A short story by Anna Brown, Regent Street, Treorchy.

Accepted for publication in the November 2002 issue of "Yours" magazine.

Teresa hummed the wedding march as she stacked the saucers on the shelf behind the counter of her mother’s tearoom.  In the distance, the church clock struck five.  “Oh!  Come on mother,” she checked her watch again, “Popping out for five minutes you said and it’s been nearly an hour.” 

It was typical of her mother.  The new owners were due to take over when the tearoom closed at five thirty, and she knew the rehearsal for the wedding was at six.  “If it wasn’t for Mrs Meredith and the few stragglers I’d shut the shop now.  It would serve her right.” 

"I’m afraid I’ll have to go,” said Mrs Meredith pushing back her chair.  If I wait for your mother any longer I’ll miss my bus.”    

Teresa turned and smiled at the frail old lady shuffling towards her on her walking stick.

“Tell your mother I shall miss her and I’m going to miss her apple pie even more.  Wish her a happy retirement.”  She put her bill and money down on the counter.  “And you my dear,” she smiled,  “Good luck for your big day tomorrow.  I wish you well.”   

“Thank you Mrs Meredith.” 

“Tell your mother to pop in and see me.  There’s no excuse now she’s retiring.” 

“I will, and thank you for your custom these past....”

“Twenty three years next Friday to be exact,” Mrs Meredith steadied herself with her stick,   “We’ve seen a lot of changes your Mam and I, and a lot of them haven’t been for the better.”  She leaned closer and winked, “And that isn’t a dig at you.”  

Teresa laughed.  “I didn’t think it was.”

The bell over the door tinkled and Harold Gronnow the village grump came in.

“I’m off,” said Mrs Meredith avoiding him.  “See you in church.”

“Cup of tea,” Harold commanded, “And a ham sandwich, with fresh bread.”  He scowled his way past the seated customers and took his place by the window.  Before sitting down he shouted, “Hot tea mind- don’t want any of that luke warm stuff.”

“No Mr. Gronnow.”  Teresa took a deep breath and turned to butter the bread.  She would have dearly loved to say, “Sorry but we’re closing early today.  The change over you know.”  But her training made her hold her tongue.

She looked at her watch again, slapping the ham between the bread, “My mother really is the limit.”  She’s never taken my feelings into consideration.” 

Even as a child her mother had made her help in the shop and it was always when she’d wanted to go swimming or play in the park with the other children.  They would laugh and make faces at her through the window and she’d be miserable, stuck behind the counter, washing dishes. 

She doesn’t think, that’s my mothers problem.  Today of all days she knows how important it is to me and she’s probably gossiping up the road while I’m left to deal with the worlds worst customer.  She’ll get a piece of my mind when she gets back.”

“Come on!  Haven’t got all day!” snapped Harold, tapping the table with the saltcellar.

She took a deep breath, went over to his table and placed the sandwich firmly in front of him.  She took the saltcellar from his hand and placed the bill beneath it on the table.  “Will there be anything else, sir.”?

“No,” he picked up the corner of the sandwich.

“Don’t worry.  I haven’t put mustard.  You complained the last time.” 

“Good,” he clicked his teeth then sank them into the sandwich.

She turned and picked up the dirty dishes from the table opposite.  The young couple at the corner table gave her a sympathetic smile.

Harold's voice followed her through a mouthful of sandwich.  “Hey!  I understand you are marrying Greg Hounslow tomorrow.”

Teresa turned and stared at him.  Her voice was calm and controlled, “Yes I am and no doubt you have an opinion about it.”    

The heads of the other customers sank lower over their teacups.  Even Harold was taken back by her directness.

“Well come on Mr Gronnow.  Say something.”

Harold recovered, “All I have to say is, it’s not usual. Not in our church.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” he stammered.  “I don’t know.  But it doesn’t seem right, not in our church.

Her colour rose and she could feel her control slipping away.  “Whatever do you mean?”

The corner of his mouth drooped.  “It would never have been allowed in the old days.”

“Well, things are different now.  Mr. Gronnow, as you would know if you attended....”    

Before she could continue the bell over the door tinkled and her mother appeared, red faced and flustered, carrying large bottles of champagne.  Behind her came a string of regular customers, including Greg Houndslow, his fiancée Joanna and old Mrs Merredith reappeared. 

“Sorry I’ve been so long.” her mother said.  “But I had to wait until everyone arrived.  Come on Harold help open these bottles,” she handed the champagne to Harold Gronnow.

“Surprise, surprise.”  The voices rang out, as the people filed into the tearoom, waving their empty wine glasses.

“What’s going on,” Teresa gasped, gazing at all the smiling faces.  Even Harold was smiling as he popped the champagne cork high into the air.

Everyone held out their glasses for Harold to fill. 

Teresa’s mother held her glass high.  “I toast the bride and groom,” she said, “The first couple to be married at St. Claire’s by our new Lady Vicar..... My daughter Teresa.” 

..........................................................................The end