Yes! I think we’re on our way to our very first Sweet Street Teashop cake dating success story!
Chapter Fourteen
‘I’ve been given the go-ahead for the piece,’ Neal tells me as I’m moving through the living room on the hunt for my handbag. It’s been a few days since the trial run and I was beginning to think he’d forgotten about us.
‘That’s great.’ I wedge my phone between my ear and shoulder as I drop to the floor to run my hand underneath the coffee table. Ah-ha! There it is. ‘Any idea when you’ll be able to run it?’ I pull my handbag out of its hiding place and sit down on the sofa. I was going to leave as soon as I located my bag, but then Neal rang with this important news. Dad will understand if I’m a little later than planned.
‘We’re looking at a week on Wednesday,’ Neal says. ‘Which works out well as you’re planning to launch on the Friday afterwards. Hopefully you’ll get a few registrations from the article.’ We’re going to run the date nights every Friday evening, perhaps extending it to Saturdays in the future if interest in the service demands it. The first planned event is in just thirteen days and my stomach twists with a number of emotions, including but not limited to, anticipation, apprehension, joy and worry.
‘I just have a couple of questions that I missed the other night,’ Neal says. ‘I had a look for your social media links on your website so I can direct people to you, but I couldn’t find anything.’
Not surprising, really. ‘We don’t have any.’
I set up the website when I opened Sweet Street Teashop, offering outside catering for parties and weddings, as well as custom-made occasion cakes. We’ve had a few bookings, but not enough to keep the business going.
‘Oh.’ There’s a pause on the other end of the line. ‘Not even Facebook?’
‘I used to have a personal account,’ I tell him. ‘But I deleted it about a year ago.’ I’d blocked Joel and Penny after finding out about the affair, but news from them still filtered through via mutual friends. In the end, I’d shut down my account completely, leaving behind all their updates where I couldn’t see them. I’ve been afraid of dipping my toe into social media since, but maybe it’s time I faced my fears. If embracing social media will help the business, I have to give it a go.
‘You should probably set a page up for the business,’ Neal says. ‘That way you can keep customers updated not only on the dating service but the teashop in general. There’s Twitter too, of course, and Instagram would suit you down to the ground. People love a foodie account.’ I grab a pen and scribble down some notes on the back of an old receipt from my handbag, creating an impromptu to-do list. ‘Also, what are you going to call the date nights?’
My pen pauses mid-scribble. ‘Call it?’
‘You have to give it a name, something to make it stand out.’
He’s right, of course. We can’t simply label it ‘the dating service’. It needs a name. Something unique and memorable. Something I can’t think of off the top of my head right now.
‘Can I get back to you about that?’ I ask.
‘Of course. You have my number.’
I thank Neal before hanging up and finishing my scribbled notes, making sure I add Neal’s naming advice. There is so much to do and we only have thirteen days to get it all done. In a perfect world, I’d take more time to plan and prepare, but in a perfect world my bank balance wouldn’t be so shockingly low.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Mags says as I dash into the teashop.
‘I know, I know.’ I wave the scribbled-on receipt in the air. ‘But we need to talk names.’ I explain the points Neal made during our phone call to Mags and Victoria and we all agree to have a think about the name of the dating service. Although Mags gives me a death stare, I tell them I’ll be back before closing time so we can compare notes. Mags – reluctantly and only because it’s a pretty urgent matter – agrees to my early return before shoving me out of the door.
‘Did you arrange a date with Owen?’ I ask before she can shut the door behind me. I feel like a terrible friend that it hasn’t occurred to me to ask before now. Mags and Owen have been exchanging text messages since the trial run but they have yet to meet up for a second date and my daily prods don’t seem to be nudging Mags in the right direction.
‘Yes.’ Mags’s hair is dyed pillar-box red and her cheeks increase in shade until they’re a perfect match. ‘We’re going out for dinner tonight.’
‘Tonight? Why didn’t you say anything?’ I want to run up and down Kingsbury Road, waving my arms in the air in celebration. ‘You’ll have to finish early so you can go home and get ready.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Mags places her hands on her hips and arches an eyebrow. ‘Do I not look good enough already? I thought I was rocking the harassed look.’ Mags grins at me. ‘Thinking about it, perhaps I should have changed my shift so I could have the whole day to prepare. I can’t even remember the last time I shaved my legs.’
‘Do you want me to stay?’ Dad is expecting me (and the tub of apple crumble I have tucked under my arm) but he won’t mind if I postpone, I’m sure.
Mags waggles her finger at me. ‘Don’t even think about it. Get out of here right now, young lady.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ I salute, hopping out of the way when Mags takes a swipe at me.
Dad isn’t alone when I arrive with my tub of apple crumble. I’ve come prepared with an extra portion and a bag of doggy biscuits, just in case Dad has a ‘guest’, but I soon realise my preparations are lacking when I’m greeted by three extra people plus a four-legged friend. Franklin waggles his bum at me as I step into the living room, waddling over in search of a treat. Birdie – as I suspected she would be – is sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea. Along with Caleb and Cara.
‘Don’t worry,’ Birdie says as I sit in one of the armchairs. ‘We won’t steal all your time with your dad. We just popped in to see if Cara could have a little look around Clive’s allotment one day. She’s fascinated with plants but I’m not very green-fingered and I don’t think Caleb knows one end of a plant pot from the other.’
Caleb raises one shoulder in a shrug. ‘It’s true. They’ve banned me from the poly tunnel at school after I wreaked havoc on the tomatoes.’
‘I haven’t exactly inherited Dad’s knack for growing myself,’ I tell him, which is an understatement. I can’t seem to keep any plants alive in my flat. I’ve tried. Many times. Three weeks is the longest I’ve managed. ‘When were you thinking about going over to the allotment?’
‘Whenever your dad can spare the time when I have Cara,’ Caleb says.
I bend down to scratch Franklin behind the ears. He’s followed me across the room and is currently flashing big, doleful eyes at me. ‘Why don’t you go this afternoon?’ I pull the bag of treats out of my bag and raise my eyebrows at Birdie, who nods. I hand a bone-shaped biscuit to Franklin, who scurries away so he can eat it behind the coffee table. ‘The weather’s pretty good, which isn’t always a guarantee.’
‘Oh, no.’ Birdie shakes her head. ‘We wouldn’t dream of taking over your afternoon with your dad.’
‘I’ll come too,’ I say. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the allotment and although I’m no Charlie Dimmock, I do find the whole atmosphere calming. As long as Dad’s nemesis isn’t present, obviously. ‘We’ll take a flask of tea and my apple crumble. It’ll be fun.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Caleb asks out of the side of his mouth and I bite down on my lip so I don’t laugh.
‘If you’re sure you don’t mind …’ Birdie doesn’t look convinced, so I tell her that I’m absolutely certain and can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more on a warm day. The fresh air will do me good, I add for good measure.
‘Then that sounds lovely,’ Birdie says as Dad joins us with fresh cups of tea. He’s delighted by the idea so we head out as soon as we’ve finished our drinks. Caleb takes Cara’s hand in one hand and the canvas bag with the promised flask of tea,
tub of apple crumble and bag of dog biscuits in the other. I offer to take Franklin’s lead and together we make our way to the allotment, which is only a couple of minutes away, tucked behind a group of houses and accessed via a little dirt track.
The allotment is made up of large, rectangular raised beds, with each plot consisting of four beds. Some of the beds are open while others have polythene covers draped over them like mini poly tunnels. Dad’s plot is at the far right corner, next to one of the shared water butts. He has a pale blue shed with a pair of yellow gingham curtains at the little window, which Cara thinks is delightful and insists it’s her new Wendy house. Dad pulls a couple of folding chairs out of the shed and sets them out next to his plot, offering one to Birdie and Cara (who has discovered the inside of the shed isn’t quite as charming) while Caleb, Dad and I perch on the edge of one of his beds.
‘It’s pretty quiet today,’ I say as Dad takes care of the flask and Birdie distributes the apple crumble into the plastic bowls we’ve brought with us. There are only two other people here, both towards the bottom of the allotment. I’m glad to note Dad’s neighbour isn’t here.
‘It’s usually at its busiest on a Sunday morning,’ Dad says as he hands me a plastic cup of tea. ‘You can tell when the Sunday roasts are ready because the place empties in a flash.’
‘I love a Sunday roast,’ Birdie says. ‘Although I don’t usually bother these days. Not much point cooking all that food for one.’
‘I’m the same.’ Dad passes a cup to Caleb. ‘The closest I’ve come to a Sunday roast lately is one of those ready meals from the supermarket.’ He pours tea into another plastic cup and hands it to Birdie. ‘But it’s just not the same.’
‘You’ll have to come to mine tomorrow,’ she says. ‘I’ll cook us a nice roast.’
I wait for Dad to say no, to make up some excuse to turn down Birdie’s kind offer. So I’m amazed when he actually agrees.
‘That’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time. Why don’t I bring the veg?’ He nods towards his beds. ‘I’ve got plenty of it.’
Birdie raises her cup of tea. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’
I catch Caleb’s eye and we both smile into our cups. I’m so pleased that Dad has finally started to shed the shackles of his unrequited love for Mum. He deserves to be happy and to be appreciated and I can’t think of anyone better for him to be with than Birdie Conrad.
‘How are the plans for the date nights coming along?’ Caleb asks once the apple crumble has been dished out. The portions are smaller than usual but today is more about the company and surroundings than the dessert.
‘I thought they were going well until your friend phoned me earlier,’ I tell Caleb and his face falls. ‘But that’s a good thing. If Neal hadn’t phoned and pointed out our lack of planning, we’d be a bit stuck.’ I think back to our failed summer party, to the measly number of customers. These date nights can’t be a flop so I’m grateful for all the input we can get our hands on. ‘He gave me some great pointers about social media and said we needed a name for the event. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?’
Caleb purses his lips as he concentrates and I try not to giggle. ‘Cake And Dates?’
‘That’s the best you can do?’ I ask, a giggle still ready to pounce.
‘Hey, you put me on the spot,’ he says. ‘And it’s hardly my area of expertise.’
‘No, mine either.’ I scoop up a good dollop of apple crumble and lift my spoon. ‘This is what I’m good at. I can bake cakes with my eyes closed. But dating?’ I shake my head. ‘Not my thing. And coming up with cute or catchy titles? Not a chance.’
‘I’m sure you’ll come up with something,’ Caleb says and I wish I had half of his confidence in my abilities. Instead of being negative, I push the apple crumble into my mouth. It really is very good.
‘Right then,’ Dad says, gathering up the empty cups and bowls. ‘Who wants a look at my radishes?’
Cara jumps out of her seat and rushes to the nearest bed, peering in at the greenery. ‘Is that a radish?’
‘No, dear. That’s spring onion,’ Birdie says, joining her. She looks up at Dad, who has dumped the plastic dishes in the shed. ‘Right?’
‘They certainly are,’ Dad says before he reels off all the facts and figures he’s learned about spring onions over the years. My eyes and ears are glazing over and when I glance over at Caleb, I see he’s in as much agony as I am.
‘I think Franklin might prefer to go on a little walk,’ I tell Dad, unwinding the lead that’s been tied around one of the chairs. Franklin looks more than happy as he snoozes on the ground but he’s my ticket out of here. ‘Why don’t Caleb and I take him for a little wander and bring back some ice creams?’
‘He looks all right to me,’ Dad says, frowning down at a still-slumbering Franklin. ‘And we’ve just had apple crumble.’
‘No, I think Maddie might be right,’ Birdie says. ‘He is looking a bit bored and it’s quite hot here. An ice cream would cool us down nicely.’ Birdie winks at me. ‘Cara will be fine here with us.’
Dad’s attention has already been drawn back to his veggies so he doesn’t even notice as Caleb, Franklin and I scurry away from his plot.
‘Thank you,’ Caleb says once we emerge back out onto the dirt track and I supress another giggle. Caleb looks so grateful to be given a reprieve from the radish lecture that I half expect him to drop to his knees with gratitude on the gravel.
‘Any time,’ I say and allow Franklin to lead the way.
Chapter Fifteen
What to wear, what to wear. I stand in front of my open wardrobe, fingers tingling with nerves and frustration as they glide along the rail of garments. I have lots of clothes, but none that seem appropriate for Sunday lunch with Dad’s new girlfriend (not that Dad will admit that’s what Birdie is right now). Yes, I’m getting ready to go to Birdie’s for lunch. I’d been feeling pretty clever after swerving Dad’s riveting radish talk, but the wind had been well and truly knocked out of my sails when Caleb and I returned and Birdie had dropped the question casually into the conversation.
‘Your dad’s just working out how many vegetables he’ll need to bring for lunch tomorrow,’ she’d said as Caleb handed out the Fab lollies we’d bought from a shop up the road. ‘You’ll be coming, won’t you?’
‘Me?’ I’d squeaked, the unwrapped ice lolly suspended halfway along its journey to my mouth.
Birdie had smiled sweetly at me but there was something mischievous going on judging by the twinkle in her eyes. ‘The more the merrier. It’s not the same having a lovely big roast with just two people. You need company to truly enjoy the experience.’
‘I’m supposed to be working. It’s my shift,’ I said, ice lolly still hovering.
‘But you’ll try?’
Birdie’s eyes were wide and hopeful and so I felt I had little choice but to agree to do my best.
‘Great!’ Birdie clapped her hands together. ‘So that makes four.’
‘Four?’ I’d asked and that’s when Birdie dropped the bombshell. I knew her eyes had been twinkling!
‘Caleb’s coming too,’ she’d announced before unwrapping her ice lolly and closing her eyes in bliss as her tongue made contact.
So now I need something to wear as Mags has valiantly stepped forward to fill my shoes in the teashop this afternoon. I’d tried to convince her otherwise, pointing out that she’d be in need of her day off after her date with Owen.
‘We’re going for dinner, not running a marathon,’ she’d told me. ‘I’ll be perfectly able to work a shift in the afternoon.’
I haven’t even had the chance to ask how the date went since Mags arrived half an hour ago as I’d bolted straight up to the flat to shower. Now I’m about to weep into my useless clothes as nothing is jumping out at me. What do you wear for lunch with your dad’s new girlfriend? Nothing too formal, I should imagine, but something a bit fancier than your usual jeans, T-shirt and Converse combo. Working i
n the teashop, I’m used to dressing for comfort but that just won’t do today.
I snatch a dress from the rail, inspect it briefly before shoving it back into the wardrobe. It’s a perfectly nice dress but the neckline is far too plunging for a Sunday lunch with Dad. I don’t even know why I still own the dress; it isn’t like I’ve had occasion to wear it over my past twelve months in isolation.
Next up is a floaty summer dress with pink roses and a respectable neckline. It’s perfect. At least it would be if it didn’t have a pink stain left by stubborn raspberry sauce on the front. I’d forgotten all about that. Balling the dress up, I throw it onto the bed, ready to chuck in the wheelie bin on my way out later.
Bypassing a bunch of T-shirts, I locate another dress – one that doesn’t have a check-out-my-boobs neckline or a bright pink stain – and pull it out. It’s pale yellow with a blue and white floral pattern and a hemline that reaches just above the knee. I throw it on, teaming it with my denim jacket with three-quarter-length sleeves and a pair of white pumps. I’m comfortable but it looks like I’ve made a bit of an effort, though not enough to have Caleb thinking I’m trying to impress him. I pull my hair into a messy bun, apply a bit of make-up (but again, not too much) and I’m ready. I offered to bring dessert – and Birdie was more than happy to accept – so I grab the jam roly-poly and custard from the kitchen on my way out.
Birdie lives a ten-minute walk away and, as I haven’t had the chance to go for a run for the past few days, I decide to leave the car behind and squeeze a bit of exercise into my day. Franklin is ecstatic to see me, even when he realises I’ve come empty-handed dog-treat-wise. Tongue lolling, he slumps onto his side in the hallway and lifts his paws to flash his beige tummy. I oblige by giving it a thorough rub.
‘This dude certainly knows how to charm the ladies,’ a male voice – which belongs to neither Dad nor Caleb – says. ‘Whenever I try this trick, the girls walk away in disgust.’ Neal grins at me as I look up at him, and he holds out a hand to help me to my feet.
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 10