‘I didn’t know you were going to be here.’ I’m relieved, to be honest. Caleb and I had a nice chat while hunting out ice lollies (and avoiding Dad’s veggie talk, if we’re being honest), but I can’t seem to push his rejection of me from my mind and it crops up every now and then to throw me off guard. I’m just thankful Caleb isn’t aware that I know about his feelings towards me. I’d be even more mortified if he knew that I was privy to his thoughts and I don’t think either of us would be able to conduct a conversation. With Neal being here, he can act as a buffer between me and my inner Caleb-thinks-you’re-grotesque monologue.
‘I didn’t until an hour ago.’ It seems Neal can’t resist Franklin’s charms either as he drops onto his haunches to rub the dog’s still-exposed belly. ‘Caleb invited me along and Birdie assures me it’s a case of the more the merrier. Plus, I never pass up a Sunday roast.’
Luckily, I’ve brought extra jam roly-poly. I’m beginning to learn that being prepared for additional mouths is key.
‘There’s enough meat to feed an army,’ Birdie says when Neal and I finally tear ourselves away from Franklin’s belly. ‘You’ll all be taking sandwiches home for supper. And your dad has brought some gorgeous fresh veggies over. We’re in for a treat.’ Birdie eyes the tubs in my hands. ‘Is this dessert?’ She rubs her hands together as I nod.
‘Jam roly-poly and homemade custard. It’s Dad’s second favourite.’
‘Then we really are in for a treat.’ Birdie takes the tubs from me and leads Neal and I – and a waddling Franklin – into the garden. Dad and Caleb are enjoying cold bottles of lager on the patio and while Birdie claims she isn’t green-fingered, her garden is a breathtaking riot of colour with borders of pinks, yellows and reds, hanging baskets spilling blues and purples and window boxes bursting with an entire rainbow of colour. It’s an absolute joy.
‘Not my handiwork,’ Birdie tells me when she sees me eyeing her gorgeous garden in awe. ‘One of my other grandsons is a gardener, so I told him what I wanted and he created it for me. Beautiful, isn’t it?’
It really is. Not only are the flowers beautiful to look at, their scent is heavenly.
‘Would you like lager or a glass of wine?’ Birdie asks as Neal takes his place at the table.
‘A glass of wine would be lovely, thank you.’ I join the others at the table, kissing Dad on the cheek before sitting down. The sun is bright today but the parasol above the table is providing some much-needed shade.
‘So have you thought of a name yet?’ Neal asks. I phoned him back the evening before, passing on the details of the social media platforms I set up as soon as I got back from Dad’s. I’ve created Twitter, Facebook and Instagram accounts with sparkling bios, making sure to add the teashop’s contact details. I took photos of the front of the teashop, which I’ve posted across the platforms, and I plan to take photos whenever I’m baking. I posted a selfie with the jam roly-poly this morning and it’d already gained fourteen likes on Instagram by the time I set off for Birdie’s. I’m itching to whip my phone out for an update, but I don’t want to be rude.
A name for the dating service, however, has still to make itself known. Victoria, Mags and I had a chat about it yesterday, but our ideas so far stink.
‘We’re working on it,’ I tell Neal. ‘If you have any ideas, they’re more than welcome.’
‘Hmm.’ Neal picks up his drink and takes a sip. ‘Speed Caking?’
‘That’s … an option,’ I say before Caleb tramples all over my diplomacy.
‘And you thought Cake And Dates was bad,’ he says.
‘I did. Really, really bad.’ Not that I’ve managed to come up with anything better. ‘Seriously though, what am I going to call it?’
‘It’ll come to you,’ Caleb says with such a breezy tone that I want to grab him by the shoulders and give him a shake while screaming WHEN WILL IT COME TO ME? WHEN??? But I don’t. Obviously. That would be crazy.
‘Hopefully before we go to print,’ Neal adds, which isn’t helpful at all.
I’ve taken to asking everybody I know what I should call the dating service, but nobody has come up with the jackpot yet. Dad suggested Date With Cake, which I sort of like. It’s short and punchy and does exactly what it says on the tin. It’s similar to Caleb’s idea but this is my dad’s suggestion and he’s my hero, so it’s already marching ahead of all the other ideas. But still, it’s not quite right. Birdie adds Love Cakes to the mix, while Mum’s offering is Sprinkles With Love. She’s watching for a reaction right now as she sits opposite me in my flat, the coffee table filled with tea and cake between us.
‘That’s actually pretty good,’ I say and Mum cocks an eyebrow.
‘You sound surprised.’
I am. Very. I didn’t expect a decent answer from Mum, as she isn’t usually one for fussing over the finer details. She’s a straightforward, say-it-how-you-see-it kind of woman who isn’t prone to flowery terms or endearments. It was why I ran to Dad after discovering Joel and Penny’s affair as I knew Mum would tell me to ‘buck up’ and ‘these things make us stronger’ and I needed sympathy and comfort at that moment in time.
I grab my notepad and jot down Mum’s input, underlining it three times. I think we may have a winner here.
‘What about Have Your Cake And Eat It Too?’ Ivor suggests, which earns him a tut from Mum.
‘Don’t be so vulgar. Madeleine is running a respectable dating service, not something smutty. She wants a good, wholesome name, not something that conjures up images of oral sex.’
My eyes bulge out of their sockets but Mum doesn’t seem to notice as she picks up a dainty fondant fancy and nibbles the edge.
‘I don’t think Ivor meant … anything like that,’ I say, sneaking my eyes in his direction. I’m not entirely sure either way, to be honest. He has a weird smirk on his face as he watches Mum’s nibbling.
‘Still, it’s hardly suitable.’ Mum finishes the cake, brushing a few stray crumbs from her blouse before draining her teacup. ‘We should get going,’ she tells Ivor, whose cheeks are bulging with the two fondant fancies he’s shoved into his chops. I like Ivor, but he and Mum are like chalk and cheese. It’s hard to imagine them as a couple sometimes. ‘Oh, Madeleine, I forgot to mention. I ran into Penny yesterday.’ Mum picks up her silk scarf and knots it around her throat. ‘She misses you, you know.’ Mum’s eyebrows droop as she gives me a puckered little smile. ‘You were such good friends.’
‘Until she slept with Joel.’ I grab Mum’s jacket and thrust it at her, eager to get her out of the flat. Mum doesn’t seem to quite grasp what Penny did to me. She knows it was wrong, that it hurt me, but she thinks everybody makes mistakes and I should learn to forgive. As though I can simply brush off the betrayal and carry on as normal. I wish we could meet up and not have this conversation, but Mum can’t seem to help herself and we have to hash over it every single time.
‘She’s so sorry for what she did to you, but it was a mistake.’ Mum cocks her head to one side and gives me a patronising smile. ‘Everybody makes them, sweetheart.’
I love Mum, but it’s at times like these when it makes perfect sense that I’m closer to Dad. Dad doesn’t sympathise with the back-stabbing enemy. He doesn’t sweep my feelings under the carpet as though they’re an inconvenience.
‘You don’t accidentally have sex with your best friend’s fiancé three weeks before their wedding,’ I say as Mum threads her arms into her jacket. She holds up a hand once it emerges from the sleeve.
‘I didn’t say it was a little mistake. It was huge, I know. But are you going to punish her for ever? Isn’t it time to move on?’
‘Absolutely. I have moved on.’ I start to guide Mum towards the door as she buttons up the jacket. ‘And speaking to Penny would be a massive step backwards. We are never going to be friends, Mum. I can’t believe you’d suggest otherwise.’
‘I’m just looking out for you.’ Mum turns and darts her lips at my cheek before I can swipe her away. ‘I w
ant you to be happy and you were never happier than when you and Penny were together.’
‘You’re wrong.’ I open the door and usher Mum and Ivor out into the tiny, drab staircase. ‘I was happiest when Joel and I were together and Penny helped to destroy that.’
I slam the door shut and stomp my way back into the living room where I snatch my notepad and rip off the page where I’d jotted down Mum’s suggestion. Screwing it into a tight ball, I toss it into the kitchen bin. I won’t be taking Mum’s advice after all – not about Penny or the name of my dating service. So it looks like it’s back to the drawing board.
Chapter Sixteen
‘So, how did your date with Owen go?’ I ask Mags. It’s been three days since their date, but this is the first shift we’ve shared since. I’ve spent the morning baking, uploading photos to our social media platforms and doodling ideas for our date night poster while Mags has either been busy in the office or serving in the teashop, but we’re taking a much-needed tea, cake and catch-up break.
‘It was nice,’ Mags says, digging into her sticky toffee pudding.
‘Nice?’ It’s hardly an inspiring description of a first date, is it? I hope the participants of the speed dating don’t walk away thinking ‘ooh, that was nice’. I want them shouting from the rooftops about what a wonderful, exciting experience it had been. I want them to be bursting with lust and hope and joy, the way I used to allow myself to feel. Nice just won’t cut it.
‘It was fun.’ Mags shrugs. ‘We had a laugh.’
‘Did you kiss?’ I miss a lot of things about my relationship with Joel, and kissing is definitely in the top three. Although being smothered in doggy kisses from Franklin is heart-warming, it just isn’t the same.
‘I’m a lady,’ Mags says through a mouthful of pudding. ‘I don’t kiss on a first date. And I certainly don’t kiss and tell.’
‘But did you want to kiss him?’ Mags doesn’t answer with words, but her cheeks glow, which gives me the answer I’m desperate for. I can’t help giving a happy little squeal. ‘Are you seeing him again?’
Mags shrugs. ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe?’ What kind of answer is that? ‘Have you arranged anything?’
Mags jabs her pudding again, bringing another forkful towards her mouth. ‘We’re going to the cinema on Friday.’ Mags speaks rapidly before shoving the fork into her mouth so she doesn’t have to give any more details. But that’s plenty. For now.
‘I bet you’ll be sitting in the back row,’ I tease, dodging as Mags swipes at me with a napkin. I’m still giggling when Nicky arrives, dropping into the seat next to me.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asks and Mags rolls her eyes.
‘Maddie think it’s hilarious that a man finds me attractive.’
I gasp. ‘That isn’t true. You’re a very attractive woman. That’s why Owen wants to smooch you in the back row.’ I dodge the napkin again before turning to Nicky. ‘They’re going on a second date on Friday. You should all start calling me Cupid.’
‘Or something that rhymes with it,’ Mags mutters. I choose to ignore her.
‘I hope your date goes better than mine did on Saturday.’ Nicky mimes a yawn while patting her mouth with the palm of her hand. ‘Talk about boring. I was home by nine o’clock. It’s such a shame because he was gorgeous.’ Nicky stands up and wanders over to the counter to see what we have on offer today.
‘Wait a minute.’ I leap up and scuttle behind the counter to face her. ‘You went out with a gorgeous bloke and you were home by nine?’
‘Half past at the latest.’ Nicky runs a finger along the glass front before pausing and tapping against her chosen treat. ‘I’ll have a cherry cola muffin and a cup of tea please.’
‘But you went home alone?’ I ask as I reach for a muffin.
‘There was no way I was bringing Mr Boring back with me. My mum would have flipped.’
‘But you didn’t go back to his?’ I’m shocked. Despite being stunning, Nicky doesn’t seem to have much self-worth and she’ll offer herself to anyone even vaguely interested. I’ve lost count of the number of guys who have enjoyed a night with Nicky before disappearing into the ether. I’m proud that she’s realised sex isn’t a given when it comes to dating, that she can hold back and wait for someone worthy.
‘Hopefully I’ll have more luck tonight,’ Nicky says as she sneaks a pinch of her muffin.
‘Who are you seeing?’ I’m only asking to be polite; there’s no way I can keep up with Nicky’s dating exploits.
‘LonelySwimmer578. Real name Hughie. He’s much more fun than his username suggests.’ Nicky wrinkles her nose. ‘Or at least he seems it online. Who knows in real life?’
I make Nicky’s cup of tea and we head back to the table, where the conversation inevitably turns to the teashop’s upcoming date night. It isn’t very often that we speak of anything else these days. Luckily, my friends are just as enthusiastic about the venture as I am.
‘So we’re going with Date With Cake?’ Mags asks. There have been a few more ideas flung around – InstaDates and Cakes, The Mixing Bowl, Recipe For Love, for example – but Date With Cake seems to be the most popular so far. I haven’t mentioned Mum’s ‘Sprinkles With Love’ suggestion as I’m still having an inner hissy fit over her turn-coating.
‘I think so.’ I’m not entirely sold on the idea, but we aren’t exactly drowning in choices here. ‘If we haven’t had a super-brainwave by closing, I’m going to phone Neal so he can put it in the article.’
‘Have you seen Neal lately?’ Nicky asks, uber-casually. She’s fooling no-one.
‘Not since Sunday.’
Nicky pouts. ‘I can’t believe you had lunch with him. That’s practically a date.’
‘Hardly,’ I say. ‘My dad was there, plus Birdie and Caleb. And you know I’d never date someone you were interested in.’
‘He doesn’t fancy me anyway.’ Nicky folds her arms across her chest. ‘He’d rather go for Imogen or Victoria.’
As though on cue, Victoria bursts through the door. She isn’t supposed to be working today, but I don’t point this out when I catch sight of the girl.
‘What’s happened?’ Mags asks. We’re both out of our seats and rushing towards her, but Victoria holds a hand out to stop us from reaching out to her. As lovely as Victoria is, she isn’t one for physical contact (as I learned the hard way early on in our working relationship. I went to hug her, Victoria sidestepped me and I ended up stumbling into a sack of flour. It took for ever to sweep it all up off the floor). Victoria is young but she’s fiercely independent and could give Mum a run for her money in the no-nonsense stakes. She’s a tough cookie.
Unfortunately, this cookie looks like it’s been dunked in a cup of tea for too long and is about to crumble. Her mascara and eyeliner is no longer accentuating her eyes – which are red and puffy – but sliding down her cheeks. She’s pressing her lips together in an obvious attempt to stop them quivering but is failing miserably.
‘What is it?’ I ask, fighting my natural instinct to pull the girl towards me.
‘It’s the band,’ she manages to say, a sob threatening to take away her words. ‘Terry’s signed them.’
Oh, but this is wonderful news! The best! These are surely tears of joy cascading down Victoria’s little cheeks. Because they’ve been courting Terry Sergeant and his management expertise for months. This is everything they’ve been working for, their step towards stardom.
‘They’ve signed without me,’ Victoria says a millisecond before she bursts into a full-on crying fest.
We manage to calm Victoria down after three cups of tea, a bowl of sticky toffee pudding with homemade vanilla ice cream and four chocolate chunk cookies. I was about to roll my sleeves up and knock up a batch of Victoria’s favourite peanut butter blondies when the cakes and biscuits didn’t appear to be working their magic, but then she seemed to rally, taking a huge, only slightly juddering breath, and launched into the full story.
‘So it turns out Terry has been dragging his feet. But not about the band in general. About me. He doesn’t like me.’ Victoria grabs another cookie, which is worrying as she’s already consumed an alarming amount of sugar in the past twenty minutes. She should be buzzing like a majorly cheesed off bee caught in a jar. ‘He doesn’t like me. Doesn’t think I “fit” with the band.’ Victoria waves the uneaten cookie in the air. ‘I made the band! I was a founding member. I was there way before Tom and Daniel.’
‘So Terry only wanted to take the band on without you?’ Mags asks and Victoria nods while swiping at her cheeks. We’ve tried to clean her up a bit but there’s still a stubborn grey mascara smudge across face.
‘And the bastards agreed!’ Victoria bites into the biscuit with such vigour, I can only imagine she’s picturing it’s the head of Terry and her bandmates. ‘Even Nathan. My boyfriend has betrayed me.’ There are crumbs flying left, right and centre but we don’t say a word about it, simply brush them away as subtly as we can. ‘I’ve been dumped.’
Nicky gasps, mid-crumb-swipe. ‘Nathan’s dumped you as well?’
Victoria shakes her head. ‘I meant from the band. They’ve booted me out of the band I helped create! How could he do this to me? I can sort of understand the others trampling over me for the chance of fame, but Nathan?’
‘Oh, sweetie.’ Mags, bravely, puts an arm around Victoria and amazingly it remains attached to her body. ‘That’s awful. I don’t know Nathan nearly as well as you do, but he didn’t seem the type. You must be devastated.’
Victoria takes another bite of the cookie. ‘I am.’
Nicky flicks the crumbs from her lap. ‘That Tom always looked a bit dodgy to me.’
None of us point out quite how awestruck Nicky had been in his presence.
‘What am I going to do?’ Victoria wails before she drops the biscuit onto her plate and covers her face with her hands. ‘I’ve lost everything. The band. Nathan. How can I even look at him any more? I want to rip his head off.’
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 11