‘It’s not a hanging offence.’ Robina seemed to be recovering, picking up her cake fork and plate, though her doe eyes were still red-rimmed. ‘Neither of us are married or members of the clergy. We could get relationshippy.’
Honor tore her eyes away from the corner where the bus had turned out of sight towards Brighton — right outside Martyn’s home, in fact. She tried to make herself sound not-shocked. ‘No, you’re right. There’s no law against being in love.’ And, then, feebly, ‘Maybe one day he’ll feel, uh,relationshippy, too.’
‘Huh! Never.’ Sophie’s pinkness had drawn in to two angry patches high up on her cheekbones.
Robina glared, her eyes dark. ‘Hemight.’
‘Pigs might fly. Just give him up, Robbie. Relationshippy — you’ve always laughed at being relationshippy! You used to shout at Tucker for getting “all relationshippy” on you.’
Scowling, Robina folded her arms. ‘Me and Tucker were relationshippy.’
Sophie made a rude noise. ‘He might have been, poor sod, but you, not really.’ And then, as if regretting her bluntness, she flung down her plate and threw her arms around her friend. ‘Robbie, you know that there’s no chance. He’s years younger and he tries never to talk to you. Give up, darling. Give up. It’s not going to happen.’
Dolefully, Robina began to sniff again. ‘He used to be my friend.’
Sophie’s voice sank. ‘Well . . . he stopped by the Teapot for coffee, sometimes.’
‘Decaff,’ Robina nodded. ‘He doesn’t eat much cake or drink lots of caffeine. He has to take care of his body and his skin because it’s his living. His face is his fortune.’ She gave a watery giggle. ‘Not just his face—’
‘But he doesn’t stop by any more, Robbie, does he?’ asked Sophie, gently. ‘Like, never.’
* * *
They finished the clean down quietly, even Robina spraying and wiping until the sweetness of cakes in the air was overcome by bleach and damp cloths.
Energetically applying elbow grease to the sinks, Sophie was obviously intent on springing Robina from her black mood. ‘It’ll be lovely to have Kirsty home tomorrow, Robbie, won’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Robina didn’t look up.
Sophie turned to Honor. ‘Her sister will bring her, because we couldn’t fetch her until evening.’
Honor polished the coffee frother. ‘Is she coming out of the hospital and right back to work?’
‘No! She won’t be back at work yet.’ Sophie rinsed her steaming cloth. ‘She’ll go straight to bed, I expect. Whatever the virus is, it made her really ill. The doctors said she could come out if she rested.’
‘So she’s coming here because she’s still too sick to go home?’
Robina began blasting hot water into the mop bucket, the metal kind with a mechanism on top to squeeze the mop. ‘She lives upstairs with me and Ru. Sophie, too.’ The mop bucket clanged as Robina let it down on the floor. Dark hair was springing out all around her bandana that, today, wasembroidered with the yin and the yang. ‘When Tucker died he left the Teapot and the flat to me. Then Soph and Kirst moved in.’ Robina splashed her mop into the bucket. ‘Tucker was a good guy. But he was in a car crash.’
‘It’s three years, now,’ Sophie explained, sadly, collecting the cloths and dropping them into a smaller bucket of bleach and cold water. She brightened. ‘But when me and Kirsty moved into the flat, we took Tucker’s place in the tearoom. So we all work together and live together.’
Honor smiled, wondering if Ru ever felt swamped by oestrogen. ‘Wow. You and Tucker really were . . . relationshippy,’ Honor tried out the word self-consciously, ‘if he left you the Teapot, Robina.’
‘It’s a bloody big responsibility,’ she grumbled, setting to with the mop as if she could clean the Teapot off the face of the earth if she rubbed hard enough. ‘A business is worse than a small child. It always needs attention.’
Sophie gazed at her friend reproachfully, her hair beginning to escape its net. ‘I think it was fabulous of Tucker to leave it to you. You’ve got no mortgage and me and Kirsty pay rent to you, on top of the profit that the tearoom makes.’
‘But there’s always plenty to pay out and it’s a pain when I want to go away.’ Robina stabbed the mop in the steaming water then trod on the gizmo that squeezed the water out. ‘I’ve missed the Isle of Wight Festival, Download and Glastonbury, this summer—’
‘Isle of Wight and Download festivals are on at the same time so you couldn’t have gone to both, anyway.’ Sophie dug her hands into her apron pocket as if digging in her heels.
‘—and,’ flared Robina obstinately, ‘I’m missing Latitude right this minute!’ She threw the mop on the floor, ripped off her apron and stamped out of the front door, leaving the ‘closed’ sign swinging behind her.
Sophie made a face. ‘I don’t think she’ll get to the Global Gathering, either,’ she whispered, as if Robina might be lurking in earshot. ‘Because Kirsty usually keeps the Teapot open while we’re away — Kirsty doesn’t “do” festivals, so she’s quite happy to stay here. But the Global Gathering’s only two weeks from now.’
‘You’re talking about music festivals, right?’
Sophie picked up the mop, rinsed it and gave it a squeeze. ‘That’s right. Kirsty isn’t going to be well enough.’
