The Tea Lady

This is part 3 of the story that started with Can I join you. 
For part 1 click here, for part 2 click here

 I opened my front door and Beryl almost fell into my arms, I held her for a moment, my nose in her peroxide hair.  She smelt of cigarettes and gin, a combination I could relate to. Her body felt good next to mine but I had the feeling she hadn’t come here for that.

‘She’s gone,’ she said into my chest. ‘She’s gone,’ she repeated. I pushed her away from me holding her at the shoulders. Her eyes were red and puffy, tear-smudged make up on her face.

‘Who?’ I said.

‘My daughter, she didn’t come home tonight. She always comes home. She goes for a drink with the girls from work but she’s always home for her dinner. She told me if she ever disappeared, I should come to you.’ She collapsed into my chest again and sobbed. I held her in my arms wondering what she was talking about, who was her daughter? Why would the kid tell her to come to me? Nothing made sense.  

‘Can I make you some tea?’ I asked her. She nodded her head and I managed to manoeuvre her into the living room and lower her onto the sofa before going to the kitchen and putting the kettle on, then I lit two cigarettes and handed one to Beryl. She took a long drag, her eyes closed and her face pale. I went back to the kitchen and made the tea, I was suddenly very aware that I wanted the tea to be as good as the tea she made me.

She cupped her mug in her hands, looking at me silently, begging me to say something that would calm her fears. But my problem was, I had no idea what was causing her fears.

‘Tell me the story again.’ I said.

‘My daughter, she’s been acting strangely, said it was time to make a difference. She told me she had found out you were working for people who she wanted to work for too. She swore me to secrecy.’

‘You’re Bethan’s mother?’ The penny finally dropped, I’d been thinking she was talking about a 12 year old, but I gradually saw a resemblance as she spoke. But surely Beryl wasn’t old enough.

‘Yes, I was young when I had her,’ she said.

I was trying to do the maths, Beryl was about my age, Bethan about 24 / 25. That would have made Beryl 17/18 when she had Bethan. I supposehat could make sense.

‘17’. She’d read my mind. ‘Why do you think I’m a tea woman?’ Her voice was defensive. I shrugged, I was obviously judging her with my eyes without meaning to.  Or maybe she was just paranoid from years of explaining.

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘And what have they done with Bethan?’ I shrugged again and looked around for my ciggies, they were in the kitchen. I got up to get them, we both needed the comfort of nicotine.

I wandered over to the window, the night was still quiet, the demons still hidden. I was deciding how much to tell the woman sobbing on my sofa, she deserved an explanation but I had to be careful. Maybe this was the trap. It didn’t feel like a trap, but then traps rarely do.

I looked at the reflection of Beryl, I’d often wondered about getting her back here, never thought it would come true and now it had I wished it hadn’t. I decided to pay dumb. I could tell her nothing but still help her find out what had happened to Bethan.