Talk Over Tea – Part 2
By
Kate Alexander-Kirk © 28-05-2012
Jean’s impatient taps of her manicured nails rattle across the Formica tabletop. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Especially not in the unprecedented heat-wave which glistens her brow. She sneaks a furtive glance around her, checks the door, ready to pounce on Isobel the moment she arrives. The incomprehensible buzz of chitchat causes her further irritation as she struggles to eavesdrop over the cacophony and clatter of dirty cutlery.
The waitress stares at her; the café is inordinately busy. Jean grits her teeth. Forces her plum glossed lips into a tight smile and ignores the queue of people eyeing her table. Instead, points her head up, contemplates the ceiling; avoids eye contact.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Jean –“
“At last! Where have you been? I’ve been getting the evil eye.”
“I’m sorry, I was –“
“Honestly, if looks could kill. I mean, Isobel. It’s the age of modern technology – you could have at least text me.”
“Well, if you’d check your phone once in a while instead of moaning your drawers off, you’d realise that I’ve been calling you for the last twenty minutes.”
“Me?”
“And don’t bother telling me your phone’s switched off, because it’s not. It kept ringing out and ringing out. I held on for ages.”
Jean rifles through her Mary Poppins inspired handbag. In her search for the phone she brings out a packet of tissues, a dog-eared paperback with a steamy front cover and a bashed Granny Smith apple. She places the phone on the table and roots around in her bag for her specs. The glasses are horn rimmed, the lenses smudged. Isobel sighs as Jean puffs onto each lens before rubbing with her cardigan sleeve. She squints down at the blinking message on the phone’s screen.
“Seven – missed… calls from… Oh, they’re all from you, Isobel.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Oh,” Jean chuckles, “That’s funny. I kept hearing this constant ringing and I was wishing the person would answer their bleedin’ phone!”
Isobel rolls her eyes as the waitress comes over, pad in hand.
“What would you like?”
Jean removes her glasses as Isobel leans towards the cake display, licking her lips.
“What will I have…? Hmm… What have you got today?”
“We’ve got éclairs, treacle tart, fly cemetery, strawberry tart, drop scones, jam tarts, snowballs…”
“Come on, Isobel. What are you playing at?”
“What?”
“She’ll have a scone and jam and I’ll have the caramel shortcake.”
“The last piece’s just been sold.”
“Bugger, Isobel. If you hadn’t have kept me waiting, I’d have had that cake.”
“You’re acting like it was deliberate. Bloody caramel shortcake. You can have that any day. It’s not even all that good here.”
“Eh, excuse me,” pipes in the waitress, “That’s my mum’s homemade cake.”
“Sorry, darling’, no offence intended. We’ll just bring us a couple of scones and some clotted cream and jam. And a couple of pots of tea.”
“I don’t want a bloody scone.”
“Tough. You’re having it. I’ve got important news. That’s why I’m late.”
Jean’s still muttering her dissent as the waitress returns. She clunks their plates down heavily. Isobel ignores her, leans in, conspiratorially.
“I met Rita on my way here. Remember Willy Fraser?”
“Aye – the Minister’s son?”
“Yes.”
They pause as the two metal teapots are plonked down, before re-huddling.
“He’s left Effie.”
“Never -”
Jean gasps, stirring the contents of her teapot briskly.
“Seemingly he’s been having it off with this one for months now.”
“That’s terrible!”
“I know. It’s the talk of the town. These two cavorting behind Effie’s back.”
“Oh my – she’ll be mortified!” Isobel nods with agreement. “Poor soul, is it someone younger and better looking?”
“Well, not younger. As for better looking… I guess that depends on your taste, really.”
Jean looks up, “Go on!”
“Well,” Isobel continues in a stage whisper, “He’s left her for big Stevie – the butcher!”
There is a momentary lull; the customers unite in a shocked gasp as Jean thuds to the floor. Isobel pours the tea regardless.
“Eh, is she alright?” the waitress trills. “Shouldn’t we help her up?”
“She’ll be fine in a moment, dear. But if you’ve got a wee dram – that might help with the shock…”
Tune in next week for the continuing saga of Jean and Isobel…
Ms Katykins






















