minutes, about as long as George would tolerate
     staying put on the back seat without trying to leap over and join her in the front. She listened to the news on the journey,
     and when she arrived she opened the door to get George out and tied his lead to the railings outside the hospice charity shop
     before heading inside.
    A jangle rang out as she opened the door. ‘Hello, darling Ali!’ the man behind the counter called over. Jamie was gruff-voiced
     but kitten-soft in character, a far cry from the quiet blue-rinsed ladies who volunteered on the other days. When he was at
     work, Forties and Fifties jazz and jive were never off the stereo. Jamie lived his life as if every day was a glittering event,
     and he didn’t even realise he was the real star, centre stage. He and Alison went way back. They had been swing dancing partners
     for some years, and when Jamie’s partner Seb had been diagnosed with cancer it was Alison he’d go to when he needed to let
     his defences down. Two years after Seb’s death Jamie was still pouring his energy into raising money for the hospice that
     had cared for Seb during his final days. Jamie had transformed the shop into a vintagewonderland. There wasn’t an old Next shirt with yellowed underarms or a dodgy toast rack in sight – he trawled through the
     donation bags, picking out only the very best, and sometimes even sourcing clothes and bric-a-brac from elsewhere so that
     the shop glowed with glamour and the promise of a bargain.
    ‘Hi Jamie,’ Alison said, walking over to him and being welcomed into a warm hug.
    ‘How are things?’ he asked, pulling back to look her in the eyes.
    ‘They’re fine,’ she started, hesitating before going on. ‘You know how it is. Sophie, it’s a bit of a battleground there …
     but the business is going well, really well – in fact I’ve got a bit of catching up to do. Anyway, I could go on, Jamie, but
     I’m actually on a bit of a mission today. I’ve got a new order for my candles and I need to make this lot
dazzling
…’
    As she talked, she was scanning the shelves – sound-track LPs, a 1960s Monopoly board, veiled bridal hats, oversized chrome
     ashtrays on stands, petticoated dresses and bolero jackets. Where did he find this stuff? But not a teaset in sight. Alison’s
     heart sank.
    ‘Tea … cups?’ she ventured.
    ‘Oh, sorry Ali – you know how that stuff is flying off the shelves at the moment. We sold a cracking little set last week
     but that was all we had.’
    ‘Darn.’ Ali snapped her fingers. ‘Ah well, I’ll have tobe quicker on the draw next time.’ She fiddled with the chunky red beads strung around her neck as she mulled over what to
     do next. ‘I guess there’s always eBay. That’s got to be worth a shot, no?’
    ‘Of course, petal.’ Jamie’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. His stubble was grey and his hair was thinning out but he was still
     one of the most handsome men in Charlesworth – and in his perfectly cut jeans, a crisp shirt, waistcoat and tan brogues he
     was the best dressed by a long shot. She stood beside him in her flowery, full-skirted dress and DMs. Ali imagined the sight
     of the two of them together. Improbable though the pairing was, they
worked
; and she silently savoured the moment.
    ‘But where are my manners, Jamie … How have things been for you?’
    He laughed and ruffled Alison’s hair. ‘I’m fine, hon, ticking over, more than that actually. There’s something I’d like to
     talk to you about. Maybe we could go for coffee next week and I’ll catch you up properly?’
    Alison could hear George’s barking through the shop window and it was getting louder. As she turned around she saw him leap
     out at an elderly lady who’d been