‘I was studying to be a graphic designer, but I dropped out of uni part-way through the course. My ex-wife couldn’t handle being in a long-distance relationship, so I came home.’ Beverley’s eyebrows lower and her eyes take on a wide, Bambi-like look as Caleb tells her his story. ‘I meant to enrol in a course closer to home, but in the meantime, I took a job as a teaching assistant. My nan’s a teacher and the school she was working at needed maternity cover for a TA. It sounded perfect. I could take the temporary job and pay off some of my bills until my course started.’ Caleb shrugs. ‘But I grew complacent. When a permanent job came up at the school, I took it.’
‘Do you ever think about returning to university?’ Beverley asks, topping up Caleb’s cup without asking if he’d like more. ‘Because it’s never too late. My mother – Nicole’s grandmother – got a degree well into her fifties and you’re what …?’
‘Thirty-two,’ Caleb says and Beverley’s eyes widen again as she looks from Caleb to Nicky and back again.
‘And do you want to get married again?’
‘Not at this moment in time,’ Caleb says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
‘I know some lovely girls,’ Beverley tells him. Her eyes slide back to Nicky, who shakes her head.
‘Mama,’ she growls. ‘Stop right there.’
Beverley tuts. ‘How about my niece then? Nicole’s cousin Nia is so sweet and absolutely beautiful. I think you’d like her.’
‘Nia’s got a boyfriend,’ Nicky points out.
‘That waste of space?’ Beverley shakes her head and tuts again. ‘He’s no good to anyone. No, Nia needs a good, strong man.’ Beverley’s lips stretch into a toothy grin as she eyes Caleb up. ‘A handsome man to have bonny babies with.’
‘Time to go!’ I leap out of my seat and crash my teacup down on the tray before pulling Caleb to his feet. ‘Thank you for the tea.’
‘Won’t you have another cup?’ Beverley asks. ‘I have some photos of Nia I can show you.’
‘Thanks, but I’m really not looking to date anyone at the moment,’ Caleb says as we back out of the room. ‘I’ve only just got divorced and everything.’
‘But you’ll keep Nia in mind when you are ready?’ Beverley presses.
‘Mama, leave him alone.’ Nicky rolls her eyes and pops the last macaron in her mouth.
‘I’m only trying to help,’ Beverley huffs. ‘I don’t mean any harm.’
‘I know,’ Caleb says. We’re on the threshold. Escape is in sight. ‘But I’m really not ready for a new relationship.’
‘You just holler when you are.’ Beverley marches past us and sees us to the door. I slip my shoes on lightning fast but even so I have to scuttle after Caleb to keep up. He hasn’t even fastened his shoelaces in his haste to bolt from the house.
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I say once we’re a safe distance from the house and Caleb has stopped to tie his laces. ‘Next time we’ll leave Nicky in the pub.’
‘Or we could deposit her at the gate, give her a prod towards the door and hide in the bushes to watch she gets in all right,’ Caleb suggests.
‘And you don’t think beady-eyed Beverley will catch us out?’
‘Good point.’ Caleb straightens and we set off again. ‘But I think we’ll have to take our chances.’
‘You’re a true hero,’ I tease. ‘Where are we heading, by the way?’
‘I have no idea.’ Caleb takes his phone out of his pocket. ‘I’ll phone a taxi and drop you off first.’
We sit on a low wall as we wait for the taxi to arrive. Although my shoes aren’t nearly as deadly as Nicky’s, my feet are starting to throb and I’m painfully aware of how little time I have before I have to get up for work in the morning. Still, it’s been a great night, Beverley’s ferocious matchmaking aside.
The taxi takes for ever to turn up at our wall and we’ve resorted to playing I Spy when it finally pulls up in front of us. I’m so grateful to see it I could almost weep. Not only am I desperate to crawl into bed, we ran out of things we could see in the dark several minutes ago.
‘Something beginning with BO,’ Caleb whispers as we climb into the back of a rather pungent taxi.
‘Shouldn’t that be I smell?’ I whisper back.
‘You smell lovely,’ Caleb says. ‘Unlike him.’
My stomach drops to my knees when the driver turns around and I fear we’ve been rumbled, but the driver is simply asking where we’re heading (while wafting more sweaty smells our way).
‘Kingsbury Road,’ I tell the driver and he scratches his head. White flakes scatter onto his headrest.
‘Where’s that, love?’
This is my problem, I think. Nobody knows where my road is. If I’m going to make a success of The Sweetest Kiss, I need to get out there and show people where to find us. I need to up my game.
‘It’s just off Guild Street,’ I say and the driver nods, dislodging a few more fluttery flakes.
The drive only takes a few minutes but it feels like for ever with the air clogged with bad odours and dandruff. We open both windows but it still isn’t enough and I’m tempted to stick my head out and lap at the fresh air like a dog.
‘Do you want to come up?’ I ask as the taxi pulls up outside a darkened Sweet Street. I press my lips together as soon as I realise what I’ve suggested but it’s too late. The words are out there, mingling with the BO. Caleb probably thinks I’m desperate to get into his ripped skinny jeans, which I am absolutely not.
‘Yes please,’ Caleb says, reaching past me to open the door and practically manhandling me out of the car with one hand while paying the driver with the other. Blimey, he’s keen. So much for not being interested!
‘Thank you,’ he says as the taxi pulls away. He takes a few deep breaths. ‘I think I’d have passed out if I had to stay in there a minute longer. I think he farted as we turned off Guild Street.’
‘Yes,’ I say, nodding rapidly like an idiot. ‘That’s why I invited you up.’
‘Looks like you’re a true hero too.’ Caleb nudges me. ‘We should set up our own superhero league.’
Yes, and I’d be Doofus Girl. I can’t believe I thought Caleb wanted to come up to my flat because he fancied me when it turns out he was simply fleeing the rancid smell from our driver’s rear.
‘I don’t suppose I could come up for a few minutes?’ Caleb says when we’ve hovered on the pavement outside the teashop for a few awkward minutes. ‘I’ll call another taxi, but I don’t want to get lumbered with him again.’
‘So you’re going to let some other poor soul get assaulted by his odour,’ I say as I lead Caleb around the back of the terrace. ‘That’s not very superhero-ish.’
Caleb hangs his head. ‘I’ll return my costume in the morning.’
‘That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing your underpants.’ My eyes widen as I realise what I’ve said. ‘On the outside of your pants, I mean. I don’t want to see your actual underwear. Ugh.’ Ugh? What am I doing? There’s a fine line between letting someone know you’re not into them and insulting them, and I’ve crossed it. I’ve taken a giant, running jump over the bloody line. ‘I didn’t mean that. The “ugh” bit. I did mean that I don’t want to see your underwear, but I bet it’s nice underwear. Not ugh at all.’
I need to stop talking. I need to stop talking now.
I do, but then so does Caleb and we end up making the rest of the journey up to my flat in silence. I don’t even apologise over the pokiness or the mismatched furniture. It’s so super-awkward, I’m half-tempted to lock myself in the bathroom until he goes home.
Chapter Twenty
Remind to never EVER drink again. I fall asleep after half a glass of wine at home – what was I thinking? Great night though! xx
I smile as I read Mags’s text message, until I remember what happened later that night and my face scrunches in on itself as I cringe at the memory. It’s a good job I’m not ready to date again after Joel because, judging from last nigh
t’s debacle, I’d seriously suck at the dating game. Not that I will advertise this fact when I’m about to launch The Sweetest Kiss. In just nine days, the fate of ten dating hopefuls will be in my hands and I want them to feel confident in my abilities as a cake-bearing dating guru, even if I can’t seem to get a grip of my own love life.
‘We’re running low on bananas.’ Victoria pops her head into the office to update me on our fruit status. I’ve been sitting in the office since I finished the morning’s baking, finalising the design for our flyers on the computer. It isn’t going well.
‘Already?’ I check the time in the corner of the computer screen. It isn’t even midday yet and I haven’t made a banoffee pie today – or any other dessert involving bananas – so I’m confused.
‘Robbie’s on his third milkshake,’ Victoria whispers.
‘Third?’ That can’t be good for him. Isn’t there a limit to the number of bananas you’re supposed to consume in a day? If there is, Robbie’s probably already hit it. ‘Don’t serve him any more milkshakes. Or if you do, try to nudge him over to the strawberry one.’ I feel like a pub landlord refusing to serve more alcohol to a wasted customer. Here, have a coffee instead, pal. You’ll thank me for it in the morning.
‘I’ll try.’ Victoria shrugs before sloping away. I turn back to the computer screen. Yep, the design for the flyers is as rubbish as I remembered. I am bad at this. Very bad. I can make a cake look pretty. I can mould people and little animals out of icing (and I even made a cake into a pair of boobs for one of Joel’s friends once) but I cannot make these flyers look anything other than pants.
Oh, God. Pants. Underpants. I cringe again, covering my face to shield me against both the terrible design on the screen and my shame. What had I been thinking? How had I allowed such rubbish to spew from my mouth? Caleb must think I’m a Grade A idiot and I’ll have really cemented his assessment that he’s not interested in me.
Oh, double God. I hope he doesn’t tell Birdie what happened. How will I ever be able to serve her apple crumble and custard again after discussing her grandson’s underwear? And what if she and Dad end up getting married (I know I’m jumping the gun a bit here, but I’m in a panic so please forgive me) and I have to face them all the time, reliving the underpants convo over and over again?
I slump across the desk with a groan, not caring that I’m sprawling across the keyboard and probably making blind changes to my flyers. Who cares, anyway? They’re so rubbish, my elbows are probably improving the design.
‘Sleeping on the job?’
I lift my head ever so slightly when I hear Nicky’s voice. She’s looking chipper despite the numerous cocktails she tossed down her throat last night.
‘Just contemplating leaving the country, rapidly,’ I say, reluctantly sitting up.
‘What the hell is that supposed to be?’ Nicky points at the screen, where my flyer is proudly announcing Manchester’s brand new dating service, The Sweetest Kissbnxasmkeww’qew. ‘Is it some new dating lingo I haven’t heard of?’
‘Hardly.’ I delete the superfluous characters, though it does nothing to improve the flyer. ‘You’re the expert when it comes to dating. I should make you my guru.’
‘I don’t think you need any help in that department.’ Nicky closes the office door and skips towards me, dodging the assault course of flour and sugar sacks. ‘You and Caleb seemed to be getting on pretty well last night. You know that tea with my mum counts as a first date, don’t you?’
Nicky thinks she’s being funny. I do not. ‘I was talking about being a guru to advise on The Sweetest Kiss. And I wouldn’t get too excited about me and Caleb becoming an item.’ I can feel another cringe coming on, or perhaps a headache. Probably both.
‘You can’t tell me you don’t fancy him,’ Nicky says and I will begrudgingly admit that she’s right (in my head, at least. I’m under no obligation to confirm her suspicions out loud). Caleb is lovely and sweet and okay, okay, I admit it, he’s butterflies-in-your-tummy cute. ‘After seeing the two of you getting cosy in the pub last night, I’d say you fancy the pants off him.’
I drop my head into my hands as the hovering cringe takes full control of my features. I want to slide to the floor and tuck myself under the desk in the foetal position.
‘Oh. My. Goodness.’ Nicky is suddenly on me, tearing my hands away from my cringe-tastic face. ‘Something happened with you two last night, didn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I squeak, mortification oozing from every pore on my body. ‘But not what you think.’
Nicky perches on the edge of my desk and raises her eyebrows at me, head cocked to one side. ‘What I think happened is you and Caleb kissed. Are you telling something else happened?’
I groan. I don’t want to say these words out loud, to make them even more vivid than they already are in my head. But Nicky is my friend. A good friend. I know that I can tell her anything and she’ll help me – after a good, roll-around-on-the-floor laugh, obviously.
‘I insulted his underwear,’ I whisper as a blanket of shame spreads over me. Far from being warm and comforting, this blanket is the nasty, scratchy kind.
‘You insulted his underwear?’ Nicky blinks at me. ‘Is this new dating lingo I’ve never heard of?’
I shake my head. ‘Unfortunately not. I insulted his underwear. Bad-mouthed it. I think the exact expression was “ugh”.’
‘Oh Lord.’ Nicky covers her super-glossy pink lips with her fingers. ‘What on earth was he wearing? Not a leather thong? Or an animal pouch? I really don’t get those. There is nothing sexy about a cuddly monkey and if a bloke thinks there is, we are already incompatible in the bedroom.’
‘I didn’t actually see his underwear,’ I clarify. ‘It just sort of came up in conversation.’
‘How did his underwear come up in conversation?’
‘I don’t know. It was something to do with superheroes.’
‘Superheroes?’ Nicky is looking at me as though I’ve sprouted an extra head.
‘People talk about superheroes,’ I say, straightening in my chair. ‘It’s a perfectly valid topic of conversation.’
‘Yes, if you’re drooling over Henry Cavill with your girlfriends. Talking about superheroes and their underpants is in a whole different league.’ Nicky presses her lips together and I know what’s coming. I can practically see it bubbling up inside her, starting in her tummy and working its way up to her mouth before the giggle escapes.
‘Stop it. It isn’t funny,’ I say, though I find I’m giggling too.
‘What happened after you slagged off his smalls?’ Nicky asks and my giggles stop.
‘It was really awkward. He phoned a taxi but it took twenty minutes to arrive.’ Twenty agonising minutes where we sat opposite each other, conversation understandably stilted. I’d never been so relieved to see the glow of headlights through the window before. ‘Then he left and I went to bed hoping I’d wake up to find it was a bad dream.’
Nicky’s eyebrows droop as she flashes me a sympathetic look. ‘It looks like we’re both unlucky in love.’ Her eyes dart to the closed door and back and she lowers her voice. ‘Did you find out what happened with Victoria and Neal last night?’
‘Nothing, as far as I know,’ I say with a shrug. ‘Victoria has just broken up with Nathan. She’s hardly going to jump into the sack with someone else the same day.’
Nicky closes her eyes and sighs. ‘Haven’t you heard of rebound sex?’ She opens her eyes so she can wink at me. ‘Some of my finest moments have occurred during rebound sex.’
‘Victoria isn’t like that. She’s been with Nathan since they were at school.’
‘So she has a lot of catching up to do,’ Nicky says. ‘How is she walking?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘If she’s walking like John Wayne with gigantic haemorrhoids.’ Nicky hops off the table and performs a squat-legged waddle in the little space available. ‘Then she’s had a good night.’
‘She isn’t
walking like that,’ I tell Nicky as she plonks herself back on the desk. ‘Nobody walks like that.’
‘You didn’t see me after my weekend with Yuri.’ I’ve heard about Yuri, though he was before my time with Nicky. He whisked her off to Prague for a lust-filled weekend and she never heard from him again. ‘I couldn’t sit down for a week. Best weekend of my life.’
I close the window on my computer. The flyer design is hurting my eyes. ‘Well, Victoria’s walking normally.’
‘Neal’s still interested in her though,’ Nicky says. ‘I could tell, especially when he offered to walk her home. He was probably waiting for a Netflix and chill invite.’
‘Or maybe he was just being a gentleman?’
Nicky snorts. ‘Boy are you naïve. Here’s a tip for you when you do start dating: Netflix and chill has nothing to do with either Netflix or chilling.’
‘I do know that.’ I switch off my computer. I’ll come back to the flyer later. Or not. ‘Tea and cake time?’
Nicky pushes herself off the desk. ‘Absolutely.’
I open the office door and lead Nicky out, but we pause on the threshold between the kitchen and the teashop when we spot Victoria chatting to Neal at the counter.
‘See, he is interested,’ Nicky hisses in my ear. ‘I bloody knew it.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Grasping my arm with one hand, Nicky holds a finger up to her lips as she inches us closer. Victoria is sitting on top of the counter, red Converse-clad feet tapping at the glass front, while Neal is leaning against the countertop, his body angled away from us. He’s clearly in work mode – or at least operating under that impression – as the battered satchel he’d carried his camera and notepad in the other day is slung across his chest.
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts Page 14