by Jane Linfoot
‘Yellow and orange sugar stars for the boys, and pink and white hearts for the girls. And I ordered chocolate chips too because you liked to put those in the bottom of your cupcakes sometimes too.’
‘I did? Really?’ I’m past caring.
‘It was one of your signature moves, Edie.’
I should be glad she’s here to prompt me on that, when all I’m relying on are pictures. Now I she’s mentioned it, I did used to sprinkle chocolate chips in the bottom of the cupcake cases as a cheeky surprise. Nothing impressed Marcus’s mates more than a twist.
‘I’ll leave you and Bella to it, then. Shout if you need me.’
Much as I love Aunty Jo, neither of us can work out when she last baked, and, as Bella’s a whizz in the kitchen, she’s agreed to FaceTime me and talk me through every move. It’s not long before my phone rings, and we’re away.
‘Okay, first put the oven on. Show me and I’ll tell you which knob it is, then I’ll hold up the number you need to turn it around to.’
I’m determined to nail this, which is why she’s supervising so closely. It’s amazing how much you take for granted when you throw a cake mix together in the normal adult way. When you’re relying on instructions for every move, it takes forever to do. It’s a bit like the building site documents. They run to pages and pages, because every last action has to be spelled out and described in detail. I don’t even want to imagine wading my way through one of those – which is fine because I won’t have to until much later. By the time I do, it won’t feel hard at all.
The up side of it all taking so long is there’s time to catch up on all the goss with Bella. I sense she’s keen to have another look at my life drawing sketches, but for now I’ve hidden them under the sofa. In fact not much has happened since last night when she went through my Facebook page for me, like she does most days. Instagram is mainly pictures, so mostly I scroll through that myself, with Aunty Jo filling in the blanks. It’s weird that when I was posting and tweeting non-stop, if I lost internet for a second I used to panic. But now I’ve stopped it feels like I’ve got off a train. It’s gone on without me, and the world is still turning. The world does turn, doesn’t it? I didn’t dream that. So how does that work then?
Although right now that’s the least of my problems. Right now I’m more concerned with how my cakes look now they’re coming out of the oven.
‘And? Show me?’ Bella’s sounding impatient as I accidentally burn myself and crash them down onto the work surface.
‘The bakery muffins are way bigger.’ I wave my phone over them, but if I’m honest these are a bit small and wrinkly.
‘No worries – you got the chocolate chips in, they’re not burned, the red stripy cases are cute and, so long as we get a humungous swirl of buttercream on every one, they’ll be fine.’ Bella likes to look on the sunny side. ‘With cupcakes, it’s mainly the buttercream people go for anyway. Load it with vanilla, you’ll be cooking on gas.’
‘What gas is that?’ It’s that cooker thing again. We have electricity here, she knows because we’ve been talking about the fan in the oven.
‘“Cooking on gas” is just what people say when everything’s hunky-dory.’
‘Hunky-dory?’
‘When things are going well. Cooking on gas might work for your phrase list?’ Her eyebrows shoot up, but her voice is level. ‘Get Aunty Jo to stick it on there, then you’ll remember it.’
I blow out a breath. It’s one of those everyday moments I get, well, every day. One minute everything’s going fine, then it all spirals out of control and within seconds my head’s pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst.
‘How’s it going, is everything okay?’
It’s Aunty Jo, she’s back, and she’s dressed in leggings and a flowery tunic very like one Loella wears, with a yellow jumper on top.
‘Come on, Chickpea, remember how I showed you to breathe in deeply and empty your mind?’
Fuck empty brains, that’s what got us here in the first place. But when she’s standing with her face two inches from mine, eyes closed, her nostrils flaring, it’s hard not to join in.
It’s Bella who finally jerks me back into the room. ‘Well, well, well, Edie, who’d have thought deep breaths could be so calming?’
It’s hard to tell if she’s being real or taking the piss. Seriously, I hope it’s the piss one. I laugh, because somehow we’ve put the stressy moment behind us. ‘Are you cooking with gas then, Bells?’
It’s nice that she’s laughing. ‘Shall we move onto buttercream now, Edie? So long as you’re not too exhausted.’
‘Would it help for me to whizz the icing together, then you can do the piping?’ Aunty Jo’s at the sink, tying up an apron and rinsing out the bowl from the mixer. Before I have time to blink, she disappears in an icing sugar cloud, and faster still she’s handing me a full piping bag of perfectly soft buttercream. ‘There you go, Sugarplum, you take it from here.’
‘Do you want to try a cake?’ There’s no point me tasting, and it is ‘eat all you can’ day today.
‘They look lovely, Sweetpea, but I don’t want to spoil my lunch. How about I save them for this afternoon?’
‘We’re having lunch so soon?’ All that morning to make two trays of cupcakes. The good bit is I counted them. All the way to nine, all on my own, twice.
Bella’s still laughing on my phone screen. ‘Time flies when you’re having a great time.’
The other good bit is, it might have taken me forever to work out the weighing and the mixing but it turns out I’m still an ace on the piping bag, and with a few prompts from Aunty Jo I count all the way to eighteen as I do them. And when we sprinkle the deccies on they look totally gorgeous, even though it’s me saying it.
Cookers on full? They certainly damn well are.
Barney Guy, or Guy Barney – or whatever the hell he’s called – prepare yourself to be wowed.
24
Day 165: Sunday, 15th April
At Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: Getting told I’m a bitching baker.
(Okay, crying over the cupcakes straight away after may negate that, but no one can take it away from me, those buttercream swirls were top class)
(One more okay, I put my hands up – technically the icing might have been Aunty Jo’s.)
(I’m sure no one even cared about that bit …)
It might be a party I never intended to have, but afternoon tea for twenty (I have to come clean, Aunty Jo did that counting) is pretty epic.
‘So guess whose cushions have sold?’ It’s Beth, and she’s coming into the garden room doing a little cha-cha wiggle, looking immensely pleased with herself. ‘It’s official, you two are totally commercial.’
Loella’s right behind her, pulling me into a hug. ‘Not only that, we also had a hen party enquiry. They’d like fifteen hand-sewn pillowcases, all with different “sleepyhead” slogans in hand-painted script.’ She flashes her fingers up three times as she squeaks. ‘Fifteen! How awesome is that?’
I grin at Aunty Jo. ‘There you go, I told you we could do this. Welcome to the world of strong independent women, once you get a taste for earning you won’t look back.’
Beth looks over to where Aunty Jo is surrounded by jumping kids. ‘Are you up for this Josie?’
Aunty Jo’s attempt at punching the air is so enthusiastic she spins right around and almost topples over.
Malcolm and Morgan are coming in, along with a couple of other friends they’ve brought to check out the stables, and they’re all carrying containers.
‘Time to put the kettle on, Edie?’ That’s my cue from Aunty Jo.
Loella puts up her hands. ‘As we’re celebrating, we brought bubbly, I hope that’s okay?’
Beth carries on. ‘Already chilled, there are plastic flutes for everyone, with fizzy grape for the small ones and drivers and paper plates for the cakes. Dad’s just going out for a second load, aren’t you?’ She gives Malcolm a
nudge away from where he’s just sidled up to rest his bum just along the table edge from Aunty Jo. ‘And Barney’s bringing cold beer.’
‘Brilliant.’ I’m hoping Aunty Jo doesn’t mind that afternoon tea has turned into a cork-popping fizz fest. From her pained expression, I’m guessing she’s not entirely happy. ‘Okay, Aunty Jo?’
She beckons me towards her, then whispers in my ear. ‘I’m not sure about paper plates.’
Marcus used to object to them on ethical save-the-planet grounds, which is fair enough, and the kind of luxurious stand you can take when you aren’t the one clearing up after barbies. But Aunty Jo is more about only eating from china.
‘Let’s give them a whirl, you might get to like them.’ I grab a bag of flutes from Beth, then wave Mia to bring the piles of cake boxes she’s collected from people through to the kitchen.
We put out blueberry muffins, bite-sized pieces of chocolate brownie, and slice up some nice sponge with jam and cream and an iced chocolate cake that Aunty Jo has got her hands on, probably on special request from the milk person. But my best moment comes when Aunty Jo disappears to the vegetable rack place and comes back carrying a special round glass plate on its own little glass tower. When I see my cupcakes arranged all over the top, for a second they look so beautiful I can’t even swallow.
Aunty Jo’s looking at me. ‘Okay, Sweetpea?’ She holds them up to Beth and Loella. ‘It’s a very proud moment, they’re her very first cakes since …’ She doesn’t need to say more.
Beth comes in for a high five. ‘Look at those amazing swirls, you didn’t tell us you were a bitching baker.’
‘Yay! for being back in the game.’ Loella gives me a play punch on the arm and calls through to the garden room. ‘Get those corks popping, this calls for fizz!’ Then she digs in her pocket, hands me a tissue and gives me a wink. ‘As soon as we’ve wiped your nose, Chickpea, let’s go.’
Beth’s rolling her eyes at me. ‘She’s thirty, Lo, not three, she doesn’t need you bossing.’ But, whatever Beth says, I’m very grateful for the hanky and the diversion.
As we parade through, Cam and Barney are arriving too but the best thing about having the garden room so full of guests is that once they’re in those two hardly show up at all. I put down the tray of glasses then, while I give out the paper plates, Malcolm pours the drinks and Mia passes them around. As the others dish out cake, and the noise rises, I can’t help thinking how dreary Sundays were when it was just Aunty Jo and me.
As soon as everyone’s holding a drink, Loella takes a spoon and jangles it on a china plate and coughs loudly. ‘Well, we’d like you to raise your glasses to say a big thank you to Josie, for letting us pop up in her stables for a week or two.’ She beams at Aunty Jo. ‘And we’d like you to raise your cupcakes to Edie “Sweetpea” Browne with an “e”, both for having that brilliant idea and for getting her baking apron on again.’ She’s beaming at me over the top of her stripy cupcake case. ‘It’s lovely to have you both on the lane, and we really appreciate you giving our businesses a leg up.’
There’s the kind of manic cheer you only ever get from an infant school, and the dull click of plastic as the glasses crash into each other.
Cam’s standing next to me, and I’m watching him scoop our vanilla buttercream into his mouth from his finger. ‘How is it?’
‘Sweet … and yummy.’
I let myself breathe again, knock back my grape juice to celebrate, then turn to Loella, who’s peeling back her cupcake paper a tiny bit at a time. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Not everyone realises, but the way to squeeze the total maximum enjoyment from one of these is to eat absolutely equal amounts of sponge and buttercream with each mouthful.’ She licks her lips. ‘Watch and learn.’
At this point what I’m learning most is if you lick your lips that enthusiastically you’ll demolish your lippy in the tiniest amount of time, whatever that is. I might need to let her into the secret of Laura Geller Fifty Kisses. It’s not bollocks at all, the name is entirely right about how long it lasts for. Not that Marcus was enough of a snogger to ever put it to the test. If they’d brought out a lippy for women with boyfriends like Marcus, they’d have probably called it One Peck, and that was in the early days. If I was lucky. Sometimes we’d go for weeks without the briefest lip brush. The one time I mentioned it he went all, ‘Well, Edes, you have the most designed kitchen in the street —’ he seemed to be overlooking that the design came from my office, but whatever ‘— and the most “out there” holidays, and the best sex at least once every day. Asking for any more icing on that very perfect cake, you’re coming across as a little bit needy.’
You see it’s funny. Some bits of my past have been wiped, then there are other parts where I can remember every word, from every single second, even though I’d possibly rather not. But what I’m meaning to say here is, if you want colour that locks on your lips like superglue, and lets you stuff your face with builders’ cake all day too, look no further. True, in my case they’d have been better to call it Fifty Doughnuts than Fifty Snogs, but whichever way you’re wearing it off, it’s well worth the cash.
As I mentally slide back into the sun room, Loella’s eyes are closed and she’s taking her bite in slow-mo. For me it’s another of those ‘hold your breath’ moments.
Then suddenly her eyes flash open, really, really wide. As her jaw drops, she makes one short croak in her throat. It’s only small, but it’s enough for me to know I’m in big trouble.
As my stomach drops like a stone, I look over my shoulder and see Aunty Jo across the other side of the sun room. She does one huge leap over Tally and her friend, who are sitting on the floor, and arrives at my elbow.
‘What is your problem, Loella?’
‘No, no! No problem, Josie, the sponge is a tiny bit salty, that’s all.’ Loella’s pulling at her tongue with her fingers.
‘Even in this deepest, darkest backwater of Cornwall, you must have heard of salted caramel? Take it from me, sweet with a hint of saline is very fashionable.’ Aunty Jo’s cheeks are flaming through her all-day foundation.
Loella holds a piece out to her. ‘See what you think then.’
‘What I think is, you must be putting it on the wrong part of your mouth.’ Aunty Jo’s tongue is pink between her lips as she slides in a morsel of cake. There’s a moment of silence then she lets out a gasp, ‘Of all the fucks …’ As she turns to me her gaze is so piercing it’s like she’s turned into that woman with red hair who used to be in charge of humiliation on tea time TV. ‘Okay, Sweetpea, no need to panic.’
There’s time for me to gulp. ‘I’m not.’
‘But … which sugar did you use?’
Sugar. I’m blinking.
She’s prompting me. ‘The flour was in the blue stripy bag, the eggs were in the green box, the sugar was in the white plastic container with the —’
‘With the …’ okay, I can do this one ‘… the yellow hat.’
Somehow she seems to get suddenly smaller. A lot, lot smaller. When she starts to talk even her voice is tiny. ‘I’m sorry everybody, this is all my fault. That was salt, Sweetpea, the sugar was the one with the blue hat – I mean, lid.’
I’m kicking myself for not checking, but cursing for not being able to taste too. If I was baking with salt instead of sugar, there’s no surprise the damn things weren’t fluffy. I licked the bowl out, and slurped a lot of the mixture too, purely out of habit, so no wonder I feel like I could drink a river. But, truly, what the hell was I thinking? Not so much about the mix-up, more that if I was even imagining I was in any way capable of baking and impressing people I must have had a momentary brain lapse.
‘It’s an easy mistake to make.’ Malcolm actually looks quite cheery. ‘It’s the kind I make most days, me and my kitchen don’t get on. I’m exactly the same kind of walking disaster area in there as you are.’
Beth gives him a ‘shut the eff up’ look as she grabs a plate and leaps forward. ‘Okay, t
here’s been a bit of a mix-up at the bakery, kiddies, we’ve got a product recall for the cupcakes, eat your icing then give me back your sponge for now. We promise when we give you them back next Sunday they’ll be sweet all the way to the bottom.’
I let out a groan. ‘Don’t make me do it again.’ Throwing over my easel is suddenly looking like a very minor mishap compared to this.
Cam’s looking up at me solemnly from where he’s sitting on the floor, his back to the wall and legs outstretched. ‘Mine’s nice, it tastes of the sea, and it’s got chocolate chips in the bottom.’ Seriously, I want to squeeze him for that.
Loella’s grinning at me. ‘You’ve got to get back on the horse, Chickpea. And this way we get afternoon tea at Periwinkle all over again.’ She’s staring around the room. ‘Will someone please bring this poor girl another drink?’
Mia comes over with her tray of grape juices and I grab one in each hand. I’m downing them both, hoping for a sugar hit, when guess-who sidles into view and blocks out every bit of daylight, even though it’s cloudy outside. So much for not making eye contact, and kidding myself he wasn’t here.
‘Bad luck with the cupcakes, Edie Browne, at least they looked irresistible.’ He’ s frowning, so nothing new there then. ‘Should you be drinking that?’
‘Who are you? The juice police?’ It’s fast and slick, and as a comeback it’s pretty much my best effort since my first trip to A&E.
‘It’s just …’ The way he’s staring it’s like he’s peering straight into my soul.
‘Just what?’ I’m on a roll here, and to show him I grab another glass in each hand and knock them back too.
‘Never mind.’ He lets out a sigh. ‘Just take it steady, okay?’
Cam looks up at him. ‘She’s drunk five so far.’
Barney’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. ‘It’s not always polite to count, Cam, but thanks all the same. Just this once, it’s a good thing someone is.’
I make damn sure he sees my eye roll, and thank those lucky starfish things I’m not on anything as hardcore as Diet Coke.