it’s Oliver Twist cake, I’ll have you know,’ Leni gently admonished him.
‘Oh,’ said Mr Singh. ‘And what flavour is the Oliver Twist cake?’
‘Strawberry,’ smiled Leni and Mr Singh laughed and so infectious was the sound that Carla and Molly chuckled quietly too.
‘Very good, very good,’ said Mr Singh. ‘Tea and Oliver Twist cake then please, Leni.’ And he sat down on one of the vacant tables.
I’ll definitely come back here
, thought both Molly and Carla when they left. There was something about the little teashop and the friendly owner that took them away from dark
places in their heads. It was a temporary magic, but it might just work again, they hoped.
Chapter 19
Theresa and Jonty arrived at Carla’s house with a Chinese takeaway and two bottles of red wine. Dear Jonty, the tallest and cleverest man she knew, enfolded her in a huge
bear hug. By the time he had released her, Theresa had taken out the plates which were warming in the oven.
‘Come on, whilst it’s hot. I’m absolutely famished, so we can talk whilst we eat. Jonty – pour the wine, darling.’
‘Aye, dun’t worry. I’ve got it soor-ted.’
Jonty’s acccent was as broad Yorkshire as Theresa’s was cut-glass.
‘Don’t give me a lot of food, I’m not hungry,’ said Carla.
‘You’ll eat what you are given,’ replied Theresa sternly. ‘You’re going to need all the strength you can get.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ replied Carla.
‘We aren’t going to dress it up,’ said Theresa, ripping the top from a carton of egg fried rice. ‘It could be better news. Jonty and I have dissected all your
paperwork.’
‘I’ve spoken to Freddy on your behalf. He’s put you a formal letter in the post outlining everything,’ said Jonty, screwing the top off the first bottle of red.
‘Bloody good solicitor, I have to say. You’re all right with me talking to him for you?’ he checked.
‘Of course,’ replied Carla. ‘I’m grateful for any help you can give me, and I know you’ve got my back, Jonty.’
Jonty pushed his gold-rimmed glasses further up his nose.
‘Sit,’ commanded Theresa, fitting a fork in Carla’s hand as if she were a five-year-old.
‘Julie
is
Martin’s legal wife, that checks out,’ began Jonty. ‘But we might still have a case for claiming something from the estate under the 1975 Inheritance
Act if you can prove you were dependent on him prior to his death. When were you made redundant?’
‘About a month before Martin died.’
‘Hmm . . .’ replied Jonty, spearing a mushroom. ‘Well, I am absolutely sure there is a way to secure this as your home, at least until any claim you make has been decided
upon.’
‘I don’t want to,’ replied Carla. Pat Morrison’s words about starting afresh had never left the forefront of her mind. ‘I want to leave this house. I’m going
to lose anyway in the end. Julie Pride told me herself that their money was in her name, and I’m sure she could prove that Martin was going to leave me. She’s pregnant with his child. I
don’t have the money or the energy to put up a fight. I don’t want to end up in a newspaper as a sensationalist story, I just want to go quietly.’
‘Don’t be insane, darling,’ replied Theresa, raking a hand through her short red curls. ‘You contributed to the upkeep of this house. You have a case.’
‘Julie said I can have all the contents. I’m going to sell them and start again somewhere. There’s only two hundred pounds in our joint savings account, but I’ll transfer
it out and close it down. I have Martin’s insurance policy and a couple of thousand pounds of my own so I’m sure I’ll be able to rent something.’
‘Have you had a look around for any of his bank books?’ asked Jonty.
‘Yes, but I can’t find them. He always used to keep things like that in a shoe-box in his wardrobe. I presume he must have taken them to Julie’s house so I couldn’t see
‘Oh,’ said Mr Singh. ‘And what flavour is the Oliver Twist cake?’
‘Strawberry,’ smiled Leni and Mr Singh laughed and so infectious was the sound that Carla and Molly chuckled quietly too.
‘Very good, very good,’ said Mr Singh. ‘Tea and Oliver Twist cake then please, Leni.’ And he sat down on one of the vacant tables.
I’ll definitely come back here
, thought both Molly and Carla when they left. There was something about the little teashop and the friendly owner that took them away from dark
places in their heads. It was a temporary magic, but it might just work again, they hoped.
Chapter 19
Theresa and Jonty arrived at Carla’s house with a Chinese takeaway and two bottles of red wine. Dear Jonty, the tallest and cleverest man she knew, enfolded her in a huge
bear hug. By the time he had released her, Theresa had taken out the plates which were warming in the oven.
‘Come on, whilst it’s hot. I’m absolutely famished, so we can talk whilst we eat. Jonty – pour the wine, darling.’
‘Aye, dun’t worry. I’ve got it soor-ted.’
Jonty’s acccent was as broad Yorkshire as Theresa’s was cut-glass.
‘Don’t give me a lot of food, I’m not hungry,’ said Carla.
‘You’ll eat what you are given,’ replied Theresa sternly. ‘You’re going to need all the strength you can get.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ replied Carla.
‘We aren’t going to dress it up,’ said Theresa, ripping the top from a carton of egg fried rice. ‘It could be better news. Jonty and I have dissected all your
paperwork.’
‘I’ve spoken to Freddy on your behalf. He’s put you a formal letter in the post outlining everything,’ said Jonty, screwing the top off the first bottle of red.
‘Bloody good solicitor, I have to say. You’re all right with me talking to him for you?’ he checked.
‘Of course,’ replied Carla. ‘I’m grateful for any help you can give me, and I know you’ve got my back, Jonty.’
Jonty pushed his gold-rimmed glasses further up his nose.
‘Sit,’ commanded Theresa, fitting a fork in Carla’s hand as if she were a five-year-old.
‘Julie
is
Martin’s legal wife, that checks out,’ began Jonty. ‘But we might still have a case for claiming something from the estate under the 1975 Inheritance
Act if you can prove you were dependent on him prior to his death. When were you made redundant?’
‘About a month before Martin died.’
‘Hmm . . .’ replied Jonty, spearing a mushroom. ‘Well, I am absolutely sure there is a way to secure this as your home, at least until any claim you make has been decided
upon.’
‘I don’t want to,’ replied Carla. Pat Morrison’s words about starting afresh had never left the forefront of her mind. ‘I want to leave this house. I’m going
to lose anyway in the end. Julie Pride told me herself that their money was in her name, and I’m sure she could prove that Martin was going to leave me. She’s pregnant with his child. I
don’t have the money or the energy to put up a fight. I don’t want to end up in a newspaper as a sensationalist story, I just want to go quietly.’
‘Don’t be insane, darling,’ replied Theresa, raking a hand through her short red curls. ‘You contributed to the upkeep of this house. You have a case.’
‘Julie said I can have all the contents. I’m going to sell them and start again somewhere. There’s only two hundred pounds in our joint savings account, but I’ll transfer
it out and close it down. I have Martin’s insurance policy and a couple of thousand pounds of my own so I’m sure I’ll be able to rent something.’
‘Have you had a look around for any of his bank books?’ asked Jonty.
‘Yes, but I can’t find them. He always used to keep things like that in a shoe-box in his wardrobe. I presume he must have taken them to Julie’s house so I couldn’t see
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