Love, Lies and Lemon Cake

by Sue Watson

  I was already late for work and was about to say so, but instead I said, ‘Yeah... that sounds good.’ My cut-and-blow lady could hang a while, as Mandy would say.

  I followed him into the shop. Jen was behind the counter. I’d seen her in there before. She said hello, recognising me as a regular no doubt.

  ‘It’s great doing freshly ground... we get to smell fresh coffee all day now,’ she said, wiping the counter top and tidying the display.

  ‘Hey, we have some new biscuits in and a new kind of olive... Greek, quite bitter but delicious,’ he said, excited as always by food.

  ‘Hmm—you throw vague areas like “Greece” at me, but you know I won’t buy unless you can tell me exactly where they came from,’ I said, in mock seriousness. Jen looked up, a little surprised.

  ‘I can’t give you a grid reference exactly but I’m guessing somewhere in the south?’ he offered, handing me a paper cup of coffee. ‘Probably that olive tree in Crete... you know, near where the old Greek guy lives?’

  ‘Oh, that one... where they tie the goat up? Okay. I’ll have a small pot please...’

  The last thing I wanted was salty Greek olives at eight thirty on a weekday morning, but it seemed to give him such pleasure to put them in a small polystyrene pot for me, I couldn’t say no.

  ‘On the house,’ he winked at me. I looked at Jen and she smiled indulgently at him, seemingly quite happy for him to give her stock away.

  ‘That’s really kind. Thanks.’

  ‘We never talked about Jane Eyre. Have you read it yet?’

  ‘Yes, I have. I loved it. I have a weakness for Mr Rochester, all dark and brooding and masterful.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s the type you go for, is it?’

  I lowered my voice, ‘Yeah, but I have a weakness for light-hearted blonds.’ I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Wow, this new Faye was quite outrageous. Go me, I thought, trying not to blush.

  We sat with our coffee on a couple of rickety chairs in the corner of the shop by a display of fancy chutneys and alcohol-laced jams. Looking at the fruit chutney reminded me of my day ahead.

  ‘I’ve got a ”Cruel Plum” this morning and I need to prepare—both mentally and physically,’ I smiled, rolling my eyes as we sat down.

  He looked puzzled. ‘Oh, yes, the Lithuanian situation—you never did explain that to me?’

  I quickly filled him in on the whole ‘celebrity Hair Colour’ farrago.

  ‘I reckon I’m a malevolent blond... what do you think, Jen?’ he asked, calling over to her.

  ‘Ooh, I’m probably edging towards ‘spiteful scarlet,’ she giggled. She was nice, in her late fifties, attractive. He’d told me she was his mum’s sister and I could see the family resemblance. We chatted a little longer, finished our coffee and I suddenly remembered the time and really had to leave.

  ‘Oh, God... I’ve talked too much for too long as usual,’ I said. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Wait... one minute,’ he held up his index finger and ran into the back. I stood for a minute or so, awkwardly smiling at Jen and wondering if I’d heard him correctly. Had he asked me to wait? Perhaps it was an Aussie thing to say ‘one minute,’ like saying ‘see you later’ to someone you knew you’d never see again? I was aware Jen was looking at me and I peered into the glass counter, smiling awkwardly if our eyes met and pretending to study the cheese. Okay, so this new sophisticated brazen Faye came and went a bit, but she’d settle in soon.

  Then the shop door opened from outside and someone tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Ooh, you dirty old cougar, Faye; you only come in here to have a perv on that Dan’s arse, don’t you?’ Mandy shrieked. I almost died. Jen slipped discreetly to the other side of the shop and started filling shelves... she had so heard. Mandy was obviously on her way to work too and had spied me through the window as she passed.

  ‘Shh! Keep your voice down. I came in for... coffee... and olives.’ I lifted the empty polystyrene coffee cup like I needed proof I wasn’t ‘perving’ over Dan.

  ‘Oh, you can’t fool me—coffee and olives... since when do you eat olives? You would love a grind on that...’ she hissed, referring to Dan.

  ‘I eat olives and I do not want to grind on—oh, Dan... I wondered where you’d got to...’

  Dan re-emerged, smiling and holding a small box.

  ‘G’day. Bruce,’ Mandy piped up.

  ‘G’day. Sheila,’ he teased back.

  He handed me the box, nodding at Mandy. ‘Try these, ladies, and let me know what you think... Aussie sunshine in a box...’ his fingers brushed mine as he took his hand away. My insides sparkled. I began stammering but tried to hold it in, and I must have turned scarlet because Mandy said, ‘Faye, you’ve gone all weird. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Nothing... nothing.’ I looked into the transparent top of the box and inside were six of the perfect lemon cupcakes from the window. Swirled with lemon cream and topped with a tiny slice of lemon, they looked delicious and so pretty I couldn’t believe this handsome rugged guy had made them.

  ‘Thanks, Dan. I can’t wait to get my gob round one of those,’ Mandy said, then she nudged me. ‘Faye... Faye,’ she was speaking under her breath, without moving her lips, ‘will you get me a sandwich and I’ll pay you back later?’

  ‘We don’t really have time...’ I said, wanting to get her out of there before she said another word. She looked disappointed, like a little girl, and I was always a sucker for that. ‘Oh, okay then. What do you want?’ I muttered.

  ‘Two bush oysters on wholemeal. I love those,’ she whispered.

  I looked up. Jen and Dan were both smiling expectantly.

  I was surprised that Mandy even knew about oysters but was happy to encourage her enjoyment of fine foods: ‘Oh, and can I have two bush oysters on wholemeal please?’ I asked, in my ‘foodie’ voice, keen to impress.

  ‘Kangaroo?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘No, I am, because we don’t stock them—but if you really want two kangaroo testicles on wholemeal, Faye, we’ll order them,’ Dan said, serious face, but his eyes were laughing.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Bush oysters are kangaroo testes,’ Jen smiled.

  ‘I saw that on I’m a Celebrity,’ Mandy sniggered.

  ‘Oh, Mandy, you’re awful,’ I said playfully, feigning a giggle. Mortified, I began walking to the door, in the desperate hope that Mandy would follow. I wanted to leave before things went any more downhill.

  ‘Thank you so much for making me say kangaroo testicles to Dan and his auntie,’ I hissed as we left the shop.

  ‘Ooh, get you, Faye Dobson... you’ve gone all shy, I told you... you’re dying for a grind on that.’

  Mandy had a point (not about the grinding, I hasten to add): I did have a thing for Dan. But I didn’t want to make myself too vulnerable. I was surprised and a little horrified to discover it was apparent to others... especially Mandy. Yes, he was cute and I could see me kissing him on the lips, holding hands... but ‘grinding?’ I wasn’t even completely sure what ‘grinding’ involved, but it certainly wasn’t coffee or peppercorns in Mandy’s world. Rather than batting their eyelashes, Mandy and her friends would apparently register their interest by wrapping their legs around the love object and ‘grinding’ up and down. I found it hard to imagine but one thing I was sure of in these uncertain dating days, approaching a stranger and mounting him like a dog on heat wasn’t in my repertoire—now or then.

  ‘I reckon he wouldn’t mind a go on you, too,’ she said as we walked along.

  ‘A go? He’d like a go?’ I smiled, playfully slapping her arm, horrified but delighted and intrigued. ‘You are outrageous. Anyway, Dan isn’t interested in an old lady like me,’ I said, trying to sound dismissive but not achieving it, as she stopped and stared at me.

  ‘Hey, I caught him red-handed,’ she sniggered, speeding up to catch up with me. ‘He was definitely eyeing your arse as we walked out of the shop.’ She was giggling and n
udging me with her body. ‘And don’t kid, Faye; you were definitely looking at his...’

  ‘Anyway, stop going on about me looking at men’s bums,’ I added, keen to push her further on her theory that he liked me... or, as she so delicately put it, might like ‘a go’ on me.

  ‘Oh, his arse is okay, but you should come to Faliraki with me and the girls... you’d love it, Faye. We see some sights...’ she started, the previous conversation about Dan now lost forever in a sea of sick and Bacardi.

  ‘My heart wouldn’t take it, Mand... in fact just hearing about your exploits in the Med makes me shake,’ I laughed, not wanting any further embellishment on Mandy’s Greek holiday. It was too early in the morning and I couldn’t take the intimate detail or the aftermath of hangovers and STDs.

  I wanted a quiet morning alone and a chance to savour a lemon cake. I also wanted to think about him, go over and over what he said, the way he looked, swirl it around my head like a round fruity boiled sweet on my tongue.

  As we entered the salon, I took off my coat and went into the back to hang it up, placing the box of cakes on the side. I went to leave, but was drawn back to the box, and as I was alone, carefully opened the lid. The fragrance of lemon filled the air as I carefully took one of the swirly little cupcakes out, holding the citrus sponge on my open palm. It looked delicious and I couldn’t resist a second longer and bit into it. The sponge was light, with a lemony echo balanced by a sweetness that melted in the mouth. The buttercream was rich and bittersweet and my jaws ached with the sheer deliciousness. I’d never tasted anything quite like it—lemon, sugar and sunshine. This was indeed ‘Aussie lemon cake’, and I swear, on that cold March morning in the poky back room of a hairdressing salon somewhere in The Midlands, the Aussie sun was shining.

  * * *

  Dan texted the following day and asked if I was free to go out one evening, but as Emma was due home I couldn’t. On Friday, though, I popped into the deli during my lunch hour. I was like a teenager again, timing the point I would walk to the shop, excited about seeing him and at the same time a little scared. Breathless and dry-mouthed, I managed to wander in with an air of casualness I found hard to pull off.

  ‘Hi!’ I smiled, walking into the deli. The strong, salty smell of cheese and meat laced with the warm tang of freshly ground coffee filled my nostrils. I took deep breaths. He looked up. Oh, those big blue eyes, that blond hair, rough and choppy like the sea, his sleeves rolled up revealing the strong, brown arms, more boyish than big muscle-man... but man all the same.

  He smiled when he saw me, his twinkly eyes immediately engaged, amused. Dan was one of those people who had an infectious fun about them that made you want to laugh with him. You didn’t know what he was laughing at, but you just had to join in.

  ‘I just wanted to say thanks, for the lemon cakes. They were delicious. I was a bit greedy and ate two,’ I lied. ‘What do you put in them? They are like catnip to a woman like me.’

  ‘Yeah? It was my mum’s recipe; she used to make them for birthdays and special times. She always told me there was a special, secret ingredient... but wouldn’t tell me what it was... then one day I guessed.’

  ‘And what was it?’ I said.

  ‘Ah... I’m not telling you... you have to guess.’

  ‘I’ll take a wild stab at it... lemons?’

  ‘No, there are no lemons,’ he teased. ‘Mum always said to bake was to love, and if you didn’t put love in your cakes, they wouldn’t taste good,’ he smiled at the memory. Then, perhaps feeling a bit silly, ‘She was almost as bonkers as you.’

  ‘Ha, she sounds perfectly sane to me.’

  ‘Well, she would.’

  ‘So,’ I said in my sultriest voice; ‘you squeezed some love in with that lemon juice?’

  ‘Yes, but only because they were for you.’

  ‘Good job it was only me that ate them then,’ I confessed.

  ‘What... you ate all six?’

  ‘No... well, yes actually,’ I giggled. I don’t think he believed I’d eaten all six, but at least I’d told the truth.

  ‘Anyway, I’m not here to talk about cakes. I’m here because there were a few bits and pieces I left intact last time,’ I started. ‘There’s a whole sheet of glass here with cheese behind it... and who knows what havoc I could wreak with low-flying hams? Thought I’d have another go...’

  He smiled and leaned forward on the counter just as I reached it. We both put our arms out at the same time and almost touched hands. There were customers about so I quickly moved mine and, though I’d arrived with confidence, suddenly felt it all melt away like lemon drizzle as I began to talk with too much enthusiasm about lemon cakes and what a wonderful baker he was.

  ‘So... what you are trying to say in a roundabout way is... you like cake?’ he said finally, when he could squeeze a word in. He was standing there bemused, arms folded across himself in a protective way, smiling, observing.

  ‘Hmm... I came in also to...’ (Christ, I hadn’t thought this through. Sue said I mustn’t be too keen and had to play it a little cool. She had a point; I didn’t want him to think I’d gone there just to lust after him, which I had). ‘Oh, what was it now... oh, yes, I came in for more of that coffee,’ I said, inspired by the sight of the big, Italian coffee machine.

  ‘Okay, just the one?’

  ‘Yes, a latte please, with an extra shot. I like it strong. Like my men... not that I, you know, I’m not saying...’ I shut up. He couldn’t hear me anyway over the coffee machine. As he made the coffee, I shouted over the frothing noises and loud steaminess, asking if his mum had taught him to bake.

  ‘Yeah, she did. It’s one of my earliest memories—licking the spoon, helping her weigh ingredients, me covering the kitchen with flour. You wouldn’t think it now... I’m not like most blokes; I tidy up after myself.’ He was pulling levers, and I could barely hear him over the hissing steam.

  ‘Wow, you’ll make someone a lovely boyfriend... for someone... you’re lovely and... hot... and hot coffee,’ I stuttered, pointing to the machine like a three-year-old.

  ‘My last girlfriend used to get fed up with my obsession with food and baking.’

  ‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear all about his stable of stunning exes, all probably much younger and thinner than me.

  ‘She used to say I was anal,’ he added.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with anal,’ I shouted over the still steaming racket. ‘Anal is good...’ I added, turning to face Janet, our client, as she walked into the shop.

  ‘Hi, Janet,’ I gave her a little wave. She’d obviously heard what I said and gave me a rather disapproving look so I felt I should explain.

  ‘Janet, when I just said to Dan that anal was good... I hope you don’t think I was talking about that... anal...’ I yelled over the noisy coffee machine. ‘I meant it as an adjective—you know, like it’s a good thing to be... I didn’t mean anal like that...’ I was now using hand gestures, but she just looked more horrified and I really had to stop. I was making it so much worse.

  I could see Dan’s shoulders shaking behind the coffee machine; he was obviously laughing to himself as he continued to pull levers and pour coffee. I obviously cracked him up—not exactly an ego boost—but at my age I took it where I could and was grateful for any kind of response from someone under forty.

  Janet had just been in for her root touch-up with Sue and ‘Fuming Flame’ was living up to its name.

  ‘I was... just talking to Dan about baking...’ I tried.

  ‘Sounds like that’s not all you were talking about,’ she said tightly, pursing her lips.

  ‘Oh... I think you’ve got the wrong idea, Janet...’

  ‘Can I help you?’ Dan stepped in over me to shut me up. He was flushed with stifled laughter, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

  I stood by as Janet bought two focaccia and a jar of olives, leaving behind a whiff of Lithuanian hair chemicals and strong disapproval.

  ‘Oh, God. Janet�
�s such a gossip; she’ll tell everyone I was in here talking about anal sex and by this time tomorrow the story will have wings. She’ll say she caught me on your counter, spread-eagled, shouting, ‘Take me now between your big cheeses, chorizo boy!’ God knows where that came from, but clearly my filter was off.

  At this he collapsed with laughter. ‘Faye,’ he was wiping his eyes, ‘you don’t know when to actually stop saying stuff, do you? And then it just gets ...’

  ‘Embarrassing?’ I offered.

  ‘Funnier... and, as I said the other night, more honest.’

  ‘Yes, but I really wasn’t talking about anal sex,’ I insisted.

  ‘No, I know... Don’t start all that again,’ he laughed, shaking his head. ‘Anyway... who cares what anyone else thinks... free yourself up, Faye. You need a bigger landscape; you’re too good for this place.’

  I’d never thought of myself in that way before. I liked the idea and glowed at his compliment. He really seemed to like me and find me fun and honest, and I was beginning to like me through his eyes, too.

  ‘So, apart from coming here to buy coffee, your main aim was to provide distracting sex talk?’

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled, ‘distracting.’ Oh, God, no one ever told me I was distracting before... I rather liked that too.

  ‘So, do you have time to drink your coffee here... with chorizo boy?’

  ‘Oh... yes, that would be nice,’ I said, blushing and trying not to dwell on the image I’d just conjured of me on his counter demanding to be taken between his continental cheeses.

  ‘If you just take a seat over there, madam, I shall bring it over,’ he gestured towards a rickety table with bags of coffee piled on top and brought out a laptop from under the counter.

  ‘While you’re here, can I show you some ideas I’ve done, for Jen? I think she should do event catering from here... I’d love your thoughts.’

  ‘Oh, yes... I’d love to see your ideas. My mum always said, “The best parties are catered, dear,” I said in a posh voice, taking a seat.

  ‘Yeah, Jen needs to make some more money. I worry about her, you know? I love this place; it would be a shame to see it close.’