The Vintage Teacup Club by Vanessa Greene

drawings actually weren’t half bad. I turned to look at the first page again and felt a little flush of possibility that mirrored the feeling I’d had the day I’d come up with the idea. I’d started it for fun, because I’d always enjoyed writing and drawing and had wanted a project to work on. But then I’d hoped to finish writing the story and get the drawings coloured up, and I’d even wondered if maybe I’d be able to get a publisher interested. Butsomewhere along the line I’d shelved my dreams.
    Perhaps it was due to that nagging voice of doubt I had always heard but was only just beginning to recognise: the voice that made me believe that if I were
really
any good Mum wouldn’t have left.
    But, these days, I was getting better at shutting it out. I put the book pages into their box and tied it back up with brown string. This time, itwasn’t going back on the shelf.



Chapter 11
Jenny
    The three of us stood on the seafront, the first weekend in June, leaning up against its painted blue barrier. Alison and Maggie were laughing while their hair whipped around their faces and Maggie’s skirt was swept up by the wind. I took the Flake out of my ice cream and licked it.
    Our Sunday so far had passed in a heady, laughter-filled daze. It was the first really hot weekend we’d had and everyone’s spirits were high. I had called Maggie and Alison that morning to suggest we spend the day antiques-hunting in Brighton, just the three of us. They’d both leapt at the idea and just over an hour later, we were scouring the stalls and vintage hideaways of the north lanes. Luck was on ourside, we’d found four 1950s cups with richly coloured anemones on the sides, another full set with tiny primroses on them, and a trio of identical tiny milk jugs that were going to look perfect on the tables at my wedding.
    We’d walked through the cobbled streets, looking around the shops, Maggie driving a hard bargain as ever. Jugglers and musicians competed for attention on street corners, distracting passersby from their shopping and entertaining families with young children.
    When we’d finished our shopping, Alison, Maggie and I had walked down onto the pier. ‘Look at this,’ Maggie had said, picking up a giant souvenir lollipop. ‘I’m getting one for my niece Maisy.’ We’d walked along the wooden boards, looking out at the expanse of sea, the sun glinting off it. Alison decided to have her fortune read, but came out of the little cabin a fiver down and none the wiser. ‘I thought they were meant to tell you about abundant riches and your tall, dark stranger?’ she said. ‘But all she told me was to tread carefully, that there was a big change coming. Do you think she means the menopause?’ She bit her lip, then smiled. ‘I didn’t pay to hear that …’ After a round on the dodgems in which Maggie swore I’d given her whiplash, we’d wandered back here, to the seafront.
    I took another mouthful of sweet white ice cream and laughed at Maggie’s attempts to stop her skirt blowing up. Down on the pebbled beach in front ofus an old man threw a tennis ball for his golden retriever and two colourful kites intertwined in the air.
    ‘How about we grab a bottle of wine and head down there for a picnic?’ I suggested, pointing down towards the pebbles.
    ‘Good idea,’ Maggie said. ‘Let’s stop by the car and I’ll get the rug.’
    We’d set up camp at the far end of the beach, complete peace apart from the distant noise of the fairground on the pier and the squawking of seagulls. I’d opened a bottle of white and was pouring large cups for me and Alison and a more modest one for Maggie, who was going to be driving us home.
    ‘Maggie?’ Alison said.
    ‘Yes?’ she replied, taking a sip.
    ‘I’ve been thinking, are you interested in dancing at all?’ Alison asked hopefully. ‘It’s just, I’ve been taking a break from swing, but we could go together, there are some really nice men there I think you