All Tea, No Shade, and a Bit of Murder
Chapter 1: In which Madge & Peggy have an argument
Baz grinned as she switched off her mobility scooter and stood. Despite the chill in the January air, the sun was warm on her face. She nearly collided with two men walking down the street.
Letting out a small meep, she slapped her chest. ‘Oh my. I’m so sorry, gentlemen.’
One of them, a rough-looking White man with a large mole just below his right ear, reached out to steady her. But when he caught her eye, he grimaced and withdrew his hand. The pair laughed harshly as they crossed the road away from her.
Baz shook her head – some people had no class. She stepped into the warmth of Wellbeloved Café. The familiar scent of coffee, pastries, and brown sugar filled her with warmth, lifting her mood.
‘Morning, ladies.’ Baz gave her friends a cheerful little wave as she stuck her head around the corner into the second room.
Only, the ladies weren’t there. Or rather, Madge was but the others were missing. A man in Peggy’s usual seat was in close conversation with Madge. Probably similar to their own age – maybe mid-sixties. He had pale skin, grey hair, and what used to be called a weak chin.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Madge. I didn’t realise you had … well, that is … I…’ Baz didn’t know where she was going with that sentence. She bit down on her lip as heat flushed her cheeks. ‘I’ll just go order my tea, shall I?’
Baz made to head to the front counter – only to run smack into Carole. Carole was a few inches shorter than Baz’s five foot seven. But given how uncomfortably close they were in the moment, Baz could feel Carole’s breath on her face. It smelt of bubblegum and … pickles?
‘Oh, Baz.’ Carole grinned warmly. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you.’
Whatever incomprehensible bit of wisdom Carole had been about to impart was cut off when her… Girlfriend seemed the wrong word for a pair of septuagenarians. Wife – were they married? Baz couldn’t believe she’d never thought to ask.
Partner. She’d heard Peggy refer to Carole as her partner before – hadn’t she? Best to stick with that, then.
‘Let the woman get her tea before you start filling her head with your latest theory, eh, my love?’ Peggy winked at Baz as she steered Carole over to their usual seats.
Baz greeted the couple’s Alsatian, Cookie, with a quick pat on the head as they passed.
Woman. It still made her heart soar whenever anyone called her a woman. She’d lived more than sixty years before she’d even acknowledged that truth to herself. But her new friends had only ever known her as Ms Barbara Spencer. Woman. One of the girls. A sense of peace blanketed her.
Baz turned towards the coffee shop’s front counter. As she did so, she glanced at the artwork and handicrafts displayed on the shelves. Seeing a few of her own framed pieces of embroidery almost brought her to tears. She was so proud of how far she’d come since moving to London the year before.
‘You’re looking cheery this morning, Baz.’ Sarah was Madge’s youngest daughter and the manager of Wellbeloved Café. Her curly brown hair was pulled up off her face in a puffy ponytail. ‘The usual?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Thank you. I was just thinking…’ Baz waved her previous thoughts away. ‘Never mind. Oh my! What are these?’ She waved at the plate of pastries next to the till.
Sarah grinned. ‘Peach Danishes from Arapina, the bakery down by Trinity Laban. You’re lucky we’ve still got any. Can I tempt you?’
Baz’s mouth was beginning to water. ‘They smell delicious. Yes, please.’ She touched her phone to the reader to pay for her tea and treat.
‘I’ll bring everything over in a minute,’ Sarah said. ‘Let Peggy and Carole know I’ll bring theirs too.’
Baz rejoined her friends in the next room – she’d all but forgotten about the mild-looking man with Madge. He’d vacated Peggy’s chair and now stood behind and between Madge and Peggy, pointing over their shoulders at a light green paper on the table. Cookie was intently sniffing his shoes.
The man’s voice was little more than a mumble, though, and Baz couldn’t make out his words.
‘Morning, ladies.’ Baz took her seat in the corner. ‘And, erm, gentleman.’
Madge looked up at her. Over the weekend, she’d changed her hair from a beautiful arrangement of braids to springy salt and pepper coils. ‘I’m sorry, Baz. Have you met Arthur?’
‘No, I’ve never had the pleasure,’ Baz replied at the same time as Arthur said, ‘Yes, we’ve met a few times.’
Baz’s face flushed again. ‘I’m sorry. Of course we’ve met. I remember now,’ she lied. She didn’t recall ever seeing this man before.
‘Arthur’s just been telling us about the council’s plans for the nature reserve.’ Peggy waved – her short fingernails painted bright blue – in the man’s direction.
Madge looked at Baz. ‘Arthur’s the caretaker for a local nature reserve.’
Arthur pushed his glasses up. ‘I also run the Facebook group. We’ve got almost 200 members. It’s one of the largest groups in the area.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘Well, one of the largest active groups, that is. And certainly more than 100 members.’ His voice was soft and he mumbled – but Baz was reasonably sure that was what he’d said.
Madge pulled her knitting from her bag and set to work. Peggy opened her laptop and set her fingers on the keys. Carole was already working on … something. It would probably become another of the human bones or organs she created.
Cookie settled himself on the floor, curling up under the low table that stood between the women, still poking his nose out occasionally to sniff at the newcomer’s shoes.
Arthur, clearly not picking up on the fact he’d been dismissed, muttered a few more words that Baz couldn’t quite catch.
‘Mmm hmm.’ Madge didn’t glance up at him. ‘Why don’t you do that on your way out?’
Arthur picked his mug and plate up off the table. He looked at Baz. ‘Hope to see you there.’ He muttered his goodbyes and crossed paths with Sarah bearing a tray of drinks and pastries.
Baz wasn’t sure where or when he hoped to see her, so she simply smiled at him non-committally. To Sarah, she added, ‘Thank you, dear.’
Carole began scooping spoonfuls of sugar into her cup before pouring weak tea over the top. She picked up the small pot of oat milk and added the tiniest splash to her cup.
Baz preferred to let her own tea steep for a good long while before she touched it. She bent forwards to retrieve the paper the man had left on the table. ‘What was all that about, then?’ She read the photocopied notice.
Your cordially Invited to
The Friend’s of the Bookmill nature Reserve
Extrodinrey general Meeting
Wedensday 24st January
Don’t let Them build over your Nature reserve!!!!!
Baz raised her freshly plucked eyebrows at his spelling and grammar. ‘What’s the Bookmill Nature Reserve?’ She blinked. ‘Oh, does he mean the park just to the south of me?’
Peggy rolled her eyes. Baz knew from experience Peggy could be a stickler for good grammar. ‘Brookmill – not Bookmill. And no, you’re thinking of Brookmill Park. The nature reserve is on the other side of the road, across from the south end of the park. Arthur says the council plans to sell the land off so it can be developed into flats.’
Madge studied her knitting for a moment. She sucked air through her teeth as she undid a few stitches before continuing. ‘Lord knows we need more new housing around here.’
Peggy’s trademark fuchsia hair was probably due for a dye as it had faded to more of a peach colour. ‘I’ll agree to the fact there’s a need for more housing. But it absolutely doesn’t need to be here. Green space is important.’
Pulling her glasses down her nose, Madge fixed Peggy with a glare. ‘You see how crowded the neighbourhood is. Why don’t we deserve new housing?’
Peggy lifted her right hand off her keyboard and shook a finger at Madge. ‘Don’t give me that, Madge. Thatcher, may she rot in pieces, sold off all our council housing without replacing it. Of course we need new housing! This country is desperate for it. I never claimed otherwise. My point was that it doesn’t need to be here. They should spread the load a bit.’
Baz gritted her teeth. She wished her friends wouldn’t argue – it made her insides tie themselves in knots.
Madge’s voice was warm and cordial but there was an undercurrent of steel and ice. ‘I see. I wonder, what is it about our Black and ethnic minority community that makes you think we’re not the ones who need this additional housing stock?’
Carole looked up from her handiwork and smiled brightly. ‘Of course, they’ll tell you it’s a vegetable stock with scraps from the garden when we all know it’s mostly made with the bones of displaced infants. It’s why I never trust a vegetarian.’
In the four months Baz had known the women, she’d grown accustomed to Carole’s interjections. Most of the time, her words meant nothing to anyone who didn’t live inside her head. Half the time.
Peggy scowled. ‘It’s nothing to do with racism and you know it.’
Madge laid her knitting down in her lap – so much for Baz’s hope this would be a brief argument. ‘Shall I tell you what I see, Peggy? I see a middle-class White woman telling a working-class Black woman that our low-income neighbourhood doesn’t deserve the investment of new developments.’
Peggy finally picked up her espresso and downed it in one. ‘For starters, Madge, you’re every bit as middle class as I am. Sitting there with your master’s degree and your final-salary pension, lecturing me on…’ She waved the rest of that sentence away with a flick of her hand. ‘But more to the point, that’s the opposite of what I’m saying.’
Madge poured herself a half cup of bright red tea from the thermal carafe she insisted it be served in. ‘And what precisely are you saying?’
Setting the empty espresso mug down on the table, Peggy spoke slowly. It felt to Baz like she was choosing her words carefully. ‘What I mean is that they’ve crowded us in like gherkins in a jar. And we all know it’s precisely because this is a low-income neighbourhood. Surely it would be better to spread both people and new developments around more equally. The inner London boroughs have a population density of almost 12,000 people per square kilometre. It’s barely a third of that in outer London. If we want to improve air quality, then we need green spaces. Why not throw up a tower block or twenty in Richmond or Kingston?’
Madge made a noise that might have been a chuckle. But before she could reply, the bell over the door sounded and a cheery voice greeted them. ‘Yoo-hoo! Wagwan, ladies?’
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