The floral teacup
Augusta dear, will you serve tea in the special tea set?
The one gifted by the colonel’s wife for your wedding, ma’am?
Yes, dear, and please make haste: Ramsey is supposed to dine at home tonight and I do not wish for us to disappoint him.
Yes ma’am, of course.
(Augusta exits)
Lady Bracknell’s heart is pounding, racing, exploding in that little chest of hers: Ramsey said he would be there by four, and the clock on the wall opposite her favourite armchair - red and gold, comfortable but not too soft - informs her that only ten more ticks of the clock hands are left before her dear husband comes back home.
Lady Bracknell (Sylvia is her maiden name) keeps combing her hair with her fingers. Would it look good enough? All her previous chambermaids could never get it right, some of the most rebellious curls would get stuck in the wrong direction and there was no way of recovering them from complete chaos. Sylvia hates chaos. Everyone knows it.
Especially Ramsey.
Five more ticks awaiting, and Sylvia keeps straightening the creases in her dress - pink with light blue ribbons; would she look absolutely ridiculous in it? It used to be Ramsey’s favourite, that is until the children came: Martha first, and there was no time to recover from her birth when she got pregnant with Philip again. Her body took some time to retrieve its previous shape, and the pink dress remained in her cupboard, buried behind layers and layers of clothes that well hid her swelling body from sight.
Especially from Ramsey’s.
(The clock strikes four. Footsteps approaching. Augusta enters with the tea tray)
Augusta dear, leave everything on the table, and do not bother serving it: I will gladly wait for my dear husband.
Yes, ma’am.
Yes, thinks Sylvia as (Augusta exits), I’m sure there must have been some inconvenience at work; Ramsey has, oh his blessed soul, such a heart! Such a dedication for people in distress, I’m sure it must be the same at the office as well.
Yes, her dear husband is often away, leaves early in the morning only to come back exhausted after dinner, when Sylvia is putting the children to bed.
Yes, her dear husband only spends the night in the beautiful yet lonely house that she tends for him and the children, but he shares the bed with her, and Sylvia is sure that, when he joins her under the covers, he must surely indulge in a sweet, innocent goodnight kiss on her sleeping forehead, just like she does with Martha and Philip.
The clock hands signal five ticks after four, and Sylvia keeps playing a tune with her feet - clad by black satin boots over silk stockings - while her eyes steal furtive glances at the tea on the table. The cakes today look delicious. Surely it won’t do any harm if she has some without Ramsey, surely he won’t mind that his sweet Sylvia who is oh! so thirsty might have a sip or two while waiting for him?
(Sylvia pours herself some tea in a cup. Two lumps of sugar dive in it. She takes it to her lips when) Hot! Hot! (The cup slips from her hand, hits the floor, breaks. Tea is spilled all over the carpet)
The floral patterns of the cup and of the rug are now coalesced into an atrociously asymmetrical collage, whose delicate petals are scattered here and there, while leaves and buds threaten to escape the fringes of the artificial garden that has just blossomed in Sylvia’s living room.
What a terrible, reckless action she’s just committed! If only she’d waited for dear Ramsey, this would never have happened! Overwhelmed by grief for the fallen cup, (Sylvia runs to the closet and extracts a tube of Super Glue™. She sits on the floor and starts picking up each piece at a time, gluing them back together)
1st piece: Sylvia and Ramsey’s first meeting at Lady Cromwell’s ball. How the longing to know each other was sent like an electric shock through the tip of their fingers, when he asked her for the first dance. Now the halls are silent, and no one dares as much as to tiptoe on the lonely floorboards.
2nd piece: Sylvia and Ramsey’s first walk in the gardens. A hand swiftly produces a lilac out of nowhere, a smile escapes from Sylvia’s lips. Now the gardens are empty, and the lilacs she grew last spring have withered into nothingness.
3rd piece: The first time Ramsey called on her at her parents’ house. After supper, a furtive hand brushes the tip of her fingers while her mother looks away. Now his cold fingers flee from her warmth as if it were contagious.
4th piece: Sylvia’s photograph gifted by her to Ramsey. How his loving fingers caress it when he thinks she isn’t looking. Now it’s been abandoned to dust, death’s lost brother, which has covered it with the looming blanket of time.
5th piece: Sylvia and Ramsey’s first unchaperoned ride. How his hand gently closes around her waist in a loving embrace. Now when riding in the carriage he sits on the opposite side, white knuckles holding tight onto the seat beneath him.
(The cup is now mended. Mrs Bracknell calls for Augusta) Augusta dear, would you please keep the cup in its cupboard?
Yes, ma’am.
(The teacup is now resting in a safe, tranquil lethargy, peeping from behind lovely windows of caging glass. The scars running through it do not spoil the beautifully painted floral pattern, nor take away its timeless beauty. However, if one looks closely, one will notice that one leaf is slightly crooked, and that one petal is resting askew on its stem.
However, if one gives careful consideration, one must surely conclude that the cup cannot serve its purpose anymore - it cannot be filled with tea - it is but a hopeless ensemble of beautiful pieces that do not make sense as a whole) yes, if Sylvia were now to pour tea in the cherished cup, she is sure that it would flow out in an endless, relentless, unstoppable stream and oh! who would want to spoil such a precious carpet?
You can listen to a recording of this story at: Purple Radio Spotify
Illustrated by Amy Nugent