Free Tuesdays at the Teacup Club by Vanessa Greene Page A

family’s wolfhound,
     nudged his scruffy head under her arm until she finally shooed him away, readjusting the pencil that tied her wavy dark hair
     up. Newspaper covered every surface in the studio and Joni Mitchell sang out from her wax-spattered stereo.
    Alison had just mixed a golden yellow wax when soft-skinned arms hooped around her waist from behind and she jumped as her
     daughter Holly gave her a squeeze. She turned to see a grin on Holly’s freckled face, her messy brown curls clipped back with
     sparkly hairclips.
    ‘Woah, you gave me a fright, sweetheart,’ Alison said, smiling. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
    ‘Sorry,’ Holly said, with a shrug. ‘Bye, Mum.’
    ‘Bye darling, have a good day,’ Alison said, giving her a kiss on the head. She heard her elder daughter Sophie shouting out
     from the hallway, ‘Come on, Dad, you’re taking ages!’
    ‘Bye Sophie,’ Alison shouted out. The front door slammed, her goodbye unanswered. She did not miss the school run. This was
     usually the last distraction before the day was all hers: a quiet, productive, peaceful Tuesday. She loved her two daughters
     to bits, but work could never really get going until they were out of the house.
    Alison had put on a linen apron to protect the 1950s floral dress she’d put on that morning. Impractical, yes, but it suited
     her, flattered her curves, and she couldn’t resist wearing it now spring had finally sprung after what had felt like an endless
     winter. Ten identical blue teacups stood near the edge of her table ready to be filled with wax; by next week they would be
     sold as candles in the upmarket boutiques on Charlesworth High Street. She took a ladle over to the first cup and carefully
     filled it, then moved on to the second one. The golden yellow wax contrasted nicely with the blue – but something wasn’t quite
     right. She looked up at the mood board next to her studio window – colour swatches with delicatelilacs and bronzes, intricate embroidered lace, 1940s wedding photos and newspaper clippings giving a visual reminder of the
     brand identity she wanted to capture in her work. She added to it whenever she found a new scrap and looking at it always
     lightened her mornings. Not a teenager on there – just the beautiful things that had always inspired her. But the problem
     remained – something about the new cups didn’t quite fit.
    George, spotting a coal tit on the windowsill, leapt up from the rug where he’d been feeling sorry for himself and launched
     himself towards the open window by Alison’s worktop. The bird made a good getaway but the table, just a section of wood balanced
     on books and paint cans, wobbled and shifted – Alison reached out to stop anything sliding off, her heart racing as she pictured
     the teacups crashing down, but broad-based and sturdy, they hadn’t even flinched. In the garden, the blossom on her cherry
     tree quivered from the coal tit’s hasty exit. She’d picked out the cups from an online homeware shop. Totting up prices and
     calculating the profit margin had put her out of her comfort zone – the figures had made her head spin – but she knew they
     were cheap and clicked ‘buy’ on twenty items before her head took over. Since last Christmas, when Pete lost his job in communications
     for the NHS, things had changed; with only one of them working now she had to be practical where the business was concerned.
    But this morning she couldn’t see past the fact that these plain teacups weren’t delicate or pretty enough. They’d withstand
     an earthquake. She glanced from their cheerful matt blue back to her mood board – what she needed were fragile, soft tones
     that conjured up a different era, when people would make do and mend and a precious set of china would be cared for and cherished.
     What could be more indulgent than enjoying a bath surrounded by her upcycled teacups – candles with history? The car boot
     sale teaset she had