Charred and still smoking, number 12, Pendragon Avenue, was a wreck.
Green roof tiles littered the pavement, cracked and shattered. Singed timber beams lay amongst the smouldering remains of oak tables and chairs, plastic tablecloths melted into the wood. Shards of glass were imbedded in the ash-covered carpet, once a rich, deep blue. The tea room had been utterly destroyed
11 months prior
The 1st of January. The beginning of a new year, a new year—and for many—a hangover. Arthur—sober as anything—stood at the door of his shop and looking out at the street which was bathed in early morning sun and littered with broken bottles and paper confetti. Sighing softly, he reached out and turned the card from closed to open.
Turning, he drifted over to the counter, rearranging the cakes and biscuits in their little glass box. Finally, he leant on the wooden counter-top and sighed once again.
'Today will be slow,' he mused. New Years day was always slow. People preferred to stay in and perhaps clean up from the night before, or just relax. Not many visited little tea shops on the first day of the new y-
Arthur's thoughts we rudely interrupted as a man swept through the glass front door, the little bell ringing cheerfully. The man slumped into the nearest chair, knocking over a vase that smashed on the carpet, sending water everywhere. Long, messy blond hair covering his face. He wore a disheveled purple shirt, the first few buttons undone so the garment hung open, showing off the man's bare chest. Crinkled beige trousers covered his lower half, with brown shoes completing the look.
'Clearly had a wild night,' Arthur thought. Just what he needed, a hungover bloke destroying his shop and scaring away customers. If there were any customers.
Then, the man spoke.
"Mon ami, what do you have to cure me? It appears I may have had too much to drink," he laughed, then clutched his head, "Make that definitely," The man slurred. God, his head was spinning like a top. How much had he actually had?
Arthur cringed. What a nuisance, a hungover Frenchman in his quaint little café this early in the morning. This was not something he wanted to start the year with. "You're not going to apologise for the vase then? That was expensive, you know."
Arthur waited for a few moments without a response. He gave up. "Tea then. I'll bring some water as well. I'd better bring some headache medicine too, hmm?" Arthur forced a smile, trying to be kind to the man. He was a customer after all. The Englishman disappeared into the back of the shop, heading up the stairs to his flat for the medicine. Sifting through his medicine cupboard, he grasped the small box and returned to the shop.
"I'll be with you in a second," he called out to his customer, only receiving a small groan in return. Arthur boiled the kettle, poured the tea and fetched some water. Adding this to the tray, he collected a little jug of milk and a pot of sugar on his way back.
"Here you are, Mr..."
"Bonnefoy, Francis Bonnefoy" The Frenchman managed. Brushing his hair from his face, he looked up at Arthur and then at the mug of hot tea. Tentatively, he reached for the milk and poured a little into the scalding liquid and added a small spoon of sugar. Francis decided to let the beverage cool, so he popped a headache tablet into his mouth, took a sip of water and sighed deeply.
"Thank you, mon ami. Now that you know my name, might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?" Francis Bonnefoy smiled at the shop owner, who was trying not to cringe.
"Arthur Kirkland. Owner of 'The Tudor Rose' tea room, at you service," Arthur may not have wanted Francis to to be in his tea room at that point, but he was still a gentleman and a respectful host. This meant that he couldn't hang an air freshener from Francis's ear to ward off the stench of alcohol.
"A pleasure, Arthur," Francis said, as he drank his tea. "This is a lovely shop, how long has been it been yours?"
Arthur frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "About five years now."
Francis looked up from his tea. "Do you enjoy running this café?" He inquired.
"When people aren't destroying it, yes, I do," Arthur sharply replied.
The frenchman nodded and went back to his tea.
Arthur gave him an incredulous look. The man couldn't take a hint! "You must lay for that. The tea and the vase"
"And the vase? Mon ami. The vase was not my fault. Who puts a vase on a table without flowers anyway?"
"Someone who hadn't had the chance to put flowers in it! Do you know what time it is? I've just opened and now I have to clean up your mess! I would make you do it if I wasn't afraid you'd break something else."
Francis chuckled and took out his wallet. Checking through, he frowned when he saw nothing. He laughed nervously, "I don't suppose I could pay later on? I'll come back later with money, I promise."
Arthur stared at the man, who looked up at him with wide, red eyes. "Please?" He begged, "I promise."
Unable to refuse, Arthur sighed and agreed, "Alright, but you best pay. I'll make sure of it. £2.50 for the tea, £9 for the vase."
Standing up and smiling at his host, Francis nodded and left the tea shop in search of money, leaving Arthur alone once again. The Englishman shook his head and sighed, clearing away the things Francis left behind and heading back to wash them up. This would take some time to clean.
Authors note: Hey guys, since this is new I would appreciate reviews to see if anyone is interested in the story so far and what they think of the beginning. Thanks for reading this, if indeed you still are.