“Right then,” I say trying to inject a smile into my voice, “I am going to grab a quick shower and then make us some dinner.” I place a kiss on Taylor’s cheek before wandering through to our bedroom in need of some time by myself to process this latest turn of events. I may be acting to Taylor like it is no big deal, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t shaken me to the core.
The Eleventh
My first thought, when I wake up to the light streaming through the windows, is that I have hideously overslept and that I am going to be late. But then my subconscious reminds me that my appointment with Dr Grohl is actually this afternoon and instead I am teaching a baking class at the clinic this morning instead. I feel a smile stretching across my face and a small ball of nervous excitement begins to form in my belly.
Bean spent the night dancing on my bladder so I didn’t get the best night’s sleep ever, but I do seem to be in the process of learning how to sleepwalk to the bathroom. Funny, these were the little things my mother warned me about and I had dismissed them thinking in my naiveté that nah, they wouldn’t happen to me. Oh, how wrong I was.
A glance at the clock tells me that I need to get a move on so I hop out of bed and concentrate on finding something suitable to wear. I finally settle on a comfy pair of charcoal leggings, one of Taylor’s white shirts and a pair of nude ballet flats. I stare at myself critically in the mirror as I roll the shirt sleeves up to my elbows. My belly seems to be getting bigger every day and it won’t be long before I will probably have to give up clothes altogether and just wear tents instead. I giggle softly to myself wondering how to liven my outfit up when I suddenly spy a soft silk scarf in bright green that Taylor bought for me on our honeymoon. Perfect, I think to myself as I drape it around my neck liking the way the colour makes my eyes sparkle. I quickly finish up with a little mascara and a slick of peach lip gloss and I feel ready to take on the world. With a final glance at my reflection, I give myself a little a pep talk, reminding myself that I have done this a few times already and everyone always seems to enjoy it. Still, the nerves flutter in my belly.
When I pop downstairs, I am grateful to find Billy already waiting for me with all the supplies boxed and ready. When I had mentioned a couple weeks ago that I was going to be doing another series of baking classes up the clinic, Billy had pulled me aside and asked if he would be able to help. It turns out that Billy has an older sister who was treated there a few years ago and he wanted to give something back. They had helped her so much so I was more than happy for him to join in. Plus, as far as I’m concerned, an extra pair of hands is always welcome when there are heavy boxes to be carried.
The morning flies by once we arrive and get set up in the clinic’s industrial kitchen. There seems to be ten million health and safety regulations so all those taking part in the class are being strictly monitored by the staff. Yet once the class starts and everyone begins mixing up their cake batters, the atmosphere lightens up, particularly when Billy manages to drop a whole box of eggs with such finesse that yolk and egg white seem to spray everywhere.
Once the cakes have successfully made it into the oven without too much ending on the participants, we get everyone to start making their buttercream icings. All the cakes are the same, a plain chocolate sponge, so I brought along a load of different colours so that each person could decorate their cake in their own style.
When the cakes are finally cool enough to decorate, Billy and I wonder around the room helping those who request it and giving out little tips here and there. Three hours have passed since the start of the session and we are standing at the front of the room feeling a little like we are on an episode of the Great British Bake Off. I am so proud of my class’s efforts. None of the cakes are perfect, but then nothing in this life ever is. But from the smiles around the room I can see that everyone is chuffed to bits with their cakes and that is all that matters in the end.
A quick beeping noise erupts from my bag alerting me that it is time for my appointment and I quickly let Billy know that I will be back in an hour. Billy assures me that he is happy to hang out with our students and do some taste testing so I leave him to it and make my way to Dr Grohl’s office.
“You look very happy today, Abby?” David queries as I sit down, looking as unflappable as ever.
“Billy and I have been doing the baking class this morning and everyone seemed to really enjoy it, so that’s made my day,” I respond, so happy I am almost bouncing in my chair.
David gives me a smile before starting in with the usual round of questions. Halfway through the session though he changes tack and starts asking me about how teaching others to bake makes me feel. I take a few minutes to contemplate my answer.
“I have never really thought about it before truthfully. I suppose I enjoy it because it reminds me of learning to bake with Nonna. I mean, from as far back as I can remember, whenever I was at her house we would bake something…cakes, cookies, tarts, anything really. When I am helping others, it sometimes feels like Nonna is still there with me, whispering in my ear. I suppose that sounds a bit crazy,” I say sheepishly wondering for a moment whether I should have actually admitted that.
“Not at all,” David responds calmly, putting me at ease.
“Plus I love seeing a person’s face when they take that first bite of something that they have made from scratch. The delight and satisfaction that appears is so personal and, to know that I helped with that, it's always so gratifying.”
“So you enjoy helping others,” David remarks, his words formed as a statement rather than a question. “Do you think that maybe some of the feelings and anxiety you have been having recently have come about because you have taken a step back at work? I mean you are essentially no longer baking for the café yourself and everything is basically running itself. You have mentioned several times in the last few months that you feel like you are just stuck doing paperwork all day.”
Damn David. Somehow he always manages to get to the hard stuff just before I am about to walk out the door. “I guess,” I say with caution as I wonder where this could be heading. “I mean I really miss getting stuck in with the others. But now that Billy and Kiri have progressed so fast they don’t need me as much. And really there is only so much I can do now that I am the size of a house.” I take a deep breath, seeing my pregnancy for the excuse that it is. Truthfully, I am no longer needed really, in either the bakery or the café. Both could run themselves; it was my vision that got them to where they are now but the reality is that if I stepped back even further things would just continue to run fine without me. This is a thought that saddens me and I am not really sure that I am ready to admit it out loud.
“I guess I like to feel needed,” I say softly. “They don’t need me anymore, not really. Nonna bought the bakery for me because she knew it could run itself if I didn’t want to take it on full-time. I am so lucky, I know, to have all these amazing people around me who love their jobs and just get on with it. But deep down, I guess I wish that maybe they needed me more…” I trail off feeling despondent, my earlier happiness evaporating.
“I am not trying to upset you, Abby,” David says glancing at the clock, knowing that we only have a couple more minutes left. “But I want you to think about a few things before our session next week. You are a people-pleaser. You measure your own worth by others’ perceptions of you. You want to feel needed and when you don’t have that it makes you feel anxious. Now, it is not going to be long before you have a little person in your life depending on you for everything but you are going to need,” David says stressing the word before continuing, “more than that to keep you happy. So what I would like you to go away and think about is what makes you happy. Make a list and we will discuss it when I see you next week.”
With that, the session is over leaving me utterly confused. Argh! Damn the psycho-babble. Does David not realise that if I had the answers then I wouldn’t be here? I feel disconcerted as I leave David’s office and make my way
back down the corridor to go find Billy, the beginnings of a headache in my temples. When I find the kitchen empty, I ask one of the nurses where everyone is and she gives me a broad smile, telling me that they are in the dining area where our star bakers are showing off their wares. A glow of happiness replaces the unease brought on by my session with David and I find my pace quickening as I stride down the hallway towards the loud babble of sounds erupting from the far end.
.........................
David’s question has haunted me all day. I am sat curled up in my wicker chair in my little garden watching the sun beginning to set. The piercing blue of the sky overhead has begun to soften in the twilight and a couple of stars are now visible above me. Yet the page of my notebook still remains blank. What makes me happy? I can’t figure out if this is a trick question or not.
There are plenty of things that make me happy…Taylor, Bean, my parents. The smell of a freshly baked cake. Donuts. Watching my customers relaxing and enjoying themselves. Listening to my favourite bands. But none of them seem to be the answer that David is pushing for.
I sit there all evening long waiting for Taylor to come home until a late text lets me know that he is stuck in a meeting with a client. I can’t help the wave of disappointment that washes over; I really didn’t want to be alone tonight with all the craziness swirling around my head. Eventually though I decide that I can no longer sit there and dwell on a question I have no answer to and head to bed. But even there I can’t escape the incessant monologue that is haunting me. When sleep eventually claims me, my head is pounding from the pressure and my eyes are wet with unshed tears.
The Twelfth
“Darling, this place looks superb,” Genevieve says as I pour out some tea from the white china pot in front of me. The day is awash with the showers that April is so famous for, casting dull shadows around my little garden. Thankfully the discreet up-lighters in each corner of the room brighten up what would otherwise feel like very dreary surrounds, despite the aromatic flora scenting the air.
“Thank you,” I respond. “Though, of course, I didn’t know anything about this little surprise. Taylor and my mum cooked up this one all on their own.” I watch as Genevieve nods slightly, the knowing look on her face giving me the impression that she might have been in on the surprise as well. “Though maybe they had a little help?” I ask arching my eyebrow questioningly as suddenly I am flooded with the memory of standing in Genevieve’s orangery surrounded by an altogether too familiar smell.
“The frangipani tree,” I gasp. “That’s why it seemed so familiar. It's from your house.”
Genevieve gives me a serene smile. “Indeed it is my dear. I have nurtured my trees since they were tiny saplings which have been a hard feat given that they are not native to here. But when Taylor explained what he was trying to achieve I thought one would be perfect in here. They do smell heavenly in such a small space.” She says, her eyes closed in appreciation of the sweet floral scent pervading the room.
“I love the pink colour,” I say. “It makes me feel like I am in my own little piece of paradise when I sit in here. And with the jasmine and bougainvillea I sometimes just close my eyes and imagine that I am back in Mexico on honeymoon.” I let out a sigh as I remember the beautiful gardens that had surrounded our hotel suite.
“That is precisely what my grandson was aiming for,” Genevieve comments with a satisfied smile.
I hand over the porcelain tea cup complete with the saucer that I reserve specifically for Genevieve’s visits before cutting her a slice of freshly made lemon drizzle cake. When she called me this morning, asking if she could pop over for a visit, I was a little startled by the gravity in her voice and now that the pleasantries have been dealt with I am curious about the real reason for her visit.
“Well, I guess you are wondering why I am here, my dear,” Genevieve says as if she can read my mind.
“Not that it isn’t a lovely surprise,” I respond carefully, “But given that we only saw you last week, I am a little curious.”
“I am worried,” Genevieve says quietly and I note that for the first time ever she seems to look her age. She usually exudes such vitality that placing a number on her would be impossible, but here she is looking every one of her eighty-five years. Her eyes seem tired and her frame which is normally so regal seems defeated.
I lean across and place my hand over Genevieve’s. “What can I do to help?” I ask her softly.
“Oh, you are a darling girl, Abby. I fear that it is my failings, first as a mother and then as a grandmother, that have led us to this awful predicament we all find ourselves in.”
“I don’t understand…” I trail off, unclear where this is coming from and where it could possibly be leading to.
“I think I need to start at the beginning,” Genevieve says with a sigh, before taking a fortifying sip of her Earl Grey as she begins to talk.
“When my son, Harold, first introduced us to Gillian we thought she was a charming girl. She came from nothing; her father was the foreman at a steelworks in Sheffield while her mother took in ironing and sewing to help the family make ends meet. It didn’t matter to us; all we wanted was for our son to be happy. My husband, Lyle, had already established his accountancy firm with several partners ten years previously and Harold was just finishing up his degree before getting ready to join his father in the business.
“It took us a while to realise just how shrewd and manipulative Gillian was but by that point she had firmly entrenched herself in Harold’s life. They had only been together around six months when Harold came to us one night to tell us Gillian was pregnant. We pleaded with him to wait, but he was determined to do the right thing and marry Gillian right away. Six weeks later they were married and the matter of the pregnancy was swept under the carpet. We never did find out if she ever was actually ever pregnant.” I see Genevieve close her eyes briefly and I find myself wondering whether Gillian was so manipulative that she would actually make up a baby just to get Harold to marry her. Actually, yes, I could definitely see her doing that.
“Slowly Harold began to make hints about Lyle retiring and handing over his shares to him, something Harold would never have even thought about suggesting before he began his relationship with Gillian. In fact, the two of them had even joked that Lyle would probably die in the office before he considered retirement. Lyle resisted all of Harold’s attempts to bring Gillian into the firm as a personal assistant which caused a rift between father and son for a few years but eventually they got over it. But things were never the same. Gillian continued to drip poison into Harold’s ear and it seemed that we had lost our son.” I watch the sad, faraway expression on Genevieve’s face as she loses herself in the memories.
“Things really changed though once Gillian fell pregnant with Taylor and Richard. I think Harold finally realised the importance of family and somehow persuaded Gillian to loosen the reigns a little. It was the only time that I ever saw him actually resist her, but I am pretty sure that she only capitulated because she feared that we might write Harold out of his inheritance if we were not allowed access to our grandchildren. For Gillian, everything was about the money and the status that Harold’s position gave them.
“The day the boys were born was one of the happiest days of our lives and I thought perhaps motherhood might soften Gillian. But if anything the opposite was true. She seemed to be in permanent competition with the other mothers and Lyle would often report back to me that Harold was trying to take on more clients in an effort to take home more money.
“As the boys grew, we began to see their distinct personalities forming. Taylor was reticent, always looking to Richard for cues as to how he should behave. At first we thought that this was some kind of twin thing because Richard was born first, but slowly we began to see how Richard continued to dominate and control Taylor’s actions. I approached Gillian about it several times over the course of the years, but rather than see the harm in it, she actually seemed
proud and would encourage it stating that Taylor was ‘too soft’ and needed Richard to toughen him up.
“We attempted to step in after a couple of serious incidents, one of which saw Taylor in hospital with a broken arm and cigarette burns when he was fourteen. But he wouldn’t talk to anyone about it and Harold threatened to leave the firm when Lyle accused Richard of hurting his brother. The last thing we wanted was to be pushed out of their lives; we feared that if we weren’t there even in the most minor capacity then we wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on things.
“Richard grew into the bully his mother seemed determined he would be while Taylor seemed to fade ever more into the background, that is until Nicola was born. From the day she arrived, it was like Taylor became her self-appointed hero. Instead avoiding his brother as he had previously tended to do, he seemed to purposely take him on in what we could only assume was in defence of his baby sister. Too often, I would walk in on Taylor taking a beating off Richard with Nicola cowering in a corner. I tried to talk to him about on so many occasions, but he would never admit anything.
“It wasn’t until Taylor went off on his gap year that we finally began to get glimpses of the amazing, confident man he would eventually turn into. Lyle had told both boys that they would get a cash gift if they got good grades in their exams; Taylor used his money to fund his year abroad while Richard blew through his that summer partying.
“We heard from Taylor a great deal during that year and even went out to visit him and which is when we first met Hannah. I had never seen my grandson so alive, it is the only way I can describe it. It was like for the first eighteen years he had been living in the shadows and finally the sun was shining down on him. He talked a lot about his passion for food and eventually brought up his idea of setting up a business importing the spices he had discovered on his travels. To start with Lyle tried to convince Taylor to get his degree first, but after he presented his business plan Lyle agreed to invest. We were already paying Richard’s university tuition so we felt it was only fair that Taylor got the same amount.
Book Three: Thirty Days, Book 3 Page 7