Tuesdays at the Teacup Club Read Free

that I’ve planned out my outfit for each event,
     but it’s not every day you get to do something like this, is it?’
    ‘It isn’t, no,’ JoJo said, with a warm smile. ‘And I’m sure your fans will love meeting you in person.’
    It hadn’t been easy deciding to leave my office job at
Sussex Living
magazine last year, especially as I’d been working alongside Chloe. But since
Charlie, Carlitos and Me
was published, I hadn’t looked back. A few sketches I’d done up in my childhood bedroom, while my dad and Chris were watching
     TV downstairs, had changed my life more than I ever could have expected. And none of it would have happened without Alison
     – her encouragement had given me the nerve to send them off to a publisher.
    ‘Shall we get some dessert and you can tell me how you’re getting on with your latest project?’ JoJo said, pointing over to
     the glass cabinet of cakes and éclairs.
    ‘I’m not going to argue with that.’
    I said goodbye to JoJo just after three. We arranged that I’d meet my publicist at King’s Cross at ten in the morning on Friday,
     and she wished me luck with the tour. I headed in the direction of Oxford Street – there was time to fit in some clothes shopping
     before I went back to Sussex, and my wardrobe was definitely in need of a boost. Charlesworth might be many things – picturesque,
     peaceful and friendly – but it certainly wasn’t on the fashion frontline. Topshop was in my sights as my phone buzzed in my
     handbag. I picked up.
    ‘Chloe, hi,’ I said, stepping back as a black cab whizzed past.
    ‘Hi, Jen – have you got a minute?’
    ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Are you OK? You sound rushed.’
    ‘I’m fine. It’s probably nothing.’
    ‘What’s nothing?’
    ‘It’s Chris.’
    ‘Chris? What’s wrong?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get through to him on the phone for two days, Jen. I’ve left messages but heard nothing
     back. It’s weird. I spoke with your dad but he’s not been able to get in touch either. So I came round to his flat – that’s
     where I am now – but no one’s answering the door.’
    ‘Right,’ I said, thinking back to the last time I’d seen Chris. It was a week ago, for Sunday lunch at Dad’s. Had he mentioned
     a work trip? Or a visit to Mum, where the phone reception was always iffy?
    ‘The thing is, Jen,’ Chloe went on, ‘his car’s here, and I can see a light on. I’m pretty sure he’s in.’
    ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, Chlo. You go home and I’ll drop by on my way back.’
    Abandoning my planned visit to Topshop, I took the tube to Victoria and got a train back to Sussex. I called Chris’s number
     a couple of times. It rang through to the answerphone, but there was nothing particularly unusual about that. Chloe was inclined
     to worry about things, and I wanted to be able to put her mind at rest.
    That Sunday lunch at Dad’s, Chris had shown me the engagement ring he was planning to propose to Chloe with. Could he have
     got cold feet?
    I walked from Charlesworth train station to the quiet residential street Chris’s flat was on, just a few minutes from where
     Dan and I lived. When I reached the ground-floor maisonette, I pressed the button on his intercom and peered through the curtained
     bay window. I could see a light on in his living room. When there was no reply to the doorbell I rapped on the front window
     and called out.
    ‘Chris, it’s me, Jen. Are you in there?’
    I saw movement, and then heard him buzz me in. Relieved, I pushed the door open and picked up some of his post that was lying
     on the doormat. As I walked through the black-and-white-tiledhallway his flat door opened, and Chris was framed in the doorway in his wheelchair. His usually warm, tanned skin looked
     pale.
    ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘What’s going on? Chloe said she’s been calling and …’
    ‘I know. I’ve been meaning to call her. I’ve been pretty tired.’
    ‘Tired?’ I said. My