Read The Tea House on Mulberry Street for Free Online

there’s a postbox just outside the window, which is handy.
    I look forward to your reply. I am a genuine fan. Yours sincerely,
    Brenda Brown
    Brenda folded up the letter, and kissed it, and slipped it into a crisp red envelope (25p each from Bradbury Graphics). She wrote on the front, in gold ink: To Nicolas Cage, Hollywood Actor, Hollywood Hills, Hollywood USA. She stuck several First Class stamps on the envelope and held it softly against her cheek.
    “Ah luv ya, Brenda Brown from Belfast Town,” she whispered, in an American accent.
    Penny came out of the kitchen just then, with some clean cups and saucers on a tray.
    “Writing to him again, are you? If I were you, I’d post that letter right this minute. You’re not going to live forever, you know. And neither is he. I saw him in Hello last week, and his hairline is receding, for heaven’s sake. We’ll all be pensioners before anything exciting happens around here.”
    Brenda was shocked. It was so unlike Penny to be outspoken. She was usually the most docile of creatures. There was something about her today, some bright look in her eyes that disturbed Brenda. Were her words an omen? Brenda believed in omens.
    Suddenly, she bolted from the shop to the postbox outside and thrust the letter into the slot. Then, immediately, she was sorry. She peered into the postbox, but it was too late. The letter was gone, down into the darkness at the bottom. It was now the property of the Post Office.
    With knees that had turned to jelly, she tiptoed back inside, and sank into her chair. Her tea was cold. She looked hopefully towards the counter. Penny usually gave her a free refill, but her luck was out today. Penny was back at the sink and there was only Daniel at the counter, with a frown of concentration on his face as he carefully sliced up a big cake with fancy icing on it.
    Brenda began to breathe very softly, to calm the panic that was making her heart flutter. And she waited for the postman to come, to make the ten o’clock collection.

Chapter 4

    H ENRY B LACKSTAFF ’ S D ILEMMA
    Henry Blackstaff was the next customer in Muldoon’s Tea Rooms that day. He came in just as Brenda was leaving. She did not return his smile. He settled in to his favourite spot by the window and sat down. Daniel was at his side at once. Henry said hello and ordered a full Ulster fry with extra soda bread and a pot of coffee. Daniel was pleased to take down the first decent order of the day. He brought Henry his cutlery and set it down on the table with a showy flourish. An old big-tip gesture from his hotel days at The Imperial.
    Henry pulled a copy of The Guardian from his jacket pocket. He spread the newspaper on the table, and began to read.
    Henry was forty-one and a failed novelist who spent his days sitting behind a large desk in his antique bookshop on Great Victoria Street. He had inherited the shop, his lovely home and a substantial sum of money from his uncle, Bertie Blackstaff. Bertie had made his money building railways in England and when he died without a family of his own, Henry got the lot. He sat in his shop, writing his dreary novels, and selling the occasional book, and living a peaceful life. Then he met Aurora.
    She came into his shop one day, hoping to find a first edition of Jane Eyre , or a signed copy of anything by Charles Dickens, and found Henry instead. It was love at first sight for both of them. Aurora Blackstaff was an institution in her school. All-Girls of course, and only the brightest students were admitted each September. English and Drama were her subjects, had been for twenty years, and she was now Deputy Head Teacher. She had dedicated her life to the abolition of regional accents, and the promotion of classic English Literature of the Nineteenth Century. In her spare time, Aurora formed a literary appreciation society and called it The Brontë Bunch. The members of the society met at Aurora’s house twice a month, when they all squeezed into the