Free The Tea House on Mulberry Street by Sharon Owens Page A

companion was tapping her feet and nodding her head in time to the music. He asked her to dance. They stood up. Penny was tall and so was he. They looked well together as he led her out onto the floor. They stayed there for half an hour, and when the slow set began, Daniel slipped his arms round Penny’s back and her arms went round his neck in a gentle movement that was both tender and erotically charged. They were pressed close together like lovers, swaying together like professional dancers. Daniel whispered something into Penny’s ear and she laid her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. The waiters were dumb with jealousy, and Millie knew she would have to find a new friend to trail round the pubs and clubs of The Big Smoke.
    They married quietly. It was New Year’s Eve, 1982. Daniel was approaching thirty-one and Penny was just eighteen. There were only twenty guests at the wedding, all from Penny’s family circle. Daniel’s Aunt Kathleen was dead and gone, hopefully to better things. He had no other relatives. He kept his mother’s disappearance and his recent dismissal a secret. He told Penny that his late mother was called Kathleen, but that he did not go to visit her grave often as it upset him too much. He told her that his boss thought the world of him, and had given him as much time off for the wedding as he wanted. He invited none of his old friends from The Imperial. He said that he would not invite a coach-load of guests, when Penny’s father was paying for the whole thing. And he had so many friends, it would be hard to narrow it down. And what was the point, anyway? He was so in love with Penny, he would not care if they were all alone in the church. Penny was enchanted. He gave his bride a lovely painting of Portstewart Strand as a wedding present.
    It rained all day. They drove in a convoy to a crumbling hotel in Portrush, on the north coast, for the reception. The small group posed for a photograph on the promenade, where a sudden gust of wind blew Penny’s hat over the railings and into the sea. The silk flowers on the brim turned a dark colour in the freezing water. The hat bobbed up and down for a minute and then sank quietly beneath the waves, like a wreath at a burial-at-sea. If she had been there, Brenda Brown would have pronounced it a bad omen but, as Penny’s wedding hat was going to its watery grave, Brenda, aged seven, was colouring in the patterns on her mother’s new wallpaper with a packet of permanent markers.
    The dining-room in Portrush was draughty, but the small party put on a good show of merriment. They had home-made vegetable soup and soft bread rolls with butter curls, and then stuffed breast of chicken and creamed potatoes. The waitresses served baby carrots and cauliflower florets from stainless steel dishes, scraping the spoons loudly against the metal containers. Daniel let his eyes wander over the silver candlesticks, but he kept his hands under the table. Tiny bowls of sherry trifle and cream were served for dessert. The wedding-cake, with its pretty silver horseshoe decorations, was cut, and the teas and coffees were poured from scalding pots.
    The speeches were short. Penny’s father coughed to hide the falter in his voice as he told the guests how much joy Penny, a surprise late baby, had brought to their lives. He said that he hoped that Penny and Daniel would be as happy all their lives as they looked on this day.
    He then announced his intention to retire from the catering trade and give his beloved tea house to the happy couple as a wedding gift. There was a little flat above the shop, he said, which would suffice for living quarters until they bought a house of their own. Everyone clapped and cheered, and stood to drink a toast to the handsome groom and his blushing bride. Daniel put his arm round Penny and kissed her warmly. Penny’s father signalled to the band that it was time to begin the music and the dancing, and everyone stood and raised