Tea and Cake

The wealth of cakes on display in the window made his mouth water instantly and his tongue feel thick. His eyes were wide as he tried to take it all in. There were choux buns filled with thick, white cream; heavy looking fruit cakes, bursting with with raisins, dates and walnuts; golden, flaky shortbread; rich, dark, chocolate gateaux; multi-coloured cupcakes painted in all the colours of the rainbow and cookies baked with thick chunks of chocolate and toffee bursting through the biscuit. He’d never seen such a variety of pastries, biscuits, buns and delights in one place before, each one delicately arranged in the widow of the bakery, offering temptations and treats on their china plates and paper doilies.

He stood, peering into the display with his hands pressed against the window and his breath faintly fogging up the glass. He felt like a school boy admiring the richest collection of sweets the world had to offer and a smile spread across his lips. He felt almost foolish, but this wonderful sight had lifted his spirits the moment it caught his eye. The bright colours were hypnotic and he even thought he could smell the treats through the glass which made his tummy tighten and flutter in anticipation. The sensation was strange, yet comforting and he felt himself relax. It was odd that after everything else he’d been thinking and feeling, the sight of a few home-made comforts lifted the burden clean off his shoulders.

It was 5.30 PM, nearly closing time. Every other shop was starting to shut its doors and dim its lights, yet as far as he could tell, this shop seemed to be in no rush to finish its business for the day. It was difficult to tell for certain, but the lights inside remained on and the sign, hand written with elegant, flourishes of ink upon card, read “Open.” More than that though, he felt something inside him whisper and assure him that he would be allowed in, and once there that he’d find something to help drive all other worries from his mind for a few minutes at least.

With his mind made up, he moved to the door which swung open lazily at the first touch of his fingers. The top of the door clipped the small bell which hung from the frame and a sharp, clear note cut through the stillness of the shop as he stepped inside. All the tables were empty and the counter at the back was unattended. He felt his heart sink. Perhaps he’d been wrong and the shop was closing for the day. Any second now he would be ushered out and denied his chance to forget about his worries, he was sure of it. But no-one came, despite the chime announcing his arrival, and he stood, framed in the door-way, surveying the shop.

The room was long and narrow, as if the shop had been squeezed in between the two buildings either side almost as an after-thought. Perhaps this was why he had never noticed it before. In his constant rush to and from work he had never raised his eyes above the pavement and had always been too deep in his own thoughts to pay much attention to the world around him, but tonight, when he had been aimlessly wandering through the town trying to delay the inevitable return to his empty flat, he had seen the reflection of a silver dish as it caught the last rays of sunlight, and been drawn towards it. If he was turned away now it would only lower his mood more. He did not want to go home yet.

As if in response to his thoughts, a small wooden door at the back of the room opened and a short, elderly lady stepped out. She was brushing her white hair behind her ears and patting her worn, silver-grey dress in an effort to remove the dust and wrinkles. She smiled warmly as she walked towards him.

“I’m sorry,” he began, “are you closing? I’ll leave.”

He turned to go, but her voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh no, come in, please. I was just in the kitchen, I thought I heard the bell ring, but my hearing’s not what it used to be,” she apologised. “Come in, do. Sit down.”

He hesitated, but there was something in her smile which relaxed him. She looked and felt like a beloved Aunt you might have had as a child, and her warmth radiated through her voice.

“Take a seat, sweetheart.” She beamed, and pulled a chair from one of the empty tables.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

“From what?” She laughed. “I’m not going anywhere in a hurry. Come on, sit down.”

Her worn hands patted the back of the chair and he moved towards it. Although darker than he had expected, the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow. The light which poured through the window, reflected off the various plates and saucers on display and cast rippling patterns onto the walls and floor. It made the shop looked frail as if the very surface of the building was shaking nervously, but even with that, its worn carpet and tired red curtains, it still felt friendly and comfortable.

He slid the coat off his shoulders and looked around, admiring the curious little shop. It was the most perfect English tea room he could imagine. Red brick walls and thick wooden beams lined the building, each one holding a small metal lamp with a spluttering candle inside. The tables and chairs were carved from old wood and their table-clothes embroidered by hand. The air was heavily scented with baked goods and rich tea, and it made his stomach groan.

“I’m Mrs. Longwick. You make yourself comfortable, and I’ll fetch you some tea.” And before he could offer any form of protest, she bustled off through the door at the back of the room and left him alone.

It was the most unusual feeling. He’d never set foot inside this shop before, hadn’t even noticed it in fact, but now he was here, it felt so familiar. If it hadn’t been so late he imagined it would have been busy with customers, but as it was, he was alone and grateful for it. The peace and quiet
calmed him. The worries and fears, which had been piling higher and higher upon him all month, were momentarily forgotten and it felt good.

The door opened again and Mrs. Longwick returned, bearing a large silver tray with a pot of gently steaming tea sat on top. He watched her confidently weave her way towards him. As old as she might have been, she never wavered or put a foot wrong.

“Here you are,” she smiled, and placed the tray before him. “Can I tempt you with a cake?”

He grinned at the thought and licked his lips. This was what he wanted.

“I’d love a slice of fruit cake,”

“I think we can do better than a slice,” she winked, and returned shortly with another tray carrying the biggest fruit cake he had ever laid his eyes on. It must have been twice the size of his head and incredibly heavy, but she showed no concern and carried it easily towards his table.

“It’s the end of the day, so I think we should use as much of it up as possible. It won’t keep,” she continued, and began to cut a thick wedge for him. His eyes grew wide as she laid the slab upon a small china plate and then poured the tea into a dainty china cup. He took both gratefully.

“Do you mind if I sit?” She asked, and without waiting for an answer began to lower herself into the opposite chair. They smiled at each other as he took his first bite and felt the rich flavour filled his mouth. The sweetness of the cake was wonderful and the fruit was deliciously moist. The edge crumbled slightly  in his hand and he struggled to catch it, worried about the mess he might make, but the old lady merely smiled in encouragement, pleased to see him enjoying it so much. He struggled not to groan in pleasure.

She laughed. “Good, isn’t it? It’s always nice to see someone enjoying my baking.”

He wiped the crumbs from his hand and finished his last mouthful. “You made it?”

“Oh yes. Been in the business for years, sweetheart. Everything in here is my doing.”

She beamed with pride and watched as he took his tea. It was as delicious as the cake and he felt himself glow. Without him even asking, Mrs. Longwick began to cut another slice and laid it upon his plate. He raised his hand in protest, but she only shook her head and continued.

“There’s far too much here for me to keep,” she said. “It looks like you could do with a bit of comfort anyway.”

He blushed, wondering if his face wore his worries so much that even a kindly old lady could spot them.

“Thank you,” he smiled, and took another bite from the fresh slice as she poured another cup of tea. “Won’t you join me?”

“Oh no, sweetheart. I have to be careful about what I eat. You don’t get to this age by dining on cakes, you know.” And she laughed again. It was a light, airy sound which filled the room with joy and made him smile.

“Have you been here long?”

“Long enough.” She replied. “It’s an old business. My family moved here from Europe several decades ago. We used to have shops across the country, but there’s not many of us left anymore. My children are no longer with us. There’s no-one else to carry on the family tradition.”

He lowered his eyes and felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Oh I’m sorry,” he began but she raised one long finger to silence him.

“When you’re as old as me, sweetheart, you learn to deal with a lot of things. Grief is just one of many.” She smiled again to put him at ease and continued, “I never had a husband, but I’d always rather fancied that I’d find someone to help me. But business has been... slow. Life is unpredictable sometimes, isn’t it? Still, you found my shop, so perhaps there’s hope.”

“Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before.” He admitted guiltily.

“No, I don’t think you have, but you’re not alone. Time began to move too fast for people to pay attention to places like this. Everyone wants something straight away, they don’t stop and look around anymore. These days, I only seem to attract people with nowhere else to go, and there aren’t many of those around, let me tell you.”

Her voice trailed off slightly and she watched him finish the second slice and cup of tea with a faint smile on her lips.

“I feel like that,” he muttered. “Nowhere to go, I mean.” He blushed again as he heard himself speak. Talking about things had never been his strong point, and the thought of doing it to a stranger was almost alien to him, but it didn’t seem so bad now. It felt almost natural.

“We all fall out of place in the world, sometimes.” She whispered. “Sometimes it just isn’t sure what to do with us.”

He nodded in agreement. The sense of deflation had returned as quickly as it had gone and his mind sank into the grey mist of doubt at her words. In the seconds silence, Mrs. Longwick cut another slice of cake and pushed it towards him.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly...” He began. “I really shouldn’t...”

She hushed him and put the new slice on the plate anyway. “Eating always makes you feel better. It does me.” And he agreed, devouring another slice. He would never normally eat so much, but it tasted good and despite it’s weight he still didn’t feel full. He felt hollow, but he knew the emptiness inside him, which had been growing for weeks, if not months now, had nothing to do with food. It ran much deeper than that and kept him awake every night. He could not rest, he could not work. It felt as if he’d been sleep-walking through life and second guessing every decision he made. Life had derailed for him.

“You look hungry, sweetheart. Are you alone” She asked as the third slice began to disappear, and he nodded.

“No one to look after you or worry about you?”

He shook his head and busied himself with eating, hoping that any further questions would be avoided if he was unable to answer them. When he asked for another slice, she eagerly supplied it.

“Is there anything you would like to talk about?” She asked, as if reading his mind of the very thing he hated being asked the most. It was the question he’d been dreading, the one he’d been trying to avoid ever since he found himself feeling so out of place with everyone around him.

He squirmed in his seat, giving her all the answers she needed. He swallowed, muttered incomprehensibly, and instead of taking the chance to ease his mind, took another slice and tried to feed his hunger as the old lady watched.

“That’s it sweetheart, make yourself feel better.” She smiled and reached across the table to pat his hand. He smiled back weakly. Her kindness touched him, but he didn’t know how to respond and turned his eyes to the table to find, to his surprise, both his plate and cup were full again. He couldn’t remember seeing her re-fill them, or asking for them either.

“Sometimes, I just want to go away.” He said, with his head hung low.

“Where to?”

“I don’t know,” he shuffled, “just away.”

The silence stretched out and they sat quietly together for several minutes, her hand still resting on his.

“Have another slice of cake,” she whispered, licking her lips, and he took it. He was unable to resist the sweetness, and yet as he ate, he felt less comfort. He took another slice, and another, but his mood only darkened and the emptiness inside him grew. It all seemed such an effort to carry on living the life he had, and he was no longer sure whether he could do it anymore, or even if he should do it anymore. He’d been circling the same problems for three years and could still find no way out.

“Just another piece...” Mrs. Longwick teased, pushing the plate back towards him. He tried to say no, but before he could even get the words out of his mouth, she spoke over him. “I’ve never had a customer turn down a slice before. All you boys like sticky treats.” She grinned, and for a moment he felt himself hesitate. It was getting late and he felt tired to the core. Perhaps he should just go home.

“Take it.” She whispered, her voice now a low hiss which lured him closer to the slice. His hand was touching the china when the moment of hesitation rose inside him once more, but it was dimmer now. Quieter. It was only one more slice, he reasoned, what harm would it do? He held his hand over the slice, fingers poised to take it when he stopped himself. If he just sat here, hiding from his problems, nothing would ever get better. He should leave and...

“Eat it.”

Her words seemed suddenly sharp and he looked up, pulling his gaze from the wedge of cake which had been soothing him with its scent. She blinked and smiled, but he could have sworn, in that moment before she had moved, that her eyes had seemed much, much darker, almost black, but when he looked at her now, the little old lady’s face appeared to be just as it always had been.

He shook himself and tried to dislodge the muggy feeling which had settled on him. Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t tell what it was. The heat of the room seemed a little too high, and the sweet smell of the bakery seemed a little too strong. It made it hard to think straight and he coughed and lent forward, trying to shake the odd feeling away.

She patted his hand several times and he suddenly noticed the way her nails were gently raking the back of his hand. With her back to the window she had mostly been lost in shadow, but now he could see her fingers as they stroked his hand and crossed into the light. They seemed very dry and paper-like. Her skin was so thin that her veins almost threatened to push up through the surface in thick, dark, purple ropes around the knuckles.

He tried not to stare and felt himself flush as the temperature of the room seemed to rise.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” She whispered, and he lifted his eyes to look at her. In the fading light she looked just like any other little old lady, only, he realised nervously, that wasn’t quite true. She was wearing far too much make-up for a woman of her age, but not in any way that he had seen other women wear it. Her lips were painted a shade of red that was too dark to be natural and her eyes were highlighted with too much blue eye-shadow. The colour of her face was almost ghostly white and unnatural, and the skin around her mouth seemed to crack and shift as she smiled and spoke. It was as if she had once painted a rough impression of what a face should look like upon her own features, but now the make-up was old and stale. He could see it fall from her cheeks in little flakes, revealing dirty grey flesh beneath. An odour seeped out through the exposed creases of flesh which made him feel sick. It wasn’t the sweet smell of cookies or freshly baked goods in an oven, but the bitter tang of something rotting.

“I should go.” He blurted out, and tried to stand, but his head felt heavy and drowsy.

“Go? Where would you go to? You said so yourself, you’re all alone. Why don’t you eat some more cake?”

Her eyes caught his, and he tried to push himself away from the table but felt her hand clamp down tighter on his own, squeezing it against the table top and holding him in his place. He could feel her brittle nails biting into the skin on the back of his hand. Where once there had been a set of kindly old eyes, there now lay two deep, dark pits which offered no reflection.

“What did you put in the cake?” He asked, feeling his mind sag and sway.

“Nothing special, sweetheart.” She smiled.

He felt too heavy to move. His very bones seemed weighed down by a force so strong he could barely lift his feet.

“It tasted good because you wanted it to taste good. You wanted comfort. I just make them look pretty, you people fill them with your minds.”

She calmly rose from her seat and moved closer to him as his vision sharpened and blurred in quick succession. His body began to sweat.

“Have another bite, sweetheart. There’s not much left.”

She pushed a thin, scaly hand towards the cake and seized a thick handful. He tried to turn away, but could barely see her in the dim light and then he heard her breathing beside his face. Her gasps were short and sharp. He could hear her tongue run over her dried, cracked lips, and then he felt her pushing the handful of cake to his mouth. He twisted and turned, spitting it across the floor and saw what he had been eating. Not ripe fruit or freshly baked crumbs, but dirt and grit and sawdust which now caught in his throat making him gag and choke. His tongue tasted foul.

He could hear her humming as she poured another cup of tea. He opened his eyes and forced himself to focus. The liquid flowing from the pot was thick, sticky and black. It looked and smelt like tar as it oozed into the cup. He tried to swing his free hand at her as she moved forward and half-heatedly knocked it, splashing some of the contents over the carpet which had turned from a threadbare grey to a rich, thick, chocolaty brown.

“Careful!” She scolded. “I’ve used the same set for years. Can’t afford to replace them.”

He tried to heave himself from the chair, but his body no longer obeyed him.

“What have you done..?” He gasped, staring wildly around the room.

“You did it all yourself, sweetheart. I just give you a little push until you wore yourself out. You were only delaying the inevitable anyway. The time would have come when you died, sad and alone. I’m just doing you a service. And you’re going to do the same for me.”

He tried to turn his eyes this way and that, hoping someone would pass by the shop and see what was happening inside, but the light outside had completely gone. He had no idea what the time was anymore, but it was dark outside and the only light now came from the candles which were burning brightly on the wooden beams. He saw each one standing firm and strong along the wall, no longer looking old or tired. The curtains throbbed a full ruby red. The whole shop seemed to pulse with colour around him, making him feel nauseous.

She grabbed his face with one hand, nails digging into his cheeks with surprising strength, and forced his mouth open. He was helpless in her grasp as she emptied the remaining contents of the tea cup into his mouth and he felt the dark, bitter sludge slide down his throat. He choked and coughed, suddenly feeling as if he was drowning and when she let go he found himself almost completely paralysed in the chair.

His throat began to tighten. His fingers barely twitched. The emptiness rose from the pit of his stomach and over-whelmed him, consumed him, as the old lady prowled around in the shadows like a spider watching it’s prey finally give in to the venom and succumb to its fate.

“What do you want?” He gasped, struggling with each breath.

“Your help, sweetheart.” She replied, and positioned herself on his lap, lifting her tattered old dress and grinding her dry hips onto his. His mouth stopped moving, forever frozen in an open gape but unable to scream as he felt a searing hot pain in his chest. It was as if the claws of the devil had been pushed inside him and were twisting their way to his heart. He could see her mouth biting through his shirt, sucking on his chest with a force so strong he was convinced his skin would tear. He could feel her licking his flesh, tasting him.

“Mmm, delicious...” she purred, sitting back and admiring him. “I knew you’d help me.”

He could see her red stained mouth, and felt sick as he watched her lick up the beads of blood with a fat, wet, black tongue. It slithered around her lips, removing the drops she had drawn from his chest with her razor sharp teeth.

She raised one hand, pointing her nails to the part of his chest she had been suckling just seconds before, and pushed hard until the tips sank into the bite-marks. His mind screamed as she ground her hips faster and twisted her nails deeper, growing ever more excited and visibly salivating. Her dusty dress billowed as she rose and sank on his lap. She pushed her lips to his open mouth and began to suck hard.

He felt his body shudder and shake. She swallowed and gulped down his existence, letting it fill her belly. The part she needed was nearly hers, the part which might allow her family name to continue. He could feel his insides writhe and churn and he was powerless to stop it. Her frenzied attack grew stronger and stronger. He could taste her rank soul. Her stench filled his nostrils.

The moment was close, he knew it wouldn’t take much longer as her hips pressed down harder, squeezing him, and her mouth sucked the life from his hopeless, lost body. This was what she had needed and craved after so many barren years, he understood. He tried to fight one last time, but she only grinned and worked and worked and worked upon him, until the moment finally came.

With one last, strong thrust, his body heaved and the last hope was torn from him, wrapped inside his still beating heart. His body crumbled into dust beneath her, and as she straddled the once occupied chair, she held that warm glowing organ in her mouth and devoured it with relish.