Jenny
Tuesday, 27th August
It was Tuesday afternoon, our sacred time. Maggie, Alison and I were sitting around a table at the front of Alison’s café,
Blitz Spirit. At the centre of proceedings – as always – was a delicate china teapot, and three of our favourite vintage cups,
on saucers. In the year since we first met one another, at a car boot sale in Charlesworth village, a lot had changed – but
our love of tea and fine crockery hadn’t.
‘Thank God for Tuesdays,’ I said, taking a bite of one of the cinnamon biscuits Alison had laid out for us. ‘It’s great to
see you guys. I’m not sure where the time’s gone this week.’
‘Still caught up in newlywed bliss?’ Alison said, a glint in her kohl-lined eyes.
‘Hardly,’ I laughed. ‘I think that lasted all of about two weeks for me and Dan, then it was business as usual. I’ve been
busy with work – the publicity tour is coming up and been finishing off the illustrations for my next book.’
My days had been spent in our back garden, out in the writing shed that Dan had constructed for me when we moved in. I was
working on a new children’s book, fitting in as much as I could before I set off on a national tour to promote my first one.
‘How exciting,’ Alison said. ‘I can’t wait to see your picture in the papers – Jenny Davis, children’s scribe extraordinaire.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I smiled. It was enough to take in that my story, once just a few doodles and notes, had made it
into print. ‘I’ll be happy if I get a few kids along to the signings. It’s lovely to have an excuse to travel round the country,
though. I think Dan’s a bit envious, he’s going to be at home on dog-sitting duties.’
‘You will tell us how it’s going, won’t you?’ Maggie said, brushing a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes. ‘But don’t stay
away too long. I’m not sure what I’d do without our Tuesday meet-ups, they can never come round soon enough,’ she said. ‘I
know you two refuse to believe me … but this little angel’ – she bent to touch her baby son Stan’s cheek as he slept in his
buggy – ‘isn’t always quite like this.’
‘I can’t believe that,’ Alison said. ‘I swear my two never used to sleep as much as he does. But yes – I treasure these afternoons
too. After all, it’s the one time I get to be a customer in my own café.’
She glanced back at the counter, where her business partner and old friend Jamie was serving someone. He winked over at us
and gave a little wave. ‘Being one of the bosses does have its perks.’
At the start of last summer, Blitz Spirit had just been a twinkle in Jamie and Alison’s eye, a disused shop that had once
been an estate agency, and now it was the hub of Charlesworth High Street: a café with mid-century furniture, assorted vintage
gems, canvases on the walls from local artists – and cake to die for. Alison’s craft evenings – Stitch ’n’ Blitz knitting
night, and her rebel cross-stitch sessions – had seen me through the winter, a chance to meet up and chat with friends.
‘I found something in the charity shop this morning that I wanted to show you,’ I said, reaching into my bag. I pulled out
a DVD of
Some Like it Hot
, with Marilyn on the cover. ‘Fifty pence! Can you believe it? Such a great film.’
‘Oh, I love this one,’ Maggie said, taking the film from me. ‘“Look how she moves! It’s like Jell-O on springs!”’ she quoted,
in an American accent. ‘She was sewn into that dress, you know.’
A thought seemed to come to her. ‘You know what, Ali. You could do screenings in here, in the evenings. Have you ever thought
about it?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Alison said, mulling it over. ‘But I think it’s a great idea. Pete and I have got a projector at home somewhere,
actually. I’ll have a look in the attic.’
I heard a knock at the window next to us, and turned to see a
Tuesday, 27th August
It was Tuesday afternoon, our sacred time. Maggie, Alison and I were sitting around a table at the front of Alison’s café,
Blitz Spirit. At the centre of proceedings – as always – was a delicate china teapot, and three of our favourite vintage cups,
on saucers. In the year since we first met one another, at a car boot sale in Charlesworth village, a lot had changed – but
our love of tea and fine crockery hadn’t.
‘Thank God for Tuesdays,’ I said, taking a bite of one of the cinnamon biscuits Alison had laid out for us. ‘It’s great to
see you guys. I’m not sure where the time’s gone this week.’
‘Still caught up in newlywed bliss?’ Alison said, a glint in her kohl-lined eyes.
‘Hardly,’ I laughed. ‘I think that lasted all of about two weeks for me and Dan, then it was business as usual. I’ve been
busy with work – the publicity tour is coming up and been finishing off the illustrations for my next book.’
My days had been spent in our back garden, out in the writing shed that Dan had constructed for me when we moved in. I was
working on a new children’s book, fitting in as much as I could before I set off on a national tour to promote my first one.
‘How exciting,’ Alison said. ‘I can’t wait to see your picture in the papers – Jenny Davis, children’s scribe extraordinaire.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I smiled. It was enough to take in that my story, once just a few doodles and notes, had made it
into print. ‘I’ll be happy if I get a few kids along to the signings. It’s lovely to have an excuse to travel round the country,
though. I think Dan’s a bit envious, he’s going to be at home on dog-sitting duties.’
‘You will tell us how it’s going, won’t you?’ Maggie said, brushing a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes. ‘But don’t stay
away too long. I’m not sure what I’d do without our Tuesday meet-ups, they can never come round soon enough,’ she said. ‘I
know you two refuse to believe me … but this little angel’ – she bent to touch her baby son Stan’s cheek as he slept in his
buggy – ‘isn’t always quite like this.’
‘I can’t believe that,’ Alison said. ‘I swear my two never used to sleep as much as he does. But yes – I treasure these afternoons
too. After all, it’s the one time I get to be a customer in my own café.’
She glanced back at the counter, where her business partner and old friend Jamie was serving someone. He winked over at us
and gave a little wave. ‘Being one of the bosses does have its perks.’
At the start of last summer, Blitz Spirit had just been a twinkle in Jamie and Alison’s eye, a disused shop that had once
been an estate agency, and now it was the hub of Charlesworth High Street: a café with mid-century furniture, assorted vintage
gems, canvases on the walls from local artists – and cake to die for. Alison’s craft evenings – Stitch ’n’ Blitz knitting
night, and her rebel cross-stitch sessions – had seen me through the winter, a chance to meet up and chat with friends.
‘I found something in the charity shop this morning that I wanted to show you,’ I said, reaching into my bag. I pulled out
a DVD of
Some Like it Hot
, with Marilyn on the cover. ‘Fifty pence! Can you believe it? Such a great film.’
‘Oh, I love this one,’ Maggie said, taking the film from me. ‘“Look how she moves! It’s like Jell-O on springs!”’ she quoted,
in an American accent. ‘She was sewn into that dress, you know.’
A thought seemed to come to her. ‘You know what, Ali. You could do screenings in here, in the evenings. Have you ever thought
about it?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Alison said, mulling it over. ‘But I think it’s a great idea. Pete and I have got a projector at home somewhere,
actually. I’ll have a look in the attic.’
I heard a knock at the window next to us, and turned to see a
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