Afternoon Tea

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. Charlotte was looking forward to one tea party in particular, which she had meticulously planned one day in advance with an oh-would-you-please-come directed towards Mary Ann Winters, her best friend. The details of the occasion had floated into her mind while she was lying under the lacy sheets of her bed. There would be an array of cheese and crackers and a cake topped with strawberries on which they would dine under the blossoming cherry tree in the back garden as the sun dangled charmingly in the cloudless sky.

She scouted the kitchen in the late hours of the morning, standing on the tips of her toes to peer into the crowded cupboards. The only useful snacks Charlotte discovered were crumbling biscuits, and she had to clamber onto a wooden chair in order to reach them, her hand bypassing the colourful boxes of cereal. In the refrigerator she spotted some cheddar squeezed between the milk and the mayonnaise, and a bunch of green grapes were waiting for her in the crisper. She pleaded for her mother to prepare a chocolate cake, at the very least, but her mother simply smiled down at her and continued buttering the brown bread that would be used for the tiny sandwiches of their lunch.

When asked that afternoon, Charlotte’s father refused to transport the dining room table into the garden, which turned out for the better as grey clouds had covered every inch of sky like a carefully crafted quilt. Charlotte sulked into her playroom where she pulled out her child-sized wooden table and dragged it to the centre of the room. She delicately laid out a crisp white handkerchief to be used as a tablecloth and placed miniature porcelain teacups and saucers on top; they were white and hand-painted with tiny pink flowers. Then she returned to the kitchen to pester her mother into preparing a pot of tea while she took the milk, sugar and snacks to the table, spilling a few drops of milk on the clean white carpet as she went.

At four o’clock, Charlotte was sitting on the floor at the round table, carefully pouring tepid tea into cups for her dolls and toy animals to savour. Charlotte did not want to insist that her guests await Mary Ann; she could always make another pot of tea when the young lady arrived. She mixed some milk and sugar into her own teacup with a tiny spoon; the tea turned from a dark brown to a cloudy mocha colour, and she put the cup to her lips and sipped.

She turned to one of her toys and spoke in an imitation of a British accent. “I was so hoping it would be a lovely day to-day; weren’t you, Mister Rabbit?” She paused, as though waiting for a response. “I quite agree. Rain can be very nice, though I much prefer watching it to being in it, especially when it is windy and my umbrella gets turned inside out.”

She looked around the table anxiously before speaking again. “I do wonder where that Mary Ann is. It is so unlike her to be late, and she knew I was so looking forward to this tea party. It seems as though everything is going wrong to-day!”

The doorbell rang in the distance, startling Charlotte, and she splashed some tea onto her pink dress. She bounced up and ran towards the front door; Mary Ann had finally arrived.

But it was Mrs Winters standing in the doorway. Charlotte’s mother conversed with her while Charlotte suppressed a frown.

Charlotte’s mother closed the door and knelt beside her daughter. “Mary Ann has come down with a cold and isn’t able to come over today. Would you like me to join you for tea instead?”

The child shook her head. She returned to her bedroom and picked up the toy she called Mister Rabbit, using its floppy ears to wipe away the tears.

Charlotte’s mother stood in her daughter’s doorway and sighed. She went to the knee-high table, kneeled and picked up one of the tiny tea cups, which could have fit easily in the palm of her hand. Raising the cup to her lips, she took a sip and put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders.